Jill Domschot

El Paso

As an aside, the app is giving me writing prompts, as if my problem is a lack of content rather than a lack of time! Today’s prompt is “What is your favorite form of exercise?” The answer is definitely a nature hike, but how often do I take a hike? Almost never. So, the actual answer ends up being “Whatever I can manage in my living room or when my dog drags me on my walk.”

Back to the program: El Paso. I went to El Paso this weekend to see Eden Muñoz live in concert. Eden Muñoz used to be the singer and accordion player for Calibre Cincuenta, but he went out on his own. Calibre Cincuenta was one of my favorite bands. We’ll see what they produce without Eden Muñoz and whether they remain one of my favorite bands. They are in a class of norteño called norteño-banda because they incorporate a sousaphone in the mix. Traditional norteño for a while now has incorporated a saxophone; the sousaphone is a bit of a nice change, in my opinion. Of course, norteño-banda often has the full brass band. Eden Muñoz has gone all out for the full brass.

The concert was amazing. The only drawback was being in the Abraham Chavez concert hall where there is no dance floor; the music is meant for dancing. But still, imagine two accordions, a bajo sexto, a tololoche, a vihuela, a full brass section, and multiple percussion instruments. The music is very complex yet draws a young audience because of the resonant lyrics and the danceable melodies. Also, the music traditions are carried on and reinterpreted by younger musicians.

I’m explaining this because people are generally surprised that I love this music so much, and it shouldn’t be surprising. We have some intriguing musical traditions here, in classic bluegrass or Zydeco, for example, but they don’t quite reach the level of impact that Mexican music achieves. My reaction to Mexican music is at the level of visceral, reaching my heart and soul, so I’ll just leave it at that and not overexplain it.

The theater is in downtown El Paso, and the hotel I reserved was less than a mile away. Because I’m from New Mexico, the state with the highest crime rate in the country, I’m used to hotels being behind gates and a general creepiness when walking around at night. I have been assaulted in Albuquerque while walking at night because I wouldn’t give a crazed drug addict money; my daughter has been mugged; car thefts and property crime are part of the culture here.

Imagine my surprise when I didn’t feel uneasy walking in downtown El Paso at night; this isn’t what I’m used to. I’m not an anxious person. I don’t worry about much of anything. I’m often surprised to hear that women fear for their lives constantly and that this is something men don’t understand about women. At least, this is what I’m told. I can guarantee you that I can’t remember the last time I feared for my life. When I was 14, I almost drowned in a lake. So, more than thirty years ago…? But it’s still good to listen to feelings of unease, which you will get if you visit Albuquerque. Sorry, that’s just the reality. Roswell isn’t much better. It’s smaller; that’s all.

Anyway, I found El Paso refreshing because I wasn’t bothered by crazed drug addicts. Yeah, I’m sure there are plenty there, but I’m guessing the local police must clear them out regularly. Anyway, I’ve always been fascinated by weird places like El Paso. It is a weird city because it’s the pit or hollow of the American Southwest. The landscape is hilly and has mixed architectural elements. Oh, and Juarez backs right up to it. Juarez used to be fun to visit, too, but I haven’t been in years. It started getting a little crazy with the violent crime. Like Albuquerque.

This morning, I walked a few blocks to attend Mass at St. Patrick’s in downtown El Paso. It’s a beautiful church with bad acoustics. I couldn’t hear a word of the homily or readings, but God’s presence will still fill a church during Mass. His presence doesn’t require hearing. The only missals I could find in the pews were in Spanish. Can I read Spanish? Of course. But the Mass I managed to make it to was in English. Ah, well, it took me around five minutes or so to realize I was even reading Spanish. My brain is so accustomed to Spanish by now that I found myself the other day accidentally (mentally) translating English into Spanish instead of the reverse. I wish this was a sign of fluency, but I rather think it’s a sign I’m going out of my mind. It’s been happening for a while now. Going out of my mind, I mean.

Who Knew?

