Mary Padilla
Bio
I’m a rider and a writer, here to give it a go.
Stories (4/0)
Picnics in the Cold
I'm not quite white enough for White people, and barely brown enough for Mexicans, but I identify more with my Mexican half. I don't have to think hard about why. It's the food. Food is the glue of my Sonoran Mexican family and heritage. It's the chorizo and egg burritos my grandma made and wrapped in tin foil, that I think of every time I take a road trip. It's the tamale making on Christmas eve that carries on family tradition. It's the menudo and pazole I make when it's cold, that remind me of my aunts and uncles. My dad's homemade beef jerky takes me back to my immigrant grandfather's house where he hung meat from a cow that broke her leg on the ranch, on outdoor lines to dry in the Arizona heat. Even on the other side of my family, I can't help but think of my grandmother, a badass single mom of six - including a special needs child, at a time when society didn't recognize special needs - every time I eat potato salad with eggs. Food is the glue of my memories.
By Mary Padilla2 years ago in Feast
Death is Coming
We made eye contact. I was right at his level. He wasn't afraid of me. I stared at him for a good five minutes. Grey and brown feathers stood out against the green Palo Verde. But he blended with the sand below, already hot from the early morning summer sun. My horse was impatient but compliant, as I stared in awe. I had seen the large barn owls in the hay barn and had heard they had babies. And here we were, face to face. I took out my phone and snapped some pictures.
By Mary Padilla2 years ago in Fiction
