Alicea Jones

A young woman leaves Ethiopia for America and finds the journey more brutal than she thought. . .
There is a reason why we don’t know the future. If we knew the real cost of triumph before starting out to achieve it, we might run in the opposite direction. Thankfully, we never fully know the price until we’re smack dab in the middle of the proving grounds. It’s only as we look back that we wipe the sweat from our brow and marvel at how we made it. That’s Meddy’s story—a young woman whose youthful naiveté brought her from the Horn of Africa to Georgetown.

As you are about to become the 44th President of the United States, I know how anxious you must be to form your cabinet, committees and councils and such, especially in light of the dismal state of things. I hear you have already formed a high powered economic team. I realize your zealousness is driven by the need to boost the world’s confidence, but I really wish you had called me first. I know some people right here in Wilco (that’s our short name for Williamson County, Texas) whose input to your plan is vital. Hopefully, it’s not too late. I thought I’d save you the time flying here (with the erratic fluctuation in fuel prices and all) by writing you this letter. Here are some ideas I’m sure you’ll find helpful in putting your plan together.

It seems like families divide over the silliest things. An unpaid loan, a word untimely spoken, feuds over Aunt Lilly’s china—it’s crazy but we know it’s true. We spend so much time with our fists clenched, that we barely remember how to open them. Have you ever noticed how painful clenched fists are after a while? It’s hard work keeping those 27 bones in a tight grip.

I remember our ride home from Austin-Bergstrom airport—anxious and uncertain about how this was going to work. We never had a foreign exchange student before. I felt like I was on a first date. Am I talking too much? Did I just insult her by saying sí instead of yes? Will she and my daughter get along? What if she doesn’t like my cooking?
A few miles northbound on IH 35 and we began to breathe again.
“They have a Pizza Hut in Brazil? A Sam’s Club too? Wow, cool.” Whew, common ground! I guess that’s human nature--searching for ways to connect. It’s like meeting another newcomer at church or the Mary Kay convention. We couldn’t be that far apart culturally, I thought, if both Georgetown and Sao Paulo have a Sam’s Club.

No one knew what had happened to Juan Ramirez. He had gone to Mexico sometime in 1986 to check on his business affairs and, more important, to marry his sweetheart, Teresa. In two weeks, he would be back in Georgetown, Texas running Ramirez Grocery on 5th Street as usual. Two weeks, three, then a month passed and Juan had not returned.

More Than A Pretty Face . . .
Being a clown is more than grease paint and size 37 shoes, and squirting lapel daisies. As a beginner, Mary Beth knew getting to the big top of clowning would mean months of study. And where does any clown worth her magic tricks go to learn? Clown camp of course.

Now, we enter the store like a bridesmaid waiting to catch the bouquet. You sense this is not just a store, but a place of enchantment. Focus, if you can, on the first rounder. A light-weight, silky, “strawberry-to-orange” summer jacket begs your attention. You are drawn by the bodice, dyed in a juicy shade of strawberry--flattering to any complexion–which then melts into a quenching shade of tangerine down to the hemline. Cinched side pockets and hood, and a flattering hip-length hem, make this summer night ‘must have’ functional as well as pretty.
In keeping with this colorful sunset-themed palette, you are lured by the ankle-skimming sun dresses posed lazily against the east wall. There are racks of them; some splashed with the color of sherbet, others with jewel tones. Spaghetti straps show off summer tans but for blushers, Joni carries coordinating sari-like scarves to drape loosely about the shoulders.