God is my favorite health & beauty “guru”. This Psalm of David struck me yesterday:

Bless the LORD, my soul;

all my being, bless his holy name!

2
Bless the LORD, my soul;

and do not forget all his gifts,

3
Who pardons all your sins,

and heals all your ills,

4
Who redeems your life from the pit,

and crowns you with mercy and compassion,

5
Who fills your days with good things,

so your youth is renewed like the eagle’s.
Psalm 103:1-5, NAB

Notice the pattern, though. David praises God first, thanking him for his gifts and for forgiveness of sins. He also thanks God for his health. Then, he says that God fills his days with good things, and these are what renews his youth.

I love this. I’m honestly terrified of stagnation; I never want to be in a place in my life where that occurs. Why? It makes you old fast. If you sit in the same chair by the same window every day, both your mind and body will grow old and weary. In contrast to that, God fills our days with good things that will rejuvenate us.

Thank you, God, for new blessings in my days! I feel younger just thinking about it.

The Belltower

This is what my book cover image was based on. Sadly, the bell tolls for no one, as it apparently bothers people in the nearby neighborhood. This is odd to me; the earliest Mass is at 9 a.m. It is still a beautiful architectural feature of the parish campus. I will provide more pictures at some point: of the church, the other statues, the stations of the cross. Blessings.

My Book Cover!

This cover was done by my friend Clorinda Fresquez-Tria, who is a Roswell native (although she moved across the country a few years ago). Still, this book will be a Roswell effort; I’ve even asked a local editor to be my proofreader. The above image was inspired by the belltower at Assumption Catholic Church. Bells have a theme in the story, and the belltower specifically will be in the next book. I hope you like the cover as much as I do. You’ll, of course, notice the dragonfly. Please visit her website, which I linked to. I love her artwork!

I’m waiting for my latest video to upload to post the link….

The Book Blurb (edited version below)

I’m going to change my focus to making YouTube videos, but tech and I don’t really get along. In the last week alone, I tried to use my nice camera to film a video, only to discover the mic wasn’t working. I never could get it to work and ended up filming on my phone (I will post the video below, and maybe you will follow my channel). Then, I lost access to my book in Atticus and finally gave up because their customer support is too slow and reverted to a version lacking the latest edits I’d done Tuesday – Thursday. Thankfully, I had a recently exported file of the entire book. The program does up-to-the-minute backups, but I couldn’t get their backups to load. There is no doubt a way, or they would be useless. My patience, however, was wearing thin. Lastly, my phone couldn’t find my Verizon account or SIM card for hours yesterday. I still have no explanation for that. I hope there is nothing left that could happen. We’ll see when I try to film another video tomorrow.* That is my sob story of the hour. Btw, I will try to post every Sunday. I have the house to myself for a couple of hours Sunday mornings, so that is a good time to film.

Yes, this is titled “The Book Blurb.” Here it is:

PDex deliveryman isn’t on Hector Ruedas’ list of life plans. But he has to earn a living after losing his wife and plumbing business the day he caught her sleeping with his business partner. Now, his only goal is to plow through each shift without having to deliver to Roswell, New Mexico’s nastiest residences. When a notorious haunted house lands on his route, his survival mode is wrecked. The house was inherited by local widow, Arora Smart, who is desperate for help. Nobody else will make deliveries to her there, let alone fix the plumbing. Not that Hector wants to be the one…until the ghost tells him to. With the aid of this specter, Hector and Arora uncover the house’s sixty-year-old secrets. Being a detective isn’t on his list, either. Yet, here he is, a lifeline for a widow and her youngest son. As a grudging PDex delivery driver, he suddenly finds himself transporting something much bigger than packages: hope.

So, what do you think? Do you want to read it? I’m very excited about this book and the series I’m going to write. It feels like the one, if you know what I mean. I’ve always hated my characters after writing a book from their perspective; I still love these characters and will bring in new and interesting protags the next book: namely a young tech nerd who will work with the priest to find out who has hacked the church’s internet…and why. Because I’ve set a precedent, all the books will have to contain otherworldly elements, as well as murder.

