I am a very fortunate man.  Fate favored me with a good family, families, actually... the family of my birth and then the family that was created when I was fortunate enough to be married to Margaret.  This blog writing isn’t about that but about my Niece Lenda, who is perhaps the most gifted writer in the extended family.  Lenda, a lawyer,  recently spent a couple of years in Puerto Rico where her husband was sent on assignment as a Federal Judge. She sent one of her poems to me, something she does sometimes.  She attached the following note:  “I wrote this one for you, Uncle Jerral, and now you know almost everything I have learned about Puerto Rico in the past year, except about church, and the food.”

I went looking for the poem again yesterday, after I had finished reading a section of a book by David M. Felten and Jeff Procter-Murphy called Living the Questions  (The subtitle is “The Wisdom of Progressive Christianity”).  I am impressed all over again with the skill, insight, and wisdom in Lenda’s poem... and with Lenda.  I called her to get permission to share it.

The photographic task today to find a photograph in San Diego to go with Lenda's poem was not such a great challenge.  "Missing Someone in San Juan" is set in Puerto Rico with reminiscenses of New Orleans; and that amazing city and Puerto Rico and San Diego have in common fountains, palm trees, and beautiful sky. 

MISSING SOMEONE IN SAN JUAN

Lenda Perez

When I'm missing someone in San Juan

I take the dogs out

Down six flights of stairs,

cause the elevator's out

Again.

I talk to Charlie

who speaks good English

And works in the building

And is descended from Bela Lagosi

he rides a bike, though it's not a Harley

But his helmet's just like the one Jack Nicholson wore

In Easy Rider

the one that wrapped itself in the flag and started to New Orleans.

Charlie won the lottery for Christmas

And gave his mother five thousand dollars.

She still lives in the neighborhood

so he sees her everyday.

She must be my mother's age

Aren't we the lucky ones!

Tia, who's always on the right lead

Insists on walking on the curb

And Yunior

Who has seniority

is so easy-going, he lets her.

Scoop that poop!

What fun, but it's got to be done

For the sake of civilization.

I heard the other day that every dog must

Wear a muzzle in San Juan

however, I have yet to see one

So I think it's safe to say that

It's never enforced.

Or even expected.

I have seen a lot of dogs here

Mostly with fine pedigrees

it's the old Spanish in them

_____their owners, I mean.

in this fine old neighborhood of Miramar

With its good Catholic schools

And it's View of the Ocean.

Carlos has his shop near the corner

Right next to Casita Miramar

In the El Torro Hotel.

he and his wife work to

Relieve the suffering of the homeless

In Viejo San Juan.

There is a Mission there

(Just as depressing as you would imagine)

This place sure reminds me of New Orleans

Except that it sits up on the hills like San Francisco

though it is centuries older.

I see the homeless men everyday

And sometimes the women

As I walk down to the Avenida

Ponce de Leon

To buy my loaf of French bread.

They call it 'pan de agua' here

____water bread__

But it is French bread all right

wonderful French bread.

In San Juan

Everyone says "Hello"

Or, rather, "!Hola!"

Or we both say

"Bona dia"

I once said that in the afternoon 

And the gentleman looked at me funny.

The Chief Judge in Jerry's Outfit

Warned him the first day

When he took the Oath of Office

not to use the familiar

As it would be inappropriate

For a man in his position.

Now that he's a Judge

And su Senoria

__Your Lordship!

He told him to be careful of his Spanish

And not to use the local patois

And drop the endings off his words

Judge del Torro was born in the States

though his family is from here.

his son is going to the Ivy League

As soon as he finishes the

Best Catholic School

Right up the hill.

Jerry was born here

(or should I say, "Gerardo"?)

Gerardo was born here

In Mayaguez, a little town

On the west coast

his people still live there

they were Sephardic Jews when they came 

Fleeing Queen Isabela and her consort

who OK'ed the Inquisition.

In Puerto Rico

Perez may be a house of Israel,

But it is primarily a Black name

So I was told 

In a shop,by a very old man

Sitting on a chair, and passing conversation

with anyone who came by.

and you know, Jerry's father

that older Gerardo,

Was a black man

You could tell by looking.

After the  

Seventh or eighth

Person told me 

that Justice Sondra Sotamayor

Came from 

Mayaguez

I realized it must be important.

her people still live there

But she was born in the Bronx.

As for me,

I always say, "Bona dia"

I make a point of it.

and someday, if I find another dog,

I shall name her

'Juana Dia,'

After the town 

Up in the mountains.

Just because I like the sound

Of the vowels.

My doggies hate the trip upstairs

the six irregular flights

almost as much as I do.

though they don't have to stop and rest

like me.

Tia always limps on that bad leg

that she got in her former life

Before she was abandoned on the street in ninety-five degree heat.

such a sweet dog

Not a mean bone

In her little body.

(She only ever growls at Me,

when I disturb her sleep, and make her move from 

her Spot

Next to Jerry in the bed.)

Yunior was left behind

Outside in Katrina,

but he never refers to it.

He is a macho little man

A Notorio,at least, in a past life, or maybe a banker.

Chihuahuas are proud dogs

In the Spanish tradition.

And he patiently waits 

On the foot of my bed

For me to turn in

and put him in his rightful place

And give him part of the quilt.

He won't get up

Until I do, although

Tia arises with Jerry

At five or six a.m.

Way too early for Yunior and me.

So She pees on the rug 

Most every morning.

Then, as soon as we're up,

I take the dogs out.