Justtoday

2012-01-29T23:20:00.002-05:00

Voice of Reason

The empty conversations with “yessing” people are sometimes necessary. I call yessing people those who never really have an opinion or they rarely offer it. I like yessing people. They are always fun to be around.

We are all loners deep inside. I don’t buy that we can find company within ourselves. That cliché works when loneliness is all we have to work with. We all seek, even if briefly, human contact in whatever form it comes. I'll talk to the person next to me while I wait in line, or engage in a quick conversation with the cashier. I can even get my hair cut more often and talk to my hairdresser. Of course, that is only possible when he stops cursing over the nest on my head.

We all can enjoy those quick encounters. I can walk away knowing half the life story of a person I met in the bathroom at Ruby Tuesday and her story as interesting as it may be will leave my mind as quickly as I flush the toilet once she is gone. Yet, those encounters are interesting and the exchange offers something to both; to the person sharing the feeling that someone out there gives a crap, and to me a person to talk to for a few minutes. But those conversations as distracting and even enchanting as they may be, will not sustain me in the long run. I might have to add a handful of those strangers on a regular basis to get me through life.

We are all strangers to one another. Even to the person I expose myself the most I remain a stranger to and to me, that person as much as I have gotten to know, remains to some extent a stranger. There will always be something that will surprise me, shock me, disappoint me. That’s the nature of the beast.

Gratefully those people who are well known strangers are the conversations that sustain me and feed my soul during my lonely moments. And different from the yessing people in everyone’s lives, of those known strangers I only need and want very few and at times only one.

They are my voice of reason.

A person who does not hesitate to challenge me without belittling myself nor my beliefs. Who will call me on the carpet (or wooden floor?) and not look the other way when my actions might not meet the standards one of us has set.

A voice of reason.

The voice that might help me see clearly enough or help me question myself enough to step out of an unhealthy or destructive path. A hand I can squeeze when the path seems too difficult. The laughs that will balance it all.

All of them are needed and appreciated. The chatting waitress, the stranger in the bathroom, the hair dresser, the friends who will always yess me to the end, they all fill a part of my loneliness.

And my voice of reason, that balances it all.

2012-01-28T00:23:00.000-05:00

Unexpected Surprises

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VSrAJsWvEIc&feature=related

I watched this video the other day, a couple of years after the big shock had worn off. It had more of an impact on me this time.

There have been those shocking moments in my life. Times when I had passed judgment way too quickly and times when what I saw did not promise more at first glance.

I love to be wrong then.

Nothing more rewarding than when no rewards are expected.

It is not easy to have no expectations, and there are times when we don’t think something is worth our time and oddly we are pleasantly surprised.

I have been there too.

I have driven to a meeting telling myself the entire way that it is a mistake, I don’t want to be there, I have nothing to say and I should turn around. Instead I have walked out of there with a smile in my face and the feeling that I have found a hidden treasure.

I love that feeling.

Nothing like to be wrong when the outcome is so good.

I have been there.

I don’t know what the lesson is. I can’t make a blanket statement and say all that is dreaded ends up being good and not all that is disliked will be liked later. But I can only say that there are surprises when we least expect them and when they are found, we are some lucky devils to be the ones to enjoy them.

I have

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VSrAJsWvEIc&feature=related

2012-01-22T20:28:00.003-05:00

The Tilting Point
There are moments that are unforgettable not for what the moment was, but what they evoked after they happened.

There are those fractions of time in everyone’s life, moments that change a life, sort of speak.

I still remember picking up the keys to my moped thrown at my feet by my stepfather in his drunken state; it would be the last time I bent over to get them. I remember a door closing behind me and looking at it bowing I would never knock on it again. I never did even if the realization broke my heart.

Most of us can remember that last hurtful word, that last insult, the last straw. That moment that dissolved all that kept that relationship together.

I don’t know what brings up to the surface the awakening to that place in time that a writer friend of mine refers to as a tilting moment. What drives us to that instant when we know “it” as we know it, will never be again.

The breaking moment that has broken us.

It is important, I think , to recognize that moment. It is not a red flag; it’s a stop sign that yells stop here now. Staying past that point is to fester unhealthiness beyond self-respect.

Proceed with caution. Danger beyond this point.

Some can come back from it, I’m sure. I never have. Coming back, I hope, would mean the relationship has been stripped of all the unhealthiness that brought it to the breaking point.

The breaking point, the decisiveness that thrusts dignity forward to never look back is important in everyone’s life. It returns self esteem where it belongs.

Recognize it, embrace it. Deal with it and eventually be glad it happened.

2012-01-08T19:19:00.004-05:00

Uncensored.

I bend over exhausted as I step off of the treadmill. Sweat drops wet the floor. My T-shirt does not have a dry piece in it. “You’re a little wet there!” a girl I know from the gym exclaims. Another woman stops and asks “I saw you before I went into class. How long were you there, how far did you go” I smile and answer her politely. “How can you run that much?” she insists. “It’s gradual; anyone can do it. It just takes a little practice” I reply. She explains she has bad knees, bad hip, etc. wishes me a good day and walks away.

I know I will not be able to convey the reason if there is a reason why I run other than because I can and that is a concept she might not be interested in. I can offer her an even more abstract concept: I run because I love to run, because I love who I am when I run.

Those 90 to 120 minutes on a weekend are some of my most enjoyable moments.

A headache, a poor night’s sleep, stress, anxiety, it all fades as the miles progress.

When I run I feel free, unchallenged, uncensored, uncompared. I am my own competitor. I am my best supporter.

There are few moments in a person’s day when one can claim to feel that way.

Uncensored, unchallenged. Free.

I smile again and realize there is no way to explain what I feel. Besides no one needs to understand it. Only I have to feel it.

2012-01-06T21:29:00.001-05:00

Hidden Scars

“Get out of there, Hon. Your dad is here”

The only memory that remains is of that older woman looking under the bed and asking me to come out. I don’t remember when or why I hid under the bed.

I also remember the woman scolding my dad and telling him I was afraid of him, so afraid I had hid under a bed.

My dad had come to visit. I don’t remember where we were or why he came. I thought we were hiding from him, but my mom had probably given in to his promises of being a good father. She was too smart to believe he would be a good husband anymore, but his tears had moved her, I’m guessing.

I don’t remember more.

I know I feared him. I had not been physically abused by him, but he had tried to take me away from whom I loved, my mom and my brother thus our hiding.

Over the years people asked me if I missed my dad, my answer was a solid no. I never did. I was almost glad I did not go through what some of my classmates went through. The fights, the beatings, I had none of that. I had a loving home because he wasn’t there.

I only tried to find him once and did not put much effort into it. I left a message with an uncle and never followed up. It was more curiosity than anything else. No feelings remaining, no desire to get to know him. Too much time had gone by, too little good to remember.

Sometimes when my kids ask I wish I knew more about him and that I had a better knowledge of his ethnicity or any knowledge at all. His blondish hair, his beautiful green eyes, his ancestors. All I know is the very little my mother told me, he was the most intelligent man she had ever met, had an ear for music and an artistic interest (none of which I inherited). The rest of what I know of him is made up by my fear of him.

It is hard to make assumptions of events that will never be, but I don’t know that I could have ever patched things up with him. I have a hard time overcoming the scars that a person causes on a kid because those scars never fade. We carry them throughout all of our lives. No apologies would ever erase them.

I carry those scars and those scars dictate much of my behavior. The fear of that little girl when she heard the voice a man who threatened to take away her stability has not gone away. It lays there right on the surface and sometimes I wish I could hide it under the bed.

2012-01-04T23:06:00.000-05:00

An OddBall

My son engages in his own political debate before dozing off while I drive. I feel lost in his conversation. Politics has never been my forte. I look at his handsome face and wonder how one of my offspring can be …so odd. He listened to the news when he was 10 and knew every president, currency and language of almost any country while in Middle School. I barely know the currency I use to pay my bills. I think again how different he is. How wonderfully different he is.

I like different. I was always different.

For most of my young adult life I felt like an odd ball. Different to most and almost ashamed to be different.

I followed my own rules. I did what was “right”. Wait on that thought before you give me a pat in the back. What was “right” to me was not right to others. To a Seventh Day Adventist my like for wine is against their beliefs and I would not hesitate to have a transfusion if I needed one which a Jehovah Witness would literally die before allowing it.

I never smoked pot, and it didn’t bother me that some of my good friends did and I followed my own rules in sex and love even when it appeared I was the only one.

I remain on oddball except that now I am proud of being one. Against the current; away from the current; watching the current, but in any case not always with the current. I still follow my own set of rules and those rules may change over time, but because they are my rules, only I have to be responsible for them. It’s what it’s right to me. Not what is right for all.

Unfortunately, when perception is so subjective, what appears appropriate to me may not be to others and I simply have to let that be and hope others let me be who I am, an oddball. Just like I let my oddball son be.

Different.

Just the way I like it.

2011-12-31T17:58:00.002-05:00

A Year Ends.

Looking back this was a year that brought some changes and many surprises.

A year that started with many mishaps and ended with much fortune.

A year when I experienced a forced hiatus in my running and my discipline was tested. A renewed passion that let me appreciate every run as small as it may be. It once again showed me there is a silver lining in all we face.

A year when major changes took place and decisions were made that marked the end of an era. Decisions that created space and energy for new things to happen.

A year when some relationships ended, old relationships rekindled, new relationships flourished.

A year when I cultivated friendships and reap the benefits of it.

When bitterness faded. Mornings awoke me with a smile and nights ended in peace.

A year when I drove my daughter, my youngest child to her new domain to start her life as a college student. A year when I learned to respect her choices and appreciate her presence in the priceless moments we still spend together.

A year full of gratitude for my health.

A year to say “Life is good”.

Happy and Healthy New Year!

2011-12-30T23:35:00.000-05:00

Shut Door

No door in my life has ever been totally shut.

I don’t know if I ever shut a door with the intention of never opening it again. Maybe at the time I felt it was permanent with raw emotions dictating my actions. In those moments when I slammed it shut, I am sure I meant to keep it that way.

There has never been a door in my life that has never opened when knocked on. Sometimes it has opened at a light touch and sometimes it has taken a little more trying, but it has always open.

It all depended (s) on the desire to get it opened. No promises of what lays behind it.

What is behind that door might be a new experience no matter how familiar it was before. A change brought by time since it closed.

Time does not stand still while we walk away. When we walk away from a feeling, a relationship, or a place, we relinquish any right to expect- let alone- demand anything from that which we abandoned. So opening a door might bring surprises. There were tears cried behind that closed door, there were routines that changed. Hardly anything stays the same.

That is not a bad thing.

Change is a good thing.

The core of who I am remains behind that closed door. Behind that closed door, I remain the person I was before. Hopefully enhanced and better…if not, at the very least different than who I was before. That might be a good thing. It really depends on what you expect when you open that door.

I make no promises other than if you knock, I’ll open.

2011-12-26T10:43:00.003-05:00

"My Peace I Give to You"
Running way too late to make it to my favorite priest’s service, I settled for a church on my way. A place I’ve never been too, but catholic anyway; how different could it be.

I sat in one of the last rows behind a group of 5. Within a few minutes I knew I had made a mistake. The people in front of me were mentally challenged. They chanted, talked, blew their noses and behaved somewhat erratically. One of the 5 seemed to be the group leader and she kept them under surveillance.