My dopey first video:

And a video of Paulino Bernal playing his iconic polka. Paulino passed away in September a year ago. So, here’s to the memory of a great acordeonista:

*User error, where I published this then knocked it back to drafts. However, the dishwasher, washing machine, and robot vacuum all acted wonky today. The robot couldn’t find its home base, even when it had one foot on it. It said it was lost and proceeded to shut down. Then the washing machine ran an entire load without ever filling with water (it’s a side-loader that locks and then counts down the time). The dishwasher, on the other hand, just sounds like its motor is going out. That’s actually normal behavior — annoying, but normal. The rest is too weird for ordinary explanations.

I will become a norteño song

Quiero ser un rincon soleado / ~~donde me puede amar a mi amado~~… donde me puede amar mi amado or donde puedo amar a mi amado…

That is the start to a norteño song because, you know, I might as well write them. Scott Adams has an intriguing view of success, claiming that a person doesn’t have to be a genius at one skill to gain success; what’s needed is a stack of middling competency skills. When those skills are combined, voila, there you are: success! I’m laughing a little at my ridiculousness, but it was true for him. For example, he’s neither a great artist nor a comedian, but he’s reasonably insightful, witty, and apt with a pencil.

My middling competency includes a degree in which I studied both English and Spanish poetic forms and even translated Sor Juana’s poetry for my dissertation. I’ve also written a fair number of poems in both languages. I’m brazen that way. Many years ago, for example, I wrote a poem called Oda al acordeón. If I can find it, I’ll post it, even though it’s no doubt quite awful. It was heartfelt, whatever the case.

I can also sort of play the accordion, I can sing on key if not amazingly, and have over two decades of obsession with listening to the tropes in norteño songs. I can do this! On the other hand, writing actual musical notation is probably beyond me, though I do know the tonic notes on my instrument.

Further updates on life: the golden dragonflies are still following me everywhere. They hover outside my office windows for hours. If not for magical thinking, life would be incredibly boring. They are my friends! They come to visit me particularly! Meanwhile, I’m at that desperate point in my book where I’m so close to the end and not quite there. Currently, my delivery driver and his band of merry fellows (brother and two old high school friends) are at a rotted-out childhood pirate ship/fort, rescuing the heroine, who has been kidnapped, tied up, and gagged. Sadly, the hero has to be be the one to rescue her, so while one friend (Stephen) is swinging from a rope, and he and his brother Lorenzo are engaged in hand-to-hand combat, Wilford (the other old friend) is going to set the heroine free, but…wait! Stop! No! Only our trusty delivery driver can do the job. So she’s left bound and gagged until he can manage it.

There are two murders that must be solved, and the heroine’s son must also be saved. The arc of the book reaches a small climax at the pirate ship, the largest climax at the fight with [redacted], and then the most tense but least action-oriented climax at the boy’s rescue. Finis. The dragonflies are now happy.

Oda al acordeón (I should have put this through notepad, as I copied and pasted it from an archaic file format and proceeded to email it to myself):

El gran estuche negro se reposa

en mi cuarto a veces;

Es un sueño, sí, como mariposas

que en crisálidas duermen,

para que, adentro, descansen loas,

sonatas y sonetos de las sombras

y marea, liras mojadas en losas

que brotan de la fuente.

Una vez abierto, sobre los muelles

se derraman las olas,

el sonido, el respiro me vuelven,

la copa poderosa

de licor me llena mi anhelo tenue

por lengüetas que vibran lentamente,

por manos que abren mi voz, un fuelle

que, para mí, resopla.

Al fin, es un sabor, dulce a la boca;

no es nada, sino muerte

que en mi cama, sobre mi piel, se frota.

Son hebillas con cierre,

sombras sin sonetos; todas las cosas

que alimentan sueños, ya no me tocan.

Se transforman en canciones llorosas,

entonces se suspenden.

