Skip to main content

La Rosa - The Rose

I tossed around a few possibilities for the writing of La Rosa. It could be the name of a relative I've never met, but heard stories of from my Grandma, like El Musico. Or similar to La Palma, it could be the point-of-view of an actual flower as it quietly witnesses events from its roots in the garden. Neither idea felt inspired, but then two unrelated events occurred within a week of each other and La Rosa began to take on a new meaning for me.

My husband and I took our two boys for an outing last week.  We drove for about 12 minutes to the Rosie the Riveter WWII Home Front National Historic Park in Richmond - a beautiful location at the northern tip of the Richmond Harbor. We had heard about this place, so close to our house, a few years ago but had never made the time to visit - a shame, in my opinion, because I adore the female empowering We Can Do It image of the strong woman in a mechanics suit with red & white scarf in her hair. Twice, I've dressed as Rosie for Halloween, recruiting the young ladies in my office to do the same after they asked, "Who is Rosie the Riveter," and I tell them.  She was a WWII symbol of strength and capability used to ignite the female population to join the workforce while the men were away fighting the war.  And she was very convincing. Due to a wartime need, but still up against the general opinion that women belong in the kitchen, nearly 1 out of every 4 married women worked outside the home by 1945. The Richmond Harbor specifically saw a massive increase in population during this time, many of whom were Black, Latin, and Asian women who came to work and get it done regardless of who was next to them. Needless to say, it was an enlightening couple of hours in Richmond, made up of images and stories that exemplified courage, tolerance, diversity, camaraderie, and patriotism.

Later on that week, January 21st to be exact, over a million people (the majority of those people women) took to the streets to march for women's rights, respect, and equality in all areas regardless of religious, political, or even socioeconomic status. I wasn't in it, but I wish I had been, The news reports and social media posts stirred emotions in me that very much echo the same principles of a Rosie: courage, tolerance, diversity, camaraderie, and patriotism. What does La Rosa mean to me? Well, come to think of it, it means what it has always meant....a diverse array of beautiful flowers that bud from stems inherently yet strategically armed with defensive thorns .


Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

La Estrella - The Star

The sun had gone down by the time we reached San Diego County. On our right, we passed the twin water-power structures (a pair of boobs is what they're generally referred as) that unofficially mark the entrance to San Diego. We couldn't see the ocean but knowing it was out there in the night made this part of the trip ominous, like we were traveling along the edge of the world. At least it would have if any of us was actually paying attention. But we weren't. If we had run out of gas our incessant chatter could have fueled the car. Our high-pitched laughter was outdone only by the blaring music straining the twelve-year old speakers. Let's see, it would have been stuff like the Smiths, Depeche Mode, some Usher and Next, and a little bit of Tupac - it was 1998 after all and we were L.A. girls. Marina borrowed her mom's four-door Honda so we could take this road trip to El Valle de Guadalupe ( a town outside of Ensenada, Mexico) where her grandparents' ranch was ...
5 comments
Read more

El Valiente - The Brave One

Back in 2000 I started recording family ghost stories as told to me by my Mom, my Grandma, and letters from my Aunt Socorro. Around that time I was taking an English course on memoirs and for an assignment I presented those family ghost stories as if they were being told to me and my other cousins by our Uncle George. Why did I choose my Uncle George as the storyteller? Because I (and my cousins who were present) share a vivid memory of one night we were all at his house, in my cousin Lorrie's room, waiting for him to tell us a ghost story. I can't remember what his story was about (something about an old outhouse) but the anticipation and excitement are what fuels this memory. That and the 10 feet leap into Uncle George's lap that cousin Desiree took when Ruben pounded on the window from the backyard! Here is the introduction to that memoir assignment, exactly as I wrote it, almost exactly as I remember it.  The girls piled themselves onto the cushy queen-sized bed, wrap...
5 comments
Read more

El Cazo - The Saucepan

In January of 1947 Salvador and Elena moved into a house in the city of Moorpark. Located in Ventura County, 50 miles northwest of Downtown Los Angeles, Moorpark was rumored to be named after a type of apricot. Many fertile fields and crops, primarily apricots, populated the budding community; and with them were hardworking families making an honest living off of the land. The couple moved into the beautiful ranch-style structure with their three children, and thought they had hit the jackpot. An expansive lawn, wide porches all around the four outside walls, and sunlit views of fields surrounded by rolling hills - an exterior that offered luminous rays of hope and lush promises. Inside, the house was dead. The front door opened into a main (once-living) space covered in dreary layers of dust, stagnant air, and rat droppings. Yes, the rats surely made their home in the nooks and crannies of torn upholstery and occupied cabinets and shelves. The couple was surprised to find the hous...
Post a Comment
Read more