I kept thinking of that moment when, in the service, we offer each other the sign of the peace. I did not want to shake hands with the people in the front row.

I shook my head realizing how petty my thinking was in a house of worship, but aware of it, I still looked for a way out. Short of walking away and choosing another seat, I didn’t see how I could escape.

The priest recited Jesus teachings: “Peace I leave with you, my piece I give you”. I shook the hand of the guy next to me and waited. The 5 smiled and hugged each other. One of them turned around, extended her hand and warmly said “Merry Christmas. Peace be with you”. There was so much peace and joy in her face, I felt ashamed of myself. I took her hand and replied Merry Christmas. The other 4 extended their hands with the same expression. I smiled and shook their hands.

There I was, in full use of my mental capabilities, spending my reasoning to judge others and those challenged in front of me were teaching me a lesson, a lesson of humbleness, peace, and appreciation.

I closed my eyes then and prayed for that peace we are urged to give to others in a handshake to invade me. For the hatred deserved or undeserved that surrounds me to dissipate, for the softening of my own heart and that of others.

The service was the same as any other Sunday service, but I was different, this time I listened, this time I learned.

Peace to all.

2011-12-17T00:05:00.003-05:00

It Never Dies
Love is something eternal; the aspect may change, but not the essence”. Vincent van Gogh.

I believe that, I do believe in the perennial existence of love although at some point in the midst of a break up I have not, I admit.

In those nights of sleep interrupted by the pain of a break up that suffocated me; on my knees biting my fist not to scream when the anger fueled by the despair hid momentarily the love I felt, I created the illusive conviction that love had died.

It has seemed like death because every deep love that ends takes with it a piece of our lives. A part of us dies with it.

But love does not die. Over time it changes from the way we knew it into a subdued form that resides quietly in an obscure place in our heart - not so much in our mind. The mind stores it all and has the tendency to remember the bad. The heart instead keeps the warmth of a love once felt like an urn keeps the ashes of a life loved. Not ashes that can be rekindled, instead feelings that never cease to wish the best for that one who marked our lives. Those feelings can live in a heart that now hosts peace.

Feelings of peace that if ever interrupted with the news of a mishap for the person we once loved would not hesitate one second to rush to their aid or at the minimum send a prayer through the universe to reach them.

For love never dies, it may change, but the essence remains as part of the mysteries of the soul.

Through time, through tears, through anger and through sadness, love remains. It changes, but it lives.

2011-12-12T00:30:00.000-05:00

I Like Panthers

"Prefiero Almas altivas y altaneras y no rastreras y serviles Se puede perdonar a la pantera pero nunca jamas un reptiles".

Translation:

I prefer arrogant and haughty souls and not petty and servile. One can forgive the Panther but never never the reptile.

Going through a very old box of documents, I found a napkin scribbled with this phrase. It dates back from my college years back in the 80s. Hard to believe it survived all my cleaning frenzies and more amazing is the fact that I have no changed my way of thinking in that regard in 30 years.

It is all about loyalty. That has not changed for me. It should never change.

I agree with the phrase; I can take the nasty bitch and not the sugarly sweet back stabber.

I can take the nastiness of a passionate moment if I must, and not the back stabbing of a premeditated act.

The deliberate and intentional wrong doing disguised in phony shades is much more difficult to digest than the right out cruel person.

If I had to choose, I’d like it right in my face and not in my back. The backstabber is a lot crueler.

I can, as many people would, understand the irrational moment when words and actions are uncontrollable rather than the conscious sitting down to destroy page by page something or someone.

That’s the difference between the panther and the snake.

I never cared for snakes.

2011-12-08T23:23:00.003-05:00

I'm Confused.

When Sean Penn was punching paparazzi for following him and girlfriend Madonna, an anchorman said, “if he dislikes publicity so much why date the most famous woman in the nation?”

Tough sh*t. It’s part of the game; whoever chooses a public life, must deal with the public.

Dealing with the public is not easy in any capacity. The receptionist, the bank teller, the cashier, the waitress, they all have very difficult jobs.

My voluntary job is somewhat public. “Somewhat” because it is not full time-this is all I do- job, but while I deal with the race, I deal with the public.

“Myriam, get a facebook page so you keep us informed”

"Myriam, too many posts".

"I love your updates"

"Myriam, too many emails".

"I like all the new initiatives".

“Myriam, too many things.

Ok, then…

We can never please everyone, but one thing we can never do is take what the public say personally. After all, we are in it by choice and whoever chooses to be in the eye of the public, must deal with the public.

Tough sh*t.

2011-12-05T23:21:00.000-05:00

Moosing

I browsed lazily the chocolate store with no intention of purchasing anything. Nothing called my attention until I saw the sign “Do not touch the Moose”. Oh God, how I wanted to touch that chocolate Moose I had not noticed before!

I had seen many on our way. Moose on roofs of shops; on signs; on country stores; definitely a popular figure on the moosefest town, but only that one with the sign made me want to touch it. What if it falls? I thought, what if I get yelled at in the middle of that crowded store...I didn’t want to risk it so I refrained.

I am not sure if it’s in my personality or in everybody’s. That which is forbidden or taken away becomes so desirable. And so I wanted it. I wanted that Moose.

Diets didn’t work for me because they enticed me to want what I was not allowed to have.

I wonder if that is why I – we – struggle with rejection. Not to take away from the feelings and affection to the item that rejects, but if it wasn’t for the rejection I wonder if we – I –would struggle so much with it.

I have gradually and willingly outgrown many desires and many feelings, and I have struggled badly with others that have been forced on me, or forbidden from me or in other cases, rejected by them.

Not to take away from the beauty and creativity of the chocolate Moose, but without the sign I would not have noticed its existence and if I had, I would have outgrown quite rapidly any desire to feel it and eat it.

2011-11-30T00:17:00.000-05:00

One Day At A Time

Addictions are difficult. Overcoming them is even more difficult.

I can tell they are, but I never had an addiction. I made sure I never did.

No, it is not that simple. I am not that good. It was not a simple “This is not for me, blah blah blah” choice, rather I lived the repercussions of somebody’s addiction. That was enough of a lesson.

I lived the fear that an addiction induces in others. The instability of the moment that is always unpredictable and which unpredictability becomes predictable.

It was not a choice I made; it was more the fear of ever being so out of control to hurt others and to regret it the day after. So I stayed away from anything that could possibly present a risk; away from anything that could get me into that abyss from which escaping was so difficult. It was not morals or upbringing, it was fear. Fear of being what I dreaded. Fear of becoming that which I feared. Fear of being ashamed of who I was.

Fear rules my life, I guess.

Regardless of where I am or what I do now, I recognize how difficult it is for those who are in it. I can imagine what it is like to stop something which makes us feel good; something we really like and to know we can never do it again, not even once because it would let the gates loose again.

There was a time when losing weight was difficult for me. When not eating what I ate and when I ate it was a challenge. That was difficult. A chemical addiction must be even more difficult.

Why then enjoy wine you’d ask? Because I like it and as such I try to keep it under control with simple check and balances like my 40 some days of Lent or the week off after this or the week of after that. Tasks I impose on myself to know I can. But there are those who can’t. Those who would not consider 40 days, a week, a day without their pacifier. It is not to condemn, it is to pity and understand.

It must be difficult. And I wish when a person sits next to me and tells me of their clean time, I could tell them with certainty that they will remain clean and they will never go back.

But I can’t tell them that because I don’t know.

They don’t know.

It’s one day at a time.

2011-11-26T00:06:00.000-05:00

Far

Far more than you should, less than you did, you still cross my mind.

And then I wonder if you are as happy as you thought you would be

Far from me, more than I thought you would ever be, less than I wish you were

Was it worth the pain?

Distance is all that is left between.

Less than I wish, more than I thought

2011-11-20T20:48:00.003-05:00

Mundane Times

Sometimes you have to talk about grocery bags and children’s fever. You can’t always have a profound conversation” a friend said years ago.

Our coffee sitting between us, I pondered on her statement.

As it is with most things that require time to sink in, it took years before I would truly comprehend her message.

Life cannot be all that complicated and friendships not all intense, at least not every single time.

Over the years I have come to appreciate that comment.

It is the easy meetings at a Taco Tuesday or a run laughing at our dogs hair that frame all of those conversations of profound nature.

It is in the afternoons sitting on a couch listening to soft music or sipping on a glass of wine silently that I gain more appreciation for the “whole” of a relationship.

Its entirety.

Not every relationship, but those that have achieved a level of maturity. Those where a chance can be taken in enjoying a silence that is never uncomfortable nor threatening. Where words are not chosen and moments can be spontaneous.

It takes a while or some unique understanding to risk a moment of mundane conversation and still walk away feeling fulfilled and looking forward to the next time whether it’s about grocery bags or Macy’s sales.

2011-11-19T21:20:00.001-05:00

Don't Leave Home Without It

Some commercials are memorable even for a person who hardly watches TV.

One of them was the American Express commercial where a couple loses their money and suitcases while traveling to Italy, but” hey! No problem, ‘we have American Express”

Nothing against American Express. I, for one, have been a valuable member since 1990. I am valued and they appreciate my business. I get the choice to buy a battery operated clock for 2.99 at year end. They also send me a nice planner for free, free unless I forget to cancel the instantaneous member ship accepting the gift carries which will cost me another $79.95. And when I am late, they forget how valuable I am or on those occasions when I have been late on other cards, AE has closed my card to prevent me from over expending; they are so thoughtful.

I digress.

Back on track, I loved that commercial. You see the couple distressed over the loss of their luggage and money, then one of them, the smarter one… would that be the husband? Calls from a paid phone (a miracle in itself to find a working paid phone) and all is well; American Express furnishes them with travelers checks and the couple is shopping in all the expensive boutiques, dining at expensive restaurants and dancing on cruises . The commercial fails to mention American Expres,s no matter how convenient, must be paid at month end. Nice.

Simple simple math; what you spend must be covered at month end.

I would not be dining in the expensive restaurants, buying a new wardrobe or dancing on a cruise knowing all of it will be in one lump sum served to me at month end, unless I had tons of money in which case this post makes no sense.

Most commercials are deceiving as is TV. They want you to believe reality is more of a dream; buy this and look like this or in the AE commercial, be merry until you pay. Their only objective is to make you remember their product. Well, American Express got that point across; years later I still remember that commercial and the fact that I have to pay for the convenience at the end of the month.

2011-11-14T22:50:00.001-05:00

My Compadre, The Good Doer

This funny picture reminded me of my early months with a large company for which I had been hired. My small department was composed of girls my age of different nationalities. One of them was from the same country and city as me and we immediately befriended. The rest of the department talked and joked and I felt isolated. On occasion they would make plans for lunch and would leave the department while my friend and I stayed. Young and inexperienced, I wanted so much to quit and tell them before I left how I felt about them snobs.

My friend left for maternity leave and when she returned 8 weeks later I was one of the girls. I was included in the lunch plans, I talked and joked and felt part of them.

My friend was silently surprised, but more so was I.

I realized that the group in my department had not changed; my attitude did. The person who fed me negative information was gone. I no longer was told that no one liked me, that they made deleterious comments about me. During her 8 week absence I had a chance to see them, get to know them and give them a chance to get to know me. The result was we all liked each other.

Some of those girls remain my friends 20 years later.

