Names

Almost everyone I work with has at least two names that they go by. Actually, it's usually only one name, but there is the Spanish version, and the English version. So sometimes Fabian (fah-be-ahn') is called Fabian (fay'-be-uhn). But then there is Jaime, who is also Jimmie sometimes. And there is Francisco, who is also Pancho, and also Frankie. I'm Kati (kay'-tee), but I'm also Kati (kah'-tee). In fact, I'm usually Kati (kah'-tee) when I'm at work.

My mom came to visit over the weekend, and we had a good time. We sampled all the best food that my block has to offer, and we shuddered in the -15 wind chill. We talked about all sorts of issues and occurences, experiences and problem solutions. We went to Holy Cross for mass in Spanish. Mom especially enjoyed the Marimba. I do too, every day at work when I hear them practicing across the hall, and at every mass and recital I hear them play. But it's especially cool when it's your first time to hear them.

They're kids and teenagers, and they're so good they travel the country playing concerts. They're going to Los Angeles next month to play at a convention.

A lot of the Marimba are in my art class. I tutor others of them. One of them is teaching me how to play Marimba. I don't know why I swell with pride when I get to show off the Marimba to people- but I always do. Their skill has nothing to do with me, but I'm so proud to know people with such skill. I had asked them if they would play for my mom after mass.

At the end of mass, Fr. Bruce asked if there were any visitors this week. I flagged him down, and then translated to Mom that I had just told the whole church she was visiting. I glanced over to the Marimba. They were all laughing at me and my eagerness to show off my mom. Fr. Bruce came over, announcing that Kati, the volunteer, had her mom visiting. He asked Mom a few questions into the microphone, and everyone applauded.

After mass, the Marimba showed off a little for her, and then came up and shook her hand, introducting themselves. Mom was so impressed with them.

Yesterday, I told them so. They blushed and acted like it was no big deal, the way teenagers do. But they were pleased.

We had a good and productive art class. The comic book is really starting to come together now, so they're getting excited about it again. They can see the results coming, so they can visualize the finished product. They're also excited about starting up with clay sculpting, so I think that is one more motivating factor. I know it is for me. I can't wait.

Messy art is always the best art.

Sometimes they come up with bizarre and funny ideas- things they know won't happen, but they ask anyway. One guy in particular keeps coming up with expensive things to do as a "field trip" (things that have nothing to do with art in any way, shape, or form), and then asks me to pay for it all. I say, "We've already established that you make more money than me at your part time job. You should pay." They laugh, and then come up with an even bigger and less likely idea. I say, "I'll arm wrestle you for it."

I say that a lot in that class. "I'll arm wrestle you for it." I say it when they ask me if they can do something that of course they can do. I say it when they ask me to do something that of course they would never do. I had my schedule book out yesterday. One of the guys, David (aka dah-veed') asked what it was, and I told him. He picked it up and started flipping through it.

"How much was this, Kati?" (Kah'-tee)

"Free," I said.

He widened his eyes. "Three hundred?"

"No, FREE. I stole it from my father in law."

"You STOLE it?!" he asked, knowing it was just a figure of speech.

I shrugged. "He wasn't using it, so he gave it to me."

Pancho grabs it. "I need a schedule book." He put it under is arm and walked out the door.

"I'll arm wrestle you for it," I called after him.

He walked back in and slammed it on the table. "Alright, alright! Let's go!"

He and the other guys start pushing each other around, mock fighting. I go to put some of the art supplies up. As I walk out the door, the guys sit down and actually start arm wrestling. I can't help but laugh. I say that all the time, but this time the words actually started an arm wrestling competition!

When I come back in, they're all paired up. David and Pancho, the two biggest guys, are paired up. Pancho says go, and David starts to struggle. Pancho says, "I said go, man!"

"Aw, shut up!"

Pancho bests him, and David turns to me, "Come on, Kati! Let's go!"

The other guys egg me on, but in a way that says clearly that they don't expect me to actually arm wrestle anybody.

So of course, I do.

Everyone stops what they're doing to watch. I fully expect to be beaten quickly since David is easily twice my size, but that doesn't stop me from talking smack first. "You can't touch me," I say. "You might as well just forefit now!"

Suddenly, I have a cheering section.

David says go, and then immediately looks panicked. "Oh my god! She's stronger than she looks!" he shouts.

His arm actually starts going backwards. "Oh, you're playing!" I shout at him.

"No I'm not!" he shouts back. (It's apparently impossible not to shout while arm wrestling)

The other guys are laughing. One of them says, "If she beats you, the whole Marimba's gonna know it!" Those words seal my fate. The tides turn, and I am beaten.

They guys seem satisfied that I actually played to begin with, and everyone leaves happy.