Jar of Glass: Words Collected by Tamara Lopez

Yesterday as Joaquin and I were driving home, he began describing in great detail a tall, black haired man in a Hawaiian shirt and short shorts. His hairy legs and constant jabbering on his cellphone had made an impression on my son. In addition to Joaquin’s detailed description of the man, he asked if I had remembered the torrential downpour of rain we had experienced when landing at the Chicago, Ohare airport. My response was, “We were in Chicago?” My brain could not draw any recollection of being in Chicago or seeing a loquacious, hairy man at the airport. I began to perseverate on this topic. How could I have landed in Chicago and not remembered? How could I have missed Bigfoot’s tropical cousin? I searched for any memorable visual in my brain and, finally, retrieved an image of our flight itinerary. Indeed, we did have a layover in Chicago. And then what ensued, was a guilt trip about what a lame visual I had to jog my memory. I remember nothing of that brief visit to the ai...

Yesterday, my friend, her dog and I hiked Granite Peak. We arrived at the trailhead in the afternoon after a lively night of libations at our class reunion. Suffice it to say, neither of us was in top form as we were nursing headaches and trying to replenish our bodies with liquid. We both fully acknowledged that noon was not the best time to start the hike, but that any earlier, and we would have still been drunk. Ahhhh, it had been a fun night! Upon looking at the trailhead, it did not present any delusion of easiness or evenness. The first few feet were almost completely straight up. We slowly emerged up the mountain. Any grand ideas that I was supremely fit quickly punched me in the face as my breath became labored, sweat wholeheartedly ran down my face, and legs strained. Every once in awhile, we would come across  even pathways, and we relished each and every one. There were maybe two of these short lived experiences. Eventually, our journey took us to a beautiful slanted me...