The morale of the story is that we cannot judge by what others say about us. We cannot believe what others tell us. Usually they are projecting a fear within themselves.

I will always thank my Compadre little Good Doer's son (and the pregnancy) for allowing me to get to know the girls of that department and for the great times and lifetime friendships I built.

2011-11-14T09:24:00.002-05:00

Cycles

One of my most notorious weaknesses is the fact that I do not notice anything around me that is not live. Inanimate objects do not register.

Sort of embarrassing to be asked by a friend my opinion on her new couch when I don’t remember there was an old couch. I have a hard time describing my own house, the color of my walls. I cannot remember what anyone wore, but I can remember almost what anybody said, but that’s a different post.

My inability to register outside elements makes me at times miss beautiful surroundings. A waterfall during my runs, a change in the texture of a tree or even an odd shaped rock I might encounter in my runs.

Lately I’m beginning to notice that…I notice. At times I stop to observe a tree intertwined with another; the sound of the water in a river as I run next to it and, in my morning drives, I am mesmerized by the colors of the sky as the sun starts its ascend - not so much the drivers around me when they see me taking pictures as I drive.

Life is a cycle full of mini cycles. I think that each time one of them completes, another one starts and changes take place. I still don’t notice a house or a person’s outfit, right now I am comfortable noticing life happening around me and being happy to be in it.

2011-11-08T23:04:00.004-05:00

Giving and Getting

Gifts should be given without expecting anything in return. Nothing to get back.

Do it for the pleasure of giving…Ahhh! So there is something in return!

Pleasure.

Even the most philanthropic gifts give pleasure as pay back; the pleasure of knowing something good was done, someone was helped. Nothing to get in return…only some kind of satisfaction.

Some kind of acknowledgment that it was appreciated.

I will challenge anyone who says they give without wanting that recognition or at least that acknowledgment. I’d challenge anyone who would feel good after their gift was ignored or put down.

I sent a box of snacks to my kid in college. Nothing major, boxes of power bars, breakfast bars, dried fruit, cereal, gum sticks.

Stuff to snack on after her cross country practice.

Today I received her message. “I love it, all of it”

That acknowledgment was enough. No need to say more, just that makes me feel good, gives me pleasure.

It makes me feel like I did something good for someone I love. It makes me feel appreciated.

When giving is bettlitle or ignored or had I gotten a ”That food really sucked, Mama. You know I don’t like any of it” I don’t think I would have felt so good even if my intentions were to give with no expectations...so there are expectations.

I give and I’d do it even if I never get anything in return, but it sure feels good to be acknowledged and appreciated.

It makes me feel good.

Nothing to get back, but much more back than what I gave.

2011-11-07T21:46:00.000-05:00

The LOML

I’m feeling a wee romantic. To continue in that mood I am wondering about the “LOML” – the Love of My Life.

I have called the LOML that person who I loved with more intensity than others. Who through the year, I remembered with kindness. Whose departure from my life brought tears to my eyes even decades later. Whose presence was never replaced.

I am talking about someone who marked an era in my life. Whose memory accompanied me in my dark moments. An intensity I never found again. I am talking about that love that gets to the very bottom of your soul. That love that lifts you up in grandness, and fills your spirit with happiness; a love that takes you out of the spectrum of reality and when it’s gone the fog is too thick to find your way back. Yeah, I’m talking about loving in a way that was unimaginable to love. To wake up and smile and count the hours until you see that person. To feel your heart beat fast while you wait for the door to open. To get lost in a kiss. To embrace and not want to let go.

That kind of love. The Love Of My Life.

The Love Of My Life is one I can remember throughout my life as the greatest love. Someone who made me happy not for fractions of seconds, but for lengths of time that were buried in time in the deepest part of my self. Whose good memories carried me in difficult times. The love of my life should be a good feeling after it ended, more so after it ended. The LOML should be remembered fondly, with love, tears because it ended, not tears because it hurt me. Tears of sadness, not tears of pain.

If after years pass “good” is not part of it then it is not the love of my life. It is someone I loved and maybe I should not have.

It is a love, but not the LOML.

2011-10-31T23:32:00.000-04:00

That Naive

One of the biggest disagreements I’ve had with people is my naïveness.

Working in large companies where rumors were the dessert of the day, I remained faithful to friends and acquaintances and truly, in my heart, believing what I was told. “ She/He says that is not happening, so it is not.”

Most times I was wrong. That did not deter my conviction.

Sometimes I was right. That reinforced my faith.

I grew up with a person who distrust everyone. There was never a clean action. There was always a motive to every action. Nothing could ever be taken at face value because there was always something hidden. “Think bad and you’ll be right” kind of philosophy.

Well, guess what? I believe otherwise.

I believe in people. I take things at face value, I believe in what “you” tell me because I don’t see a reason for you to lie to me. Wait a minute, stop laughing and compose yourself. I want to give you what I want to have. I want trust, so I trust you.

I keep your secrets because if you trust me to share them with me your secrets are in a vault and if I ever share my secrets with you, I would want the same.

And that’s as far as our agreement goes. I trust you, but if you don’t trust me that is your choice and I will respect it.

I am okay with that choice. I am okay with being that naïve. I am okay with finding myself wrong most of the time.

What I am most Okay with is being honest, being true to “you”, believing in you, in whatever you tell me and most than anything, I am really okay with knowing that no matter what comes or goes, I will always have your back.

Because I’ll believe in you. I am that naïve.

2011-10-29T21:36:00.002-04:00

Natural Progression

“Dinosaurs were selected for extinction. You are messing with Nature.”

I remember that line from a movie I didn’t care too much for – I hardly ever care for a movie, I must add, but that line stuck with me.

There are times when we mess with the natural order of things, with the natural progression of life. There are times when we try to force something to be, something that life has selected for extinction.

Not to say that it all should be accepted as is and nothing should be fought for, but refusing to see that there are things that cannot be, should not be is going against the current; it is messing with Nature, if you will. When something does not fit, it will never fit and forcing it into place will not yield good results.

I have been there more times than I like to admit. I am not a person to give up easily. I am one to try to make things what they are not because….I think I can.

There have been relationships that I’ve tried to turn around after their natural progression had taken them out of my life. People in them I thought I could change…I thought I could change myself to give us both what I thought we needed. It never happened.

I believe change is possible. I also believe there are things that are impossible to change. I believe there are things that are impossible from the start.

I believe there are things selected for extinction and we should not stop their progression.

2011-10-27T23:17:00.001-04:00

Lesson Learned
I grew up in a somewhat non prejudiced family. Somewhat means they were prejudiced, just not as much as others.

I learned to identify people by the color of their skin and there were some stereotypes that were given to me in my upbringing. Who was lazy, lowlife, good, intelligent, etc. could be known just by looking at them and knowing their ethnic background. All based on the greatest assessment of all, the color of their skin and their ethnicity.

As I became an independent individual I realized how wrong those assumptions were and I learned that much of what we are is determined by our social economic status. There is as much crime in a low income white neighborhood as there is in a low income black neighborhood.

I was determined to give my children a better chance at assessing people based on their own qualities and the only way I knew how was to refrain from offering any preconceived assumptions of ethnicity.

One day my son, then 8 years old, was watching a boxing match. A black guy and a white guy fought for the heavy weight championship. We rooted for the black guy who had a much better style. My son rooted for the white guy. When the match was over, the black boxer won. My son jumped up and down and smiled broadly. Yes, he won, my guy won!!! He exclaimed.

Baby, your guy lost. The black guy won. I shared.

He looked at me confused.

The white guy won! He said with emphasis. The guy with the white shorts won!

I realized then that the black boxer had white shorts.

My job was done.

2011-10-24T14:35:00.005-04:00

Good In All

I believe there exists a duality in ourselves. Not symmetrically divided. At times one area weighs more than the other and it might fluctuate.

Such is the case when I think of the good in people.

I believe there is good in all – well, yes. I do concede a few exceptions, like those who enjoy the suffering of others such as serial killers, etc. Those are not humans.

There is good in the average human being even if at times I might lose sight of it and others of mine.

I have loved people because of the good I saw in them; and those who loved me have done so for the same reason. Some have hurt me and I have hurt them, not because I didn’t love them, but because I didn’t know how to love them and I was hurt probably for the same reason, because they didn’t know they were hurting me, or because they ceased seeing the good in me or because…just because sometimes we hurt who we love.

There have been times when I have briefly stopped seeing the good in some

people, but I must always remind myself that I loved them once, and when I did it was for all the good I saw in them, and that knowledge is something I must never lose sight of.

2011-10-21T22:39:00.004-04:00

Remembering The Unrelated

The puppy jumped on my lap while I typed. His cute face snuggled against my body. I held his face in my hands and pulled his ears back. I pressed his nose, squeezed his face and made his paws danced. While the agreeable ball of fur sat on my lap I remembered my Porkchop. I had done the same to him; pulled his ears, played with his paws, squeeze his little face, squeeze his little body against mine. Porkchop had given me some happiness…my little guy is doing that now.

I had not thought about Porkchop in a while, not on a daily basis like I used to. Honestly, I have not missed him in a long time. His memory has been overshadowed by the new ball of fur that came into my house a year ago not to replace him, just to be an addition. The addition has become a part of my routine, a part of my day. Little by little, his presence has faded the strength of Porkchop’s absence and filled its void. Yet, today, his mere presence reminded me of Porkchop.

New and exciting additions sometimes bring back memories of old times, old feelings. Even when the present may seemingly be better than the past, the memory goes back and remembers and…misses.

It is okay to remember sometimes when we can remember happy memories, when the reminiscences allowed in that brief period don’t bring us down with sad feelings. Sometimes, like with my Porkchop, there is nothing bad to remember so his memory is welcome even if not frequent anymore. If there was, the memory would not be a happy one to host, yet it would pop up every so often as memories tend to do.

Luckily, Porkchop is a welcome memory even if a new puppy takes my present attention. I remember him less frequently, but always just as warmly.

2011-10-17T12:49:00.004-04:00

Lucky to Be Me

I almost dread that question; “are you a cancer survivor?”
It is seemingly a badge of honor that changes people’s perception of me when they hear about it.

“Are you?”

“Yes” I reply. “Same insecure opinionated obnoxious person as before, just a little more afraid”.

Not much more different than those who deal with daily battles, I should add.

I, like some others, deal with fear. I wake up like a recovered alcoholic hoping for the day to go well. Like a depressed person, hoping not to slip back into the dark side. Like a diabetic, I hope not to get sick again. Like a heart patient, I hope I never have a sudden attack.

I hope. We all hope.

I have some advantages that others don’t. I don’t take medication, my life is normal without external aids.

Sometimes when that question hits, it makes me think I am different then I realize I am the same, insecure, obnoxious, fearful of tomorrow. But one thing I have I didn’t before is, I am grateful for today and what it offers. I am grateful for those who enter my life and choose to stay for the ride. I am grateful for the awareness; I am lucky that I have it.

Next time I am asked that question I should answer more simply:

I am…I am lucky.

2011-10-13T14:08:00.003-04:00

Tales From a Marathon Not Run

I had signed up for a “repeat” marathon with the only purpose to train and run with my friends. We had plans of what it would be the night before, the day of, the hours after.

It was everything we envisioned…I just wasn’t part of most of it because of an injury that prevented me from training with them and ultimately running the marathon.