Quiero que la música nunca cese,

que nunca esté sola,

que el acordeonista nunca me deje

entre palabras rotas,

que su estuche negro nunca lo lleve

de mi cuarto como un amante leve

cuyos dedos son aire de repente,

espectro de mis coplas.

Jill

Post Staycation Post

It turns out there is a local Dragonfly Festival here; I knew this long before I moved to Roswell. My parents took the grandkids camping and happened on the festival during their trip — many years ago now. So, dragonflies are apparently a happy part of the local environment. However, I’ve never seen hundreds of them glittering in my yard in the evening as I did last week.

This week, my staycation writing holiday was over, but on Monday I still had the wind beneath my feet, propelling me to finish my book by the end of August. I have a great urgency that I must, and as if in anticipation of this feat, I was dive-bombed by a dragonfly while out walking.

Then I got sick. I don’t get sick. Not for a long time, anyway. I caught Covid from vaccinated super-spreaders a couple of years ago, but I haven’t been sick since and rarely was sick before that. I’d finally built my immune system! I knew the answers!

I have been sick all week. I’m still sick. I took a couple days off work but returned when the fever went down. Yesterday, I was literally ushered into the library door of my office building by a golden dragonfly.

Yes, I always enter from a side door that forces me to walk through the parish library, with its statues and books. I then work my way down a hallway with motion-activated lights that flash on the images of Jesus as the Good Shepherd or of the local Bishop and priests. Near my office is a plaster relief of the Virgin Mary; she is quite pretty and peaceful but seems blind. I’ve often contemplated the artist’s choice in finishing the eyes as blanks.

The dragonfly did not follow me inside. That’s probably a good thing, as I’m already beginning to believe something weird is going on between me and these beautiful creatures. Why are they dive-bombing me, ushering me, hovering in droves outside my window? The better question is, why am I still sick? What happened to my immune system? Why is this happening when I need to finish my book by the end of August? I might even be feeling sorry for myself. Might. Self-pity is an indulgence that feels pleasant for about five minutes. Then it is rather nauseating.

We have our parish feast tomorrow. At the very least, I should be there. I was supposed to volunteer to do something important like wear a chicken costume (I really was holding out for the chicken), but unless my health improves quickly, I won’t even go to Mass, let alone the festival. Let alone entertain small children with the chicken dance. My true talents, you see, are often wasted in the everyday sober adult life that doesn’t involve randomly breaking into song and dance. And yet another opportunity to reveal my skill set has been all but lost!

I need a miracle! Instead of little mice, as I don’t have those (thankfully), I need my dragonfly friends to use their golden wings to fly my prayers to heaven. I was imagining them typing away on my computer for me, but unfortunately, they don’t have tiny little hands like the mice in The Tailor of Gloucester. Have you witnessed little mice hands? Once, I heard a mousetrap spring in the middle of the night and, when I checked on it in the morning, there was only one little mouse hand left there. The mouse had torn his hand off in order to free himself. No wonder the mice won’t help me! I’m sure that one little guy carried the tale of how he lost a limb to his children and grandchildren.

Maybe that is the kind of determination I need. Do I feel as if I’m stuck in a trap? Yes, a little. Should I rip myself free, even if it means severing a hand from my body? I always did want to be Captain Hook, a singing, dancing pirate…. Focus! Dear little golden dragonflies, please wing my petitions to heaven for me. Or inspire me to work! Something. Anything. I’m getting desperate.

I need:

This song is a little morose for my tastes, but the video is my personal crack, as it combines two of my taste aesthetics: accordions and classic trucks. I have wanted a classic square-body truck since high school but have been too practical to make it happen. Hence, I admire them from afar. I also tend to give my book characters my fantasies. Anna in Anna and the Dragon has a classic truck, and her love interest plays the accordion. Sorry, these obsessions have been with me a long time, and they aren’t going away any time soon. I wrote that book long before I ever decided I should learn to play the accordion in my freaking forties, though, and maybe I’ll have a classic truck someday too.