The sky was a velvet deep blue and the moon was waning, yet 3/4 full reflecting over Lake Merrit.
Sunday morning she lazed in her bed, continued to situate her little pad.
Papi left a Happy Easter message.
She smiled gently at the listed number in the Missed Calls menu of the Nokia.
She gently pressed the keys and they responded to the firm touch of her fingerpads. The arrows scrolled through the menu list so she could easily return her father's call.
A brief phone called featured the excited, albeit somewhat muffled squeals of her mother and what sounded like a house filled with friends and surrogate family. Happiness washed over her lazy person bathing in sunlight in her bed.
1 pm.
There was an hour before Culture Clash's "Zorro in Hell" began at the Berkeley Rep theater. Should she try to catch a piece of the Chicano playwright's satire? Is this how one should celebrate the Risen Lord?
Yes.
As soon as a shower was had.
Quickly she showered, and dressed in a pair of jeans topped with the red dress Michelle gave her. It is a cleavage enhancer and a lot of fun to wear.
The hair was not cooperating so the twists were divided and conquered into two twisted puffs on either side of her head.
Earrings, check.
Bracelet, check.
Thumbring, check.
On the marathon to Berkeley by 1:55 pm (to purchase her ticket), she conversed with Meryl. More laughter and discussion about systems of organization. She took mental note, and maneuvered an awesome parking spot 2 blocks away from the theater and away from the theater crowd parking drama.
The blue sky had filled its place with a drizzly, fat-dropped substitute.
A hasty purchase of the ticket and a quick shuffle down the street illustrated two things:
1) Her mobility and recovery from the shingles is nothing less than miraculous.
2) Theater people do not play with matinee curtain time.
She slid into the second row, stage right.
And for the next 2 hours she howled, chuckled, and noted down authors she had yet to encounter, the tschotcka/merchandising trade being alive, well and lucrative for Zorro, and felt the pull of being latina, understanding some of chicano politics, but not fully because her indigenous ancestors were not Azteca. They were basically wiped off the map. And their history didn't review the whole triangular trade including the slaves.
But the basic story is understood. The politics are understood.
She also thought what would it be like to have a smart comedy like this be penned by Puerto Rican authors and what that might mean to her.
She scribbled in her journal and as Zorro shook her hand at the end of the play for understanding the moyl/Passover joke she smiled and thought about her Easter dinner.
By this time she was lightheaded because the vitamins were no longer sustaining her.
Driving under the influence of hunger this advanced is dangerous.
Reflexes are slow.
She drove a 20 mile radius past Berkeley and back to Downtown Oakland while on the phone with Omer, Michelle, Michael Paul, and Meryl trying to carry on conversations and trying to find seafood to satisfy her fish craving.
Luka's filled the need, on a different level.
She went completely decadent with the following items:
- Seafood platter
- Beet/Asparagus Salad
- Chocolate Fondant
The seafood platter arranged a lovely cross-section of crustaceans and bi-valves atop ice and seaweed. Red claws cradled raw oysters, steamed clams and mussels, and pointed to shrimp. Three dipping sauces were presented along with this platter of plenty: the traditional, yet very flavorful cocktail sauce, a shallot-infused vinegar, a better than mayo creamy item, and a cilantro cousin of this same better than mayo creamy item.
Somehow an order of their Belgian Fries made their way to her area of the bar. These, too, would have to be consumed. She divided her attentions between fruits of the sea, roots of the ground, and palate cleansing sips of brown rice tea.
After satisfying herself with baseball coverage on the bar monitors, taking in the buzz and stir of the people in the restaurant and taking in the sun that seemed to be returning in the early evening, she ordered her dessert and offered to share it with her neighbors. In return she sampled their malt. They connected on the development of Oakland and theories for how it will continue to develop.
To drink she opted for tea because she was driving and not tarrying too long in this spot. The next item of business after making friends with her barmates to discuss David Gilmour's concert at the Paramount that night (this is why the place was PACKED!), she had to pick up house keys for Michelle and then Michael Paul for the Transcendental Hayride show at CounterPulse in San Francisco.
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