I still went to see them on different sections of the course. At a nice spot on mile 14 I enjoyed the surprised look in their faces when they saw me. I promised to see them later. Most of them delirious already didn’t remember, or care.

The best and most difficult part of a marathon is the last 6 miles of the course. That part when the body has left and the spirit is trying to hang on. I met them at that point. The ones who I sort of could keep up with.

Mile 20. An Advil for pain, a piece of gum, Gatorade anyone? A conversation no one wanted to have, but I offered it anyway. Some salt tablets for a stranger runner cramping at mile 24. Some wise cracks for the guy offering beer, greeting to the volunteers.

The last couple of miles seemed slower than they would be if I were running the race because the effort in my friends face and the sound of their labor breathing let me know they were digging beyond their physical stamina. With only a fraction of what they were doing I was feeling fresh, they were fading. Finally the end of the race, that promised finish line and it was over.

All in all it was a wonderful experience. I got all that I signed up for, the run and the laughs, the cheers, the photos, the celebration after. It was not a marathon I ran; it was a moment to be around people whose company I enjoy in a sport I love.

2011-10-06T08:24:00.000-04:00

Say It Right

Of the many things I missed of being in love, the ability to say and feel “I love you” was among the top ones.

The casual “love you” to a friend felt good, but did not suffice my internal fire. I missed the intensity of the feeling when mouthing that phrase. Feeling alive as I said it.

I missed holding the person who made my heart beat faster and in that hug whisper I Love You. I missed waking up in the middle of the night and saying it again without being heard.

A strong feeling vibrated with each syllable. Expressing my love to the one who had it all.

I missed the person, the moments, the laughs, and even the tears, but more than all I missed having a person to say I love you to and feel that every word carried a wave of magic that embraced us both.

Of the many things of being in love or plain loving someone, being able to say I love you, and say it right is one of the great gifts of that feeling.

2011-09-29T19:10:00.000-04:00

Flawlessly Loved

I love to be loved for my imperfections. The ones I so hard try to hide. That love gives me permission to be flawed, to be me, not the one on stage, rather the one I really am; imperfect, mistake maker, irrational at times, absurd at others.

I love it when my apologies suffice, when acknowledging I was wrong is enough. When my fears don’t scare, my slips are enjoyed and my insecurities accepted.

I love the chance to be who I am and to be loved because of it, flawed, imperfect, me. No more and no less, just who I am.

2011-09-23T08:17:00.000-04:00

Slaved

When I gave up the fight with the scale, I lost the weight. It seemed the more I weighed myself, the more the scale had its way. I saw it mocking me every morning and even more every evening. I made it worthy of my torment for hours and days after by allowing it to show me what bothered me. Not only I allowed it, I sought it. And because I gave it so much attention, what I saw defined who I was at the time. And who I was, was an unhappy person depending on the results of the scale.

I was slaved to it.

Obsessions are slaving.

There are many kinds of obsessions and they all seem to creep on the emotional.

And when the obsessions are of an emotional nature the trip is even tougher.

Pursuing a lost love that mocks your feelings like the scale did mine. Playing the mind games, “if I lose this much weight then …” “If I behave this way then…” Games to be loved.

There is no rationalizing an obsession. The emotional toll is simply overpowering. The anguish felt after is painful.

How stupid and obsessive.

Easy for me to say now that I don’t depend on the scale or…a lost love.

I don’t know what the magic key to the door of freedom is. Is it progressive or a BANG that wakes you up? At some point we reach a healthy state where obsessions are not welcome or allowed and they get purged out of our systems.

I still have a scale and occasionally I step on it, but its result does not determine my happiness.

2011-09-20T22:23:00.007-04:00

Time

Time makes a very big difference in the way we feel. It can cover up the pain of the past and at times it can remove it completely.

When the pain is only covered up, those feelings can come up to the surface at the drop of a hat.
Ten years ago was a difficult time for me and my kids. My daughter laid in a hospital for two weeks while I dealt with my own issues. Time allowed scars to fade and recovery to progress. Today the kid who almost lost her leg due to a dog attack is a cross country runner.
However, when I allow my mind to go back to that moment, the tears flow freely. I feel the anguish of seeing my little one covered in blood muttering she loved us while I ran to the car holding her with her ear massacred. It is then I shake myself out of the memory and realized time has done us all good. Yet the feelings remain as strong under the surface.

Sometimes we move on, sometimes we move over

2011-09-19T21:12:00.001-04:00

Tattoo

She extended her arm exposing a large tattoo: "Jessie, I'll love you forever" while calling Dan to her side.

I hesitated internally before assessing who Dan was. She and
Dan held their kids hands and walked out of the store.

Dan was in her life now, probably loved him forever. Unknown where Jessie stood at that point.

The woman had that permanent tattoo made at a time when she loved Jessie forever.
I have loved that way.

I have been loved that way.

Forever has an end date.

2011-09-16T08:13:00.001-04:00

On Trusting

When at 11 I gave my daughter a cell phone before they were popular in kids her age, my coworkers gave me a disapproving look. When at 15, the earliest the bank allowed it, I gave both of my kids a credit card, their eyebrows raised even higher.

“You will be sorry” they predicted.

I never was and I never thought I would be.

They never took advantage of the phone nor the credit cards. On the contrary, they learned discipline and respect while giving me peace of mind by knowing that they always had money albeit plastic in their pockets. I knew they would never betray my trust.

I am a firm believer that restriction fosters defiance. Mistrust entices rebellion. The more we are restrained, the more we crave freedom. The more we feel we must climb the fence of oppression.

I find mistrust offensive. I have resented restriction and in many ways I have defied it.

Mistrust stifles desires, curtails creativity, limits progress.

I believe that trust reaps trust. Not every time? Maybe, but in my book it does.
Freedom is, among other things, to breathe without the fear of suspicion. To act freely without having to lie and hide, it is having the opportunity to be honest.

My kids never needed to lie or hide; at least not about a credit card or a phone and I hope they won’t have the need to lie about anything else.

I give them trust and…I harvest trust…so far and I am sure, always.

2011-09-13T13:20:00.002-04:00

Whining My Way Through

I confess I can be very frugal at times. No, not frugal down right cheap. This is one of those times.

It was a hot summer day a couple of years ago and I had taken mass transit to a doctor’s appointment. After, I took the subway to get a haircut. Out of the salon, I felt a glass of wine would suit me well on this steamy day, but not wanting to #1 spend the time at a place and more importantly #2 not wanting to pay the outrageous prices of New York City, I opted for stopping at a liquor store and getting the small little bottles . I figured I could conceal my feat in a soda cup. I had it all planned out (no paper brown bags for me!).

The liquor store was tended by a very friendly old Asian guy. I brought the 4 pack to the register and he with a smile proclaimed “ten dollars”.
“Ten dollars? I repeated with exasperation. Are you serious? This 4 pack is $6.50 where I live! No, thank you”.

I continued walking while thinking what a crook that old man was.

No other liquor stores appeared on my path. I walked an ungodly number of blocks, took another train and ended up at Grand Station more sweaty and tired. There with 45 minutes to spare before my scheduled train, I sat at a restaurant.

“One glass of merlot. Please” I asked the waiter. “Certainly”, he replied .

Two minutes later, the wine arrived. A little bottle...

“That will be 7 dollars, please”.

2011-09-12T17:12:00.000-04:00

Exchange

Love was never in doubt, you had all I could feel

The reason to wake up every morning

And the reason I didn’t want to many others.

You chose a freedom love does not offer

You looked for what I did not give.

And you found a path away from me.

Did you find what you sought?

And more than what you lost?

Maybe something new,

Something I didn’t offer?

Loneliness you never knew.

2011-09-11T18:10:00.001-04:00

Overcast Skies Chance of Rain

I'm glad today is overcast with intermittent rays of sun. Different from that day of beautiful clear skies ten years ago.

We are going to remember regardless. It's not easy to forget.

Often it's easier to remember the sorrow, the grief of the loss, seldom the joy of the presence. Or if both, one inevitably overpowers the other.

It's hard to forget what has made an impact and created a negative memory. Hard to understand there can be so much evil in people. In fact, i don't want to understand evilness because if I did, I would be tempted to justify it and evil cannot be justified.
I want to remember. I want to remember more than the loss. I wish we could remember the good times over the pain, but it's hard. Maybe we are condemned to remember only the pain.

2011-09-06T12:24:00.001-04:00

Shy

I considered myself shy, extremely shy as I was growing up and also insecure.

I never learned the sidewalk games and spent most of my time reading and taking apart whatever old radios or clocks there were laying around. I was odd (no comments on that!). I held on to the shy label for a long time even if it was cleverly disguised.

In school somehow I ended up friends with most of the girls in class (in my Country, there is one classroom and many teachers. Students do not switch classrooms, teachers do). Being a top of class student, it was to be expected not to be liked by the “bad girls”, but for whatever reason, I was. There was a little bond between us. In retrospect, I was the nerdy kid who listened to them, their stories at home, some of which not pleasant. Sometimes they’d ask me to skip the bus and walk home with them. Most of them were a year older. They’d introduce me to others as their friend and protected me if any foul language was going around -“she is nice” they would say with sincerity. (I got them fooled, you are thinking).

I remained shy. I lacked skills in social gatherings and I felt awkward in them. Meeting new people, knowing what to say after a handshake ran chills through my body.

In the workforce, to my surprise, my desk was a meeting place. People would gather around early in the morning with coffee in their hands, jokes and laughs. Some would stop by during the day. During my lengthy employment with a company, whatever little groups there were, I seemed to be part of all of them. If Underwriting was celebrating a birthday, I was invited even if I was in Claims. I celebrated the birthdays with the 5 girl Birthday group, the “let’s go to somebody’s house” 7 people group and all the little nonsense we found to have fun. Some of the friends I made have remained in my life through the years.

I cannot understand it any other way. I cannot understand the concept of spending that many hours year after year and make no friends. I’m glad it has been different for me.

At times when I remember the shy insecure kid, and still see part of those traits in me, I feel I have been blessed and lucky to have made so many friends and to have overcome that fear I used to feel when around people.

I don’t consider myself shy anymore, I no longer disguise my shyness, but I remain somewhat insecure. Well, something from that nerdy kid has to remain with me.

2011-09-01T13:45:00.002-04:00

Words That Move

Songwriting fascinates me; the way lyrics can move a person, evoke a feeling, bring a tear to one’s eyes expressing what in no other way can be expressed is captivating to me. Like ballet dancing, I admire from a distance its figure, skill, grace. I’m too clumsy to attempt dancing plus I’m totally the most uncoordinated person ever, and in songwriting I lack the talent plus I’m tune deaf, it would never work. Nonetheless, I appreciate it and enjoy it.

I like to hear what inspires a creative person. I wonder how a columnist can come up with an interesting topic every day or how a poet can write an interesting poem daily like Marc, the Walking Man and each time a different topic.

In my entry level writing, sometimes an idea runs circles in my head, but even if brilliant, once I put it in writing it does not hold its wonder. Others come easily. At times, it can be a passing thought that shapes into an essay. It may be a song that makes me wonder how it would feel to… or if… Sometimes what I write relates to me, sometimes it is an experience someone else had, sometimes there is no reason for it, it is simply writing.

In an interview, Stevie Nicks expressed where she gets her inspiration. It comes from anywhere and suddenly it becomes a poem and later a song. Some of her poems don’t leave her house.

