Chicana on the Edge

Mentioning the unmentionable since 2004

You can’t cure families: you can only prevent them.

I’m Regina Rodríguez-Martin and this is the blog of a middle-aged Mexican American woman. In 2004 the word was that blogs were over, but a friend had a blog and I wanted one, too. I started Chicana on the Edge on June 17, 2004 and have kept it going ever since (my friends’ blog ended years ago).

The “edge” refers to being in the margin of the margin of culture and society. For instance, as a Chicana I’m on the outside of mainstream American culture, but I’m on the margin of Mexican American culture as well.

Invoking Steve Martin: I was born a small white child. Actually, I was born in the 1960s to Mexican American parents who raised me in a very white part of Northern California. My parents were born in the U.S and my dad’s parents were born in the U.S. but his grandparents and my mother’s parents were from Mexico.

In the 1970s and 80s I grew up in a white city with white friends, went to white schools and dated white boys. I sound like a white woman when I talk. (As “Regina Rodriguez” I went to Las Lomas in Walnut Creek.)

Later I went to U.C. Berkeley and Cornell and got degrees in English literature. Cornell is where I first faced obvious racism, which made it the first place I really felt like a Mexican. I’ve become steadily more Mexican ever since.

At the age of 27 I moved to Chicago to seek my fortune (still seeking) and every year since I’ve become more aware of racism in all its degrees. 

My favorite color is pink, I couldn’t live without peanut butter and my favorite season is winter. Chicago’s gray, protracted winters are a main reason I moved here in 1993 and I’ve always known it was the perfect decision for me. I don’t want to live anywhere else and I don’t want to die anywhere else.

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Middle-Aged and Proud

Middle-Aged and Proud

People think they're being nice when they try to tell me I'm not middle-aged, but I think they're really trying to tell me they're not middle-aged. People in their 40s and up often protest when I define the 40s as middle-aged, but twenty-six-year-olds don't. They know...

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Let’s Hear It for Menopause!

Let’s Hear It for Menopause!

Birthday roses from my husband on July 24th On Tuesday I turned 46 years old. Americans try to pretend that 46 is still young, but reproductively, there’s no denying that 46 often falls in the middle of one of the biggest shifts in a woman’s life. Puberty marks the...

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“Shooting” the Dog

I guess when my life gets more demanding, my blog posts get shorter. I found out today that the dog needs vitamin B12 supplements, by injection. One shot a week. Guess who's giving the shots because her husband hates needles? Dog ownership just hasn't gone smoothly...

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