Writing is a free expression and why a certain topic is written should not be questioned; as such some of my writing is not always in a post.

Does all your writing leave the house and make it to a post or a column? What inspires you? How much of what you write is you? Do you print or publish everything you create?

I wonder what inspires all of the people I read. The life though reflections of Zuzana and her sunsets, the meanderings of Susan that always make you stop and ask yourself a question and the wonderful use of the English language by those two women; the life as an open book of Deb; the survival and triumph of Sarah; the sensual poems of Dulce; the entertaining stories of Doris which have now made it into a book; the hope of Mahen; the cultural adventures of Sage; the interesting and at times controversial Snow; the diverse topics of Chris and her genuine writing that also made it to a wonderful book ; and many others.

Some of the essays and posts I read move me just like a song does. I wonder what inspires that thought that makes its way to the keyboard and then to us and sometimes bring a tear to our eyes.

2011-08-29T18:50:00.001-04:00

The Dorm

You are way too happy. You are not dropping off your kid, I bet, I said with my smart ass humor in response to the applauding and cheering of the Welcoming Team as my car approached the curb to the dorm.
Awwww, I’m sorry, we’ll take good care of her.

I had already had my intruding conversation with my daughter.
I can stay over and help you unpack.

No, Chrissy and I have some ideas for our room.

Do you want to have dinner?

The college is doing something for the Freshmen.

Uhhh, we can have breakfast in the morning.

Her slight smile told me she understood my reluctance to let go, yet she remained firm.
I’ll be okay.

It is that independence that always made me so proud. She does not disappoint, she remains self-assured and independent. At times I wish there was more of the toddler who used to walk out of the room looking for me, or the little girl who had the tea parties with Mrs. Pew.

“Would you like to try one of my freshly baked cookies?” I’d say in the most pathetic sophisticated accent.

“Don’t mind if I do”

And then, there is the image of her in the attic waiting for me to get her down:

“We’re trapped uphere; like rats, I tell you, like rats”.

That sense of humor that never falters.

The humor has remained, yet my little toddler has long grown and the little girl is now a Freshman.

She has grown and outgrown so much. I have not. I am still the mother wanting to spend time with her even if in our own separate ways like we have been doing for the past 5 years. Always bugging her with some silly remark to let her know I am present.

So much has changed in our lives. We traded the bike for the car, the tea parties for the sleep overs at friends, the dolls for the laptop, and the High School for the University. A long process that only has one direction, forward.

That direction she will follow and I will do the best to keep up with her now in a less visible and prominent place in her life, but still here, still present. Always present just in case she needs help getting down from the attic at some point.

2011-08-26T14:42:00.002-04:00

Urgency

There is a sense of urgency in my life. Not that I live every day as it were my last day, far from that. I have mastered the art of not thinking about an end to my days. I live each day grateful for it and literally making plans for tomorrow. That is the extent of my future planning.

Long range plans beyond tomorrow are different.

In my life, major decisions over a period of time require a certainty of wellbeing that I don’t possess and of which I was robbed a decade ago. What is taken for granted by all “In two years I will…” is a sea of uncertainty handled with hope and prayer.

When a decision is made in my life, I know its execution will greatly, if not entirety, depend on my health. The time in between my tests installs in me that urgency; a desire to get it done before something might change my resolve.

So, my pace in executing a plan is faster than that of others who do not have that urgency in their lives. When a decision is made that greatly alters my life, I want enough time to implement it and hopefully enjoy its outcome.

There is only so much time in between tests in which confidence is my companion and it is during that time that I hope to execute my decision.

Life is totally uncertain for everybody – no one can ever predict their future and their tomorrow can change in an instant, but some of us have a greater sense of awareness for that uncertainty built in us. And that awareness is the urgency in my life.

2011-08-23T23:54:00.002-04:00

A Step Back

Does taking a step back always help in moving forward?

Sometimes it does, sometimes it doesn’t? That’s a noncommittal answer, if you ever saw one.

In running terms, rest is as important as exercise. Taking a step back, for the most part, makes the come back stronger by allowing injuries to heal and muscles to recover. It is a conscious decision made for the betterment of the activity. It has a time limit when recovery is expected.

That is not the case in personal matters. Feelings and relationships are not easily calculated if at all.

I have found that taking a step back in a relationship is beneficial when the cessation of it has not been a deliberate decision. Its interruption happened because it happened and there is no set time to return. It is deemed over.

Returning from such presumed demise is unexpected and uncalculated, fresh and appreciated now that it is stripped off of the burdens that brought it down in the first place. It is free of blame because in the absence of a conscious decision there is no resentment.

In such returns the relationships rekindle at times with stronger, cleaner, and more honest intensity. Just like coming back from a step back after an injury can make a runner better, a refreshed relationship can reach higher levels.

It is not so much taking a step back that assures a runner a stronger return; it is not a step back that makes a relationship better; it is returning with an appreciation for the healing that took place during the pause and allowing it to get stronger.

It is enjoying it now as if it were the first time.

2011-08-19T22:06:00.000-04:00

Good Custom

My long time coworker and good friend was big on Halloween. Years earlier she made me a nun habit from scratch. The wimple made of a T-shirt’s neck, the veil out of a black pillow case, the habit itself an old graduation gown, the neck from another t-shirt, and of course the shoes and the rosary.

I looked my part.

A year later, a new manager in our department shared her enthusiasm for customs. When she heard the Company had a custom contest, she called a meeting. She wanted our department to participate; we would be Hollywood celebrities. As such, she assigned each one of us a role. The role of Madonna was assigned to my friend. Not only was my friend 3 or 4 inches shorter, Madonna was also 125 lbs ligher.

Should I hang a sign around my neck “I am Madonna”? My friend inquired?

The room erupted in laughter.

If you have to tell people who you are, then you are not. She added.

Wise woman. Funny and wise.

Take that statement as far as you want.

No words written or verbal are needed to describe the obvious, for actions should exemplify a trait.

It does little good to tell the world how much I love thee when the person I talk about does not see it in my actions.

I cannot tell the world I am honest when my conduct is dishonest.

I cannot state what my actions don’t follow. That I am what I am not, that I do what I don’t. I can convince the world and try to convince myself, but deep down inside, that nagging feeling like a pebble in my shoe lets me know I did not convince the one person who needs no signs hung around my neck to know who I am.

Me.

2011-08-15T21:29:00.003-04:00

The Storm

Within minutes on the highway the sky darkened and the wind blew with unprecedented fury in one of the biggest storms of the season.

The traffic came to a stop as the heavy rain made driving nearly impossible. 45 minutes between exits I realized I’d never make it to my destination on time.

Change of plans and location.

Using my umbrella as a shield to safeguard me from the horizontal rain, I ran to the restaurant’s entrance. A woman sitting at the small outdoors bar with her brother waived her hand and yelled "come sit here and enjoy the rain”.

We laughed and agreed.

The rain kept falling with extraordinary impetus and the sound of the drops on the roof grew so loud during the heavy downpours that it blocked our laughter.

Then it stopped and a gorgeous rainbow split the sky in a perfect curve. People from the restaurant walked outside to capture the rainbow in their phones.

I didn’t have to. I had been there the whole time, from beginning to end or better yet, from end to beginning.

Sometimes a picture perfect moment comes out of nowhere and it is nice to have front seats to witness it.

2011-08-11T23:54:00.001-04:00

Monotony

I noticed the couple in front of us not because they were different, but because they were so common. They sat at a table for two facing each other. Each stared long at the menu setting it aside later. They looked away searching for the waiter uninterested with each other.

Their meal came quickly. There were no appetizers or drinks ordered. They both dug into their plates staring at them as if to make sure it was not going to walk away from the table. There were a couple of words said and a monosyllable response. The waiter came back with the check and as payment was made, the couple exited the dining room.

I looked away from the chatting of my own table and wondered if they go out to eat to avoid cooking or if eating out is part of the monotony they have fallen into.

I wondered if they have had a lot to say when they first met. If they delayed their meal to spend more time with each other. If they were ever sorry the check came so quickly. Did they wish they could go back to that place? Were they ever there?

Monotony is hard to avoid. As hard as one may try to keep the spark alive, the tedium of a routinary life settles in. The laughter becomes old. The jokes told too many times. The arguments too stale to even bother getting into them and what’s left is a table for two with a meal in between.

2011-08-09T22:11:00.006-04:00

Better Off

You’ll find somebody better. He didn’t deserve you.

I hated those words. I hated that advice.

I hated for people to find a short cut to my suffering. To dismiss those nights I stayed up staring at the ceiling. I hated for them to tell me how I deserved better. I hated for them to belittle what I felt for this love that was gone.

That love for which I cried every morning in the shower pretending the shampoo had gotten in my eyes. Every day while I drove. I hated to hear I was better off. Was I better off now that I cried every day? When I stared at a clock waiting for a day to end? Was I better off? It did not seem so to me even if their words meant the best for me.

I understood the intentions. I knew they meant well. But they did not feel what I was feeling.

And what I was feeling did not find any good in my heartache. My heart did not understand logic.

I wished him all the best away from me, but Good God, it hurt to know he did better. To know he had found in somebody else what he did not find in me, hurt. That he was happy without me, hurt.

Only when I was totally over my love I could embrace the idea of another woman in my place and only then I could be happy for him. Not before, not when I was miserable.

I am careful when I console a person through a breakup. I am careful not to tell them how lucky they are to get rid of that blood sucking leech that found pleasure in hurting them. How good they will feel years later when they finally realize they were doormats to someone who enjoyed walking over them, treating them like dirt. I am careful not to say any of that because right now, all they know is how much it hurts.

That kind of hurt is blind to the knife that causes the wounds.

So I don’t say that. I don’t tell them I was wrong when I didn’t believe I was better off. I tell them I know how it feels. I know it hurts. Beyond belief, it hurts.

And I know they are better off.

2011-08-07T21:53:00.001-04:00

Replacement
When something is lost by accident or force, there is an urge to replace it. Not totally a bad idea. A lost job must be replaced – good luck finding one in this economy, and in our electronic life, a computer gone bad is replaced almost immediately with a better newly improved one. Material things are easily replaced with a better quality one, and the old one is a thing of the past.

Such is not the case with emotional losses. Although the urge to replace them with a better more efficient item is of a more urgent nature, the choices are not necessarily always better or carefully made.

The urge is to calm the emptiness, fill the void. Satisfy the yearning.

The truth is, it cannot be done. Distractions are just that, distractions and they can become whatever it’s made of them.

That yearning only quiets down when the mourning is gone. When there are no more tears to cry, for as long as there are tears, they will be cried when the replacement looks away.

There is no way to replace a laughter, the sound of a voice, the look in one’s eyes, or the warmth of a smile. A way of holding a hand, of saying I love you, of saying I’ve missed you. It cannot be replaced.
As deep as the desire to replace an emotional loss is, it is not as simple as going into Best Buy and selecting a new appliance. Finding a way to mitigate a loss is perhaps done in other ways, but not by choosing a new item off the shelf.

What has been lost can be found again, brand new, separate and independent and it is found when the demand for replacement is no longer a need.

2011-08-03T23:42:00.000-04:00

Absolute Power

What do you make of the senseless beating of a mentally ill homeless man to his death? What do you make of the beating of anyone to death? What do you make of the hurting of anyone? What do you make of the abuse of anyone?

Not in self-defense, simply in anger.

Anger and power. One more than the other or the combination of the two creates a deadly outcome.
“Absolute power corrupts absolutely” - John Emerich Edward Dalberg Acton.

There is a part evil in every human being. A part of us that at times arises and shocks those in its path or caught in its rage. Some succumbing more to the evil inside than others, or perhaps some just able to control it more than others.

Power corrupts and absolute power corrupts more as the quote says. The oppression is greater and the tyrant taller when the victim is smaller. The abuser gains more strength in its abuse when the power is more absolute. When the victim has been subdued and has no way to turn; when the abuser feels empowered by the weakening of its target, the abuse turns crueler.

What do you make of the senseless killing of a defenseless man? What do you make of the mental and emotional beating of so many others? An emotional beating that kills just the same or leaves damaging scars for life.

There is no way to make sense of it other than there is a part evil in all of us that some control less than others.

2011-08-02T23:57:00.005-04:00

Jersey Boys

Winner of six Tony Awards, Jersey Boys is an acclaimed musical likely to please everyone. Music from the 60s that has transcended generations, it is suit for most ages.

The musical features the story of the band Frank Valli and the Four Seasons. Humor and music beautifully intertwined together. In between the play offers a glimpse at the personal facets of the members. Tony, a low life with a talent for music and easy money; Nick Massi, an uptight bass singer and guitarist. Bob Gaudio, singer and songwriter and Frank Valli, lead singer with a powerful falsetto voice.

Important as the music is the personal lives of the members. Tommy, a man who risks the stability of the group in pursuit of his selfish entertainment and depicts no respect for the three men with whom he spends most of his time; Frank who plays the role of the victim, slaving away to give his family everything they need, but his time. He eventually loses his wife and daughter and keeps his career.

And then there is Nick. The obscured complainer, always unhappy, talented singer who swears he can start his own group, he can do it better. Of much interest is a minor part in the play when Nick shockingly announces he is quitting the group in the middle of a tour. No reason, he simply wants to leave. That part takes importance in the epilogue when Nick states that his departure from the group followed a statement he did not intend to make, but once out, he felt he had to carry it out.

Jersey Boys is a humorous glimpse into what happens to four men on the road and what happens behind the scenes that ultimately destroys groups.

What goes on behind the scenes is most of the time more interesting than the story unraveling in front of the audience.

Jersey Boys is a good example of what its missed behind the curtain.

2011-07-27T23:12:00.002-04:00

Forever Young

Typically I was always friends with people older than I by at least a decade. As I have gotten older that pool of older people – older than I – have decreased and now I also have younger friends who, like me back then, enjoy the company of someone more “seasoned”.

Because my behavioral age has not equated my chronological age, on a one to one basis, I fail to see the difference between us and because thankfully there is no mirror to evaluate my reflection against theirs, I do not see my age marks or lines.

When in groups that appreciation changes and I see the differences distinctively; their friends’ manners or lack of make me cringe every time I find myself surrounded by their youth. What I would only dare do in the privacy of my bathroom - provided there is no one in the house - seems to be celebrated amongst the youngsters. “Must you?” I dare ask.

I easily blame the difference in (dis)taste or upbringing in our marked abyss in age, and then when I’m surrounded by those my age, I find myself also cringing from time to time, but this time not finding a reason to blame it on.

Youth, divine treasure.

2011-07-23T23:16:00.000-04:00

Under The Carpet

The term pick your battles can mean much more than the general concept of “don’t fight every little thing”; it can mean I don’t really give a rat’s ass to get into it anymore. I won’t even waste my breath replying. It can also mean I don’t want to disrupt the status quo of our lives together so let’s push the dirt under our carpet and keep going. All is well.

The outside observer wonders how they can stay together after putting up with so much. Others might think how wonderful they thrive in spite of their differences.

Thrive…that’s a good word.

Tolerate, put up, bear, accept, endure, are a few others.

A relationship young or old that lost its meaning is not worth the energy to fight for it and much less for anything within.

An old relationship settles more for the status quo. The dirt under the carpet. The “let’s pretend it is not killing us till we pay off the mortgage”, “till the kids are out of the house” , “till death do us part”.

So much easier to pick the battles.

Do you pick your battles A so no energy is wasted on the little stuff?
Do you pick your battles B because you don’t give a flying rat’s tail about the war itself?
Do you pick your battles C because it is impossible to disrupt the familiarity you are so used to?

A, smart choice.
B, you don’t care so who cares.
C, at some point the carpet cannot hide more dirt while still looking good to do its part.

Sometimes you just gotta go with wood floors.

2011-07-22T21:56:00.003-04:00

Wrongfully Right

I was made an offer I probably should not have refused. While working in the Medical Malpractice claim department, my boss asked me to be a claim examiner trainee. I had all that it takes, he said. Mainly my ability to get doctors at ease in their interviews was crucial in getting the information needed to process a claim. I declined. Aware of the high demand of a medical malpractice examiner and the high salary that eventually I would make, I declined.

It was a good job. Rewarding worthy cases defending hard working providers who, for the most part, were unjustly sued by patients or their families. But there were those others, a minority of them, whose case I found difficult to defend if assigned to me.

I had read many of the files. I knew enough to dismiss the bullshit cases and understand the real ones. I felt I did not have what it took to defend a case I didn’t believe in and that, mainly is what I would be doing.

The Claim Examiners tried to talk me out of my decision. I would defend my client – the doctor – and winning a case would only mean the other part didn’t prove theirs. Fair, they said.

Not to me.

How could I award the children of a dead young mother grossly misdiagnosed by her cardiologist a minimum settlement because she was just a waitress and her projected income was not high? Could I walk out of court and celebrate with my counterparts that the prosecutors didn’t prove how grossly inadequate the care rendered by my insured was?

Celebrate that those kids lost their mother who could have been saved had the cardiologist done what he was supposed to do.
It is a job and you do it. Eventually you’ll see the side of your client, I was assured.

The thought came to me when I saw Jose Baez smiling as his client walked out of jail acquitted for the death of her 2 year old daughter. A case that has impacted me as much as Susan Smith did 20 years ago. Does he believe in the innocence of his client or is it a job and its rightfulness doesn’t matter? Or better yet, do people convince themselves that their wrong is right? Does a person who causes harm sleep peacefully at night convinced that what they did was the right thing to do?

Must be.

I couldn’t do it then, I can’t do it now.

2011-07-14T23:23:00.001-04:00

Go For It

When I worked at a computer lab designed to assist low income people, one of the frequent visitors was a man in his early 40s. He was well spoken, showed signs of education, and looked totally broke in his ragged clothes and long hair.

He would entertain small conversations with me. Occasionally I would drive him to his apartment when I saw him walking carrying bags. One day he brought his portfolio with him. He was a physician assistant and had other diplomas. Had gotten into a relationship that had ended badly and he had gone the wrong way to the point of losing it all.

Every day this man came and got on the computer and wrote for hours. He wanted to create a visitor’s guide for his town. He attempted to create a newspaper. He sent emails. He registered on many programs.

Two years later in a new job while taking the train to Hoboken I ran into him. He was groomed and wore a nurse/physician assistant uniform. He told me he was studying in the City and the grant he got received was paying for the apartment – a nice complex I new, a car and his transport on Metro North.

I learned something valuable from that man. While on the train he shared "whatever it is that is out there and you want it, apply for it, fill out the application no matter how long you’ll have to wait because that time will pass and one day you will collect.

My friend, while you wait follow any dream regardless of how far away it seems. That time will come.

2011-07-09T22:47:00.002-04:00

A Needed Lesson

He walked by and smiled “good taste in glasses”. I smiled. My sunglasses were same as his.

He sat at a table close to ours with two other guys loud like he was. He was intimidating. Tall, heavy, dark tight sleeveless t-shirt, long gray beard, long chain hung from his neck. He wore boots with all kinds of spikes.

He would walk to the bathroom a few more times and smiled. I sat there listening to the band on this beautiful summer afternoon while enjoying the breeze coming from the lake.

The waitress approached us; the gentleman on that table is sending you the next round. I accepted more intimidated than grateful. I nervously looked over and nodded acknowledging the drink.

The crowd grew thinner as the sun began to sink in the lake. The tall man approached my table. “May I join you?” For whatever reason I said yes. He sat with us and another one of his friends did too.

He had an exquisite sense of humor and put me at ease quickly. In our conversation he told me about his love for bikes, how he had put aside riding while raising a family. Now retired after a successful career as an engineer and his daughters in college and one of them pursuing a career in singing, he had returned to riding. “My wife doesn’t like to ride, hurts her butt”. He told me what the long string of eagles on his chain meant. Each one won for competing in a bike tournament. He showed me his boots and the spikes, meant to strike and hurt someone, but really worn just for show, same as the knife on his belt. Never been used, he said with pride.

When the band stopped playing I said goodbye to the biker. I was having such an interesting conversation with him that I almost felt reluctant to leave. Walking to my car I felt ashamed of myself. I had judged this man so incorrectly based on my own stereotyping.

A few spaces from my car was his bike. I placed a sticky note on his tank “thank you. I learned at lot.

I did.

More than he ever thought he could teach me.

2011-07-06T00:15:00.001-04:00

The Juror

I would make a terrible juror. Let's be real; the term “Beyond reasonable doubt evidence" is customized to what each person considers reasonable. I, for one, go with what my feeble mind can comprehend as "ever possible" no matter how bizarre.

I can see a person reaching a moment of overwhelming desperation where she drives herself and her kids off a marina and drown all. I can concede a moment of incredible madness when an unthinkable action is committed– a moment, a brief moment, not more.

A moment, a regrettable moment followed by regret, guilt, shame.

It’s all wrong, it should never be, but it happens. Unforgivable. Inexcusable. It happens. Whatever degree of instability allows it to happen it remains wrong, but to some degree understandable.

Regardless of the reason -assuming there is ever a reason to hurt others- I can not understand the infliction of harm with no remorse.

I can not understand a person who rejoices in the harm of others or carries on after knowing of their mishap. I could not party, sleep at night, get a tattoo and carry on happier than ever knowing my dog drowned (assuming I didn’t kill the dog) while carrying its decomposed body in my trunk with tape around its mouth.

I can not understand a mother living happily ever after days after her daughter dies.

I would make a terrible juror. I would not want to know reasons. I would convict her, if not for murder for living a happy life after her daughter’s life ended.

I can not understand the infliction of harm with no remorse, no matter the reason, if there is ever a reason. I would convict whoever causes harm and rejoices in it.

2011-06-28T22:52:00.001-04:00

What I offer you

Me…not much, just me

An honest me.

The me who will never betray you

The me who will sit by your side in your quiet moments

The me who will be company in your lonely moments

I don’t have much to offer.

Just me

A me loyal to you.

Who will stand by you, who will defend you

Who will walk away with you when others walk away from you.

It is not a lot, I know.

Just me.

A me who will come when you call.

Who will listen when you talk.

The me who will never leave you unless you want me to leave you

The me who will hold your back, but won’t hold you back.

Me, a shadow, a silhouette if that’s all you need.

A fire I never gave anyone.

A truth you never received.

Me…the one...

Me, just me.

2011-06-26T20:59:00.001-04:00

Nothing More To Say (today)

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2011-06-22T22:23:00.003-04:00

La Maria

Her name was Nay. She was a princess in a small village; she had a husband and servants.

One day a ship docked in her shores and she was taken prisoner and taken to the New World. She never saw her siblings; her husband was killed trying to defend her; he children were taken prisoner too.

She was one of the lucky ones. She was sold to a good man, a good family that treated her with respect.

Nay whose name was later changed to Feliciana is one of the important roles in La Maria, one of the most notable novels of the Latin American Literature written by Jorge Isaacs. Beyond a beautiful book is the sad story of a woman who loses her identity, is purchased as an item and treated in many instances below human level and is forced to work as a slave.

That is the history many blacks have.

Back in my elementary schools days when I was required to read La Maria, Feliciana’s story was similar to a fairy tale; the big heavy matron who sat on the porch in starry nights and told the kids stories of her own children, the ones she never saw again since that big ship landed. I never paid attention to much more than the fairy tale. Never looked beyond that, I never paid attention to the brutality her own were subject to. I do now.

She, like many others, was robbed of her identity, her language, her creed. She was robbed of her history.

It is easy to forget history, to forget the cruelty imposed on others when it’s not us. It’s easy to dismiss it.

Nay never forgot who she was. She remained a slave until the end of her days never liberated, but the stories she told the kids of the house kept her memories alive, possibly far longer than her siblings and her own children were.

2011-06-20T23:16:00.000-04:00

The White Picket Fence and The Tree

The door opens at the turn of the key. The house smells clean. She quickly inspects her surroundings. Everything is in place just like it was in the morning. The same way it was a month ago, a year ago.

She slightly opens the clean blinds and admires her picket fence. The grass perfectly manicured and cut often to prevent dandelions from disturbing the green, contours the property.

She walks by her dining room and moves the candle holder to the exact middle of the table. She passes the pictures hung in a straight line on her walls. At the backdoor she smiles at her yard. It looks bigger now. She remembers the tree that gave her shade, a shade that at the time she thought she needed. She had it removed a few years ago on this same date. It had been there a long time withstanding a few storms, but it was time to cut it. She was happy to have made that decision.

A siren disturbs her stillness and she walks back to the kitchen and continues to her room. Tonight she might skip dinner.

She turns the lights off. In her big bed she listens to the sound of her solitude. Everything is in place, just the way she likes it.

2011-06-19T20:17:00.001-04:00

Summer Nights

The nights before the summer solstice have a beauty only found in those few days leading up to it. The moon glows with vibrant splendor displaying a delightful spectrum of light and color. The crickets sing in a symphony only allowed in those summer nights. The fireflies begin to decorate the nights teasing to give their light to whoever can capture them in their grasp.

The drop of temperatures in the evenings does not allow for tedium and it offers a respire to the heat of the day. The moonlight invites to a slow walk looking at the stars in their courtship to the moon.

The smell of fresh cut grass fills the senses. A few more days, and it will be summer.

2011-06-18T22:51:00.000-04:00

A Welcome Reminder

The email came with no subject. I hesitated to open it afraid of spam or a virus. I gave in to my curiosity and a name that looked faintly familiar.

“I just wanted to tell you how much we appreciate your help. That check came at a time when we were so desperate, thank you and all of the sponsors”.

I forget sometimes…too often how difficult it is for some people. I forget sometimes how much a drop of help means to a person in a sea of need.

20 people in dire need of assistance receive help from a race set up to alleviate needs of patients facing financial difficulties in addition to a cancer diagnosis. I needed to be reminded of how much that means to each one of them.

I am glad she reminded me.

I hope not to forget it again.

2011-06-15T22:48:00.000-04:00

Silent Stalker

Months after a devastating break up I remained secretly in touch with my loved one.

In the afternoons, looking for a glimpse of him I would gas up at a gas station in front of the pizzeria that was his hangout. At times, he would walk outside to smoke a cigarette aware that I was there. Over my shoulder, I would look at him and catch him staring at me in silence. We both looked away pretending we were there by accident, time after time.

I had, just as accidentally, mapped out a different route to my apartment. One that passed close to his house, or his job, or the school where he played soccer. All of my travels where at the right time for each location.

And just as accidentally I tried to meet his friends and drop his name in casual conversations much too often. If his friends saw me, they might mention me to him and if they did, he would remember me and think of me.

I became a morning and evening customer to our favorite coffee shop in hopes that one day we would meet, but aware that the odds of an encounter were slim.

Those sights as infrequent as they were, were welcomed flowers in the garden of my desolation and kept me suspended in a land of fiction. As I remember those days, I realize that more than the chance of an encounter that would ignite our relationship again I was looking to perpetuate a great love in me reluctant to let go of it.

I was not ready to let go.

I don’t know when I started going home on a straight line or when I ceased contacting his friends with justified excuses. But one day I passed our coffee shop and drove on. I opened the window and let the breeze in to dry my tears one more time. I would let the petals of that love fly away and my heart heal for the last time.

2011-06-12T19:11:00.001-04:00

Reconnecting

There is a thrill about reconnecting with old friends. Anticipating the changes while hoping they remain the same. Hoping they can see all our improvements in our present and that they’ll still find much of the good they remember from the past.

I found a friend yesterday I have not seen in over 20 years. I know nothing of what her life has been nor she of mine. We know nothing of what has happened in the past two decades. To her, I am still a sedentary person, not much into exercising. That’s going to be a surprise to her.

We were good friends, really good friends. Probably as close to a best friend as I had in the first half of my life.

Our friendship was never wounded while we were in contact, but somehow we fell out of touch when we both moved out of state.

There is an advantage in remembering someone who left all good memories. But there is also the expectation of wanting the same.

I have the tendency to want to bring back things to the way they were. Always unsuccessfully I have attempted to recreate what it was. At times, my pursuit has resulted in a new relationship enhanced by our history, at times the result has been the realization that we have grown so far apart we could never keep the slightest contact. It has never been what it was; it has never been the same.

It can not be the same.

I am going to meet with her this week. I am thrilled, excited. Hopeful. Hopeful that our encounter will bring back what once connected us, but aware it might not. If it doesn’t we still have all the good we remember.

There is an advantage of having good memories; we can always go back to them, if nothing more.

2011-06-09T20:37:00.001-04:00

That Time Again

My hand runs through my hair pushing it back and tightening its grip before releasing. My foot makes a constant tapping noise on the floor.

Deep breath in between shallow gasps. My head rests on the steering wheel, my eyes shot. My hands closed in a tight fist hit the steering wheel in unison.

I am having a panic attack.

I desperately want someone next to me, I want to call somebody, many, just one, I want to be alone.

I want to say so much, yell a few things, let out the pressure in my chest, but I won’t say a word.

This too shall pass. Breathe, breathe again.

Slowly sit back and get the car in gear.

24 more hours. This too shall pass.

2011-06-05T23:03:00.000-04:00

All Of Me

Occasionally someone makes a statement assessing my personality. Thankfully it is usually done in good intent. “You must be a riot at home” “you are fun to be around” and some other kind statements.

I thank them and answer with one of my self put down lines. Once in a while, and depending on the depth I want to get into, I might offer that what is being referenced is only a part of me, not all of me.

I am all of that, but much more and part of what I am, is not always worth a compliment.

I am emotional and a tear might easily appear on those days when a wave of sadness finds its way into my day; I am temperamental in those days approaching my test. I can be detached, aloof and distant. Deaf to the noise of the outside. I can be somber during those days when fear overcomes the best of me. I can be angry and impatient and sometimes even irrational. I can be vulnerable and sensitive. I can be weak and needy. I can be what sometimes I wish I never were.

I am what most never get to see, and what some wish they never did.

I am all of that, but not all of it at once.

And for the most part you’ll get to see the fun side of me. For the most part, you will want to know that side, and you will want to befriend that branch of me, the good of me. It is safer for friendship. It is fun and it is part of me.

2011-06-01T22:44:00.000-04:00

Gradual

The days approaching the summer solstice are some of my favorite times of the year if not my very favorite. The days get longer. I enjoy noticing the hours of light extending a minute a day. It is the prelude of something good happening. The snow has melted, the grass gets greener, the flowers blossom. It all seems to revive from a dead sleep.

It happens slowly, one minute at a time going from darkness roughly at 4:28 p.m. to daylight until 8:30 p.m. So gradual it is hardly noticed. I enjoy the steady, but slow progression of daylight. I enjoy looking back and noticing how far it has come, how much it has changed before my eyes and how long it has taken me to realize we are no longer in darkness.

Coming out of the darkness is like chopping a tree down. Ax after ax it doesn’t yield an inch, then suddenly it falls.

Changes do not happen over night. It takes time and consistency, like the ax on the tree. Like the hours of daylight.

2011-05-31T23:37:00.001-04:00

Missing

I could never figure out why my kids wanted me home when they spent their day in their room.

There were times when I took a few days off to be with them during their vacation, only to find myself alone while they played on line with friends, or went to each other’s house or stayed on the phone for hours never noticing I was home.

I don’t remember how it was when I was a kid, but I probably spent my day in the backyard playing with sticks and building something or trying to burn something -a bit of an arsonist I was - while my mother was inside. I probably cried when she went out, if she did.

It is difficult to understand that knowing a person we love is around is enough. Their presence does not have to be “present”, it is the knowledge that they are that matters and when they are not, their void is felt as if an important part has been removed...because it has.

It is not necessary to have someone next to us to love them. Simply knowing they exist is enough.

2011-05-30T22:56:00.001-04:00

Freedom To Express the Dream.

Thoughts of what could be an essay come often, but if I don’t get to write it down, even if I repeat it in my head a few times, it disappears.

Writing is like dreaming. A dream has to be remembered right away or it gets lost in the hours of the day leaving only a feel behind that can not be captured in words.

Dreamers are allowed to dream of anything. The wildest, most irrational, and outrageous of dreams are normal; strange, but normal and are seldom questioned. Writing does not always share the same favor.

I find myself sometimes guilty of assuming that what I read must always mirror the lives of the authors.

“Everything Okay?” I ask my friend, an experienced published writer who writes about a large variety of topics. “Yes, why do you ask?”

I ask because I am making assumptions that I shouldn’t make. Dreams are not questioned; I should not question their writing. If writing always mirrored their current lives, it would be limited and predictable, and it would lose my interest quickly. I like diversity and I seek that in the writers I choose to read.

Assumptions and expectations can not stop nor change dreams, but they can curtail freedom of expression in a writer. Not all dreams are worth telling; not all ideas are worth writing, but neither should be questioned.

2011-05-26T23:37:00.000-04:00

Technology (is a ) Rock(s)

I support technology and try to keep up with it. I support the focus on efficiency that does away with the unnecessary. .. for the most part.

Unnecessary things that were part of our days once.

Like the guy who used to converse with me on my way back from college when I stopped to fill up and waited to collect payment. I haven’t spoken to one gas attendant in a long time.

I don’t miss so much the corner store’s owner who used to add the price of the items on the brown bag with a pencil he kept behind his ear, but I do miss being able to do percentages and simple math in my head and not pull my phone out to use its calculator.

An apology made from a paid phone, not an email.

Gone are the days when a happy birthday was wished with a phone call or hallmark or even a handmade card, and not an e-card or a text message. Yes, I only got a handful of them back then, not the hundred and some Facebook messages I get today. Those are appreciated, yet different.

It’s all good. Times change and technology simplifies and focuses on efficiency by getting things done with the least amount of time and effort.

It’s all part of the changes and advancement; doing away with the unnecessary.

The girl who knew us at the corner store, the guy who pumped our gas, the attendant who helped us choose a card even if not green. The exercise of our brain adding, subtracting or even more.

Unnecessary, yet cherished. The voice of a friend on the other end talking to us, wishing us a good day or happy birthday, telling us of their day, their frustrations or their joys.

Not green nor necessary, but welcome and appreciated.

2011-05-24T22:37:00.005-04:00

You Hear Me, Doc?

I usually like the pictures taken at around mile 25. For whatever reason they come out really good. It must be that by then I am beyond exhaustion and beginning to hallucinate. The picture taken on my last marathon was different. It shows pain and yes, determination, that is exactly what I was feeling.

I signed up for the Sugarloaf marathon a week before race day. With my deficient geographical skills I was unaware that the ride was going to be hours and hours of highway, but I was lucky enough to find two friends who were willing to go with me. Best of two worlds, share the driving, share the expense, and have someone to actually have a drink with after and, in my case, before the marathon.

The forecast kept progressively getting worse. We went from sun, to overcast, to some showers, to showers, to rain, to flood advisory.

As in any marathon, there are no guarantees, but I hoped I wouldn't have any issues. Guess, what? I had issues.

5 weeks earlier I had received my 4^th pair of orthotics in 6 years.

"Something doesn’t feel right this time, doc. “oh give it time” – "I have pain, doc". “give it time” "The ball of my foot feels on fire sometimes" “They fit nicely, give it time”. "My shoe feels tight" “they’ll loosen up”

7 days before, on the emergency line I left a message “Extreme pain”. No answer.

And why did I run with the new orthotics anyway and not one of the old pairs? Beats me.

First 8 miles challenging and humid. Then, downhill then some ups then rain then….I don’t feel my toes. By 14, I feel my toes, but I also feel pain. By 20 at a medical table “I need drugs” and of course the promised downhill in the last 6 miles didn't come.When the picture was taken at 22 I was certain there was a fracture in my foot.

I finished. Pain stopped.

Appointment first thing in the morning. Findings: No fracture.

“Maybe I should send your orthotics back to be redone…”

“Gee, Doc whatever gave you that idea?”

2011-05-22T23:23:00.000-04:00

Of Connections

I believe in the autonomy of the person, in being our own entity, independent individuals. No one can give us what we don’t already have nor turn us into what we are not. But a part of ourselves not yet discovered can be awaken by others.

We can be enhanced.

Every notable relationship good or bad that passes by our lives leaves a footprint, a teaching. It might make us realize of an emotional strength we did not know existed or tap into a deeper feeling never brought to the surface before.

Sometimes people happen in our lives, a rare connection that is not found every day, and their understanding or simply their presence help us. Usually, as it is with most good things, it happens without seeking it.

I believe in the power of friendship. I believe that a good friend is good medicine. Their presence in our life is vital in our growth and happiness.

A life alone is a life half enjoyed. I believe in friendship.

2011-05-22T14:02:00.000-04:00

A-Z Check.

I completed the A-Z challenge. I wrote the equivalent of 9 weeks in 4 weeks. It was good; it kept me focused and made me write more often than I would have otherwise. I missed one day because I was away from a computer and desisted from typing another post on my phone.

Before engaging in this challenge I was afraid I would feel pressured. I didn’t. I am assuming that is because the challenge was self imposed and not competitive. Competition is not my cup of tea.

I am not sure I would do it again. While I didn’t feel pressure while completing my assignments every night, it took time away from my leisure time. Time I enjoy reading other blogs and enjoying their high quality prose or poetry like reading my favorite magazine while sipping on a glass of wine. Make no mistake I still had my glass of wine I just read very sporadically.

I am done now and I have been catching up on my favorite writers. That is not a challenge, that’s all enjoyment.

2011-05-16T22:18:00.001-04:00

Zooming Out

There are days when what life has in store seems greater than what I can handle.

I dwell on all my worries and mourn the losses and the failures.

Then, there are those other days – most of my days – where I navigate on the crest of my dreams and trust my hopes.

That is the balance that makes living possible. Zooming in briefly when the dark shadow of sadness or worries engulfs me and zooming out so I can look at the entire picture, not one piece at a time.

Balance, that’s how we live.

2011-05-13T23:34:00.000-04:00

Yesterday’s Too Far?

As a preteen, I already possessed the unappreciated gift of being opinionated. I volunteered and felt my obligation to point out little discrepancies in stories I heard. My unsolicited and challenging opinions were received with a frown or a quick change of conversation, but mostly with a guilt inflicting comment that implied if I loved my family I would oversee the obvious.

It was and remains hard to understand the harsh criticism some individuals received for committing the same sins that…do I dare say? my family had already committed. The skeletons of their wrongdoing were hidden in a closet we were never supposed to open, but like the big pink elephant in the room, we all were aware of its existence.

This trend continued over the years.

It seems that mistakes we all at some point make are not only buried, but totally wiped out of memory as years get in between reality and wishful thinking. And whoever dare remind them of that forgotten past is not playing by the rules.

I didn’t play by the rules, still don’t.

I wonder if that trait is a byproduct of age which means that my kids at this point should be raising an eyebrow and reminding me of what I did…I must have hidden my wrongdoings really well. Actually I did. I lied to them. Every time they found a pack of cigarettes in my car I told them it was a coworker who rode with me. They know the truth now.

Who knows, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree so I might be denying my skeletons. I really hope I am not. But if I am, I did raise some very opinionated kids, I’ll be hearing about it if that is the case.

2011-05-13T18:17:00.000-04:00

Xtremely Wonderful, Does That Count?

And of course out of the 27 letter of the Alphabet, your birthday fell on the letter X. The one with less words in the English language and to top it off Blogger took the day off, so let's make believe today is yesterday.

You were born on one rainy night. The hospital was no Xanadu, but that is where I saw you for the first time so to me, it was.

You have been my Xanax. I can not be depressed when I have you with me.

I can call you my xenolith. A fragment of a rock inside another rock and I not referring to my brain, and definitely not yours.

You are so different, yet so enchanting. Where did you get your love for art? You can turn a piece of wood into a master piece with a simple xylograph. And when you sing in the shower, if I were the judge and the competition in our bathroom, you would be the next X Factor.

I am glad that XY conceived with love turned into you.

Happy Birthday my Chiquita.

2011-05-11T21:54:00.000-04:00

Waves of Green

I am notorious for not noticing my surroundings. I can not remember for the life of me what a person I met or spoke to for an hour was wearing. In fact, I’d panic thinking I’d ever have to describe what my children were wearing if I lost them in the mall.

I can not remember what’s inside a house, the path I run on, the clothes I wear. I am totally oblivious to all of it.

There is one day a year I notice. Or it’s a day when I notice what everyone else already did.

It is a day when the green of the mountains greet me.

Suddenly the trees bloom with a plethora of green. The mountains that a day earlier were decorated with dried branches leaving empty spaces in between depict now a grandeur of color. And not any color, but a delicate shade of green. Not the tired green of summer, exhausted after hours of scalding sun, but a soft bright green eager to cuddle in the rays of a new sun.

It makes me smile reminding me life finds a way. There is renewal if we simply allow it even when we think all is lost. Even after the trees have seemingly died a new season begins.

2011-05-11T04:30:00.001-04:00

Vanished

The demise of something great is always difficult to watch. I remember exactly that afternoon when we were called into the conference room to hear the announcement that the insurance company we had worked for and seen grown before our eyes for so many years was no longer writing business. It was ending.

Claim reserves issues and low ratings accounted for its downfall. The reasons did not matter. It ended.

Yes, we all complained from time to time. But when that announcement came, it was as if a friend had died. And it was. That company was the child of hard work and a bundle of hope we had gotten to know. Something that was created with the best intentions in mind, with the hope that it would last forever, and something that gave so many so much, was ending. We knew this child. We were family with this child.

Like a child, we had watched it stumble, get up, make us proud, make us laugh, make us angry, and like a child, we knew it would be there the next day. Like every day.

No one starts anything without the hope that it will grow, mature, succeed and continue into adulthood. No one creates something so they can watch its end sooner than anticipated. And there we were, watching it.

Somewhat in shock, somewhat relieved that the anticipation had ended and there was no more guessing to do. It was over.

Great things conceive great things. The demise of those great creations is not something to rejoice over.

2011-05-10T16:40:00.002-04:00

Unkind

Rob fit perfectly the intelligent guy role in a TV show; tall, skinny, glasses. He was an Actuarial.

I was called to the conference room when his email alerted Senior Management that a large sum of money was missing from the claim reserves. Unable to find the loss or losses that attributed to a quarter million dollars, I was called to do some research. I had gained the reputation of a problem solver. I did not posses any special talents and much less education than the rest of them; what I had were connections. It was well known that I could network my way in the company. Something I took pride in.

I listened to Rob explain the discrepancy in the quarter report. The VP asked me to “give it the world” and try to figure out the outlet of such large amount of money with no apparent claim to account for.

I was lost at first then I started remembering meetings, emails, conversations. I ran a few reports, checked a number of accounts, and more importantly made a few calls. I met with coworkers and managers from different departments and went over the figures on the reports that I had. Slowly I started connecting the dots. One by one, one person plus another gave me enough information to put the pieces together. Finally, a friend from accounting produced the final report. Problem solved.

I walked back to my desk and on my way stopped to see Rob. I told him my findings. I continued to my desk conversing with a few more people along the way as I always did, reason for my networking success. When I sat down an email from Rob displayed on my screen.

“We have figured out the problem” he said. Then went on to explain everything I had told him. Every person, every report I had shared with him was carefully outline in his email.

“Myriam assisted”. The email said in between all the prodigious findings he claimed for himself.

Emails started pouring soon after; “good job, Rob”.

I sat there sort of laughing, sort of angry. How desperate can a person be for attention and credit that it does not matter what it’s done to achieve a goal?

Rob never spoke to me again. Every time I saw him, he’d look away. My friends, all of those people who assisted, read the email. They knew. But more importantly, Rob knew.

2011-05-09T16:30:00.005-04:00

Time Heals or so we hope.

I don’t know of any other way to get over grief, pain, fear, loss, other than time.

I can listen to a friend going through any of the above, and I know, no matter what I say, no matter what he or she feels then, that only time will be able to ease the hurting.

Time heals. If we could put time in a bottle…

Ten years ago, 4 days away from Mother’s Day and the same number of days from my daughter’s 8^th birthday, I was diagnosed.

It was 3 weeks before I celebrated another decade. I had already written it on everyone’s calendar at work. I had a list of dinners, drinks, lunches, scheduled by my friends. Then, there I was, sitting in the doctor’s office learning my life had changed.

The news felt like a slap. It burnt my face and brought tears to my eyes. I don’t remember the date, but I remember what I wore. I wore a skirt, one I would never wear again.

Sitting at the edge of the examining table I stared at a crack in the ceiling. My vision blurred by tears. The voice of the doctor kept getting farther in the background. In those eternal moments I bargained with God. I bargained for more years to raise my children. Enough time, just enough time to get my daughter, my youngest through high school; enough time to get my son started in college; old enough to be without their mother.

In the exam room of the first specialist, standing in a corner dressed in a gown, I waited for the bone marrow exam that would determine how badly it had spread. In those few moments before the doctor came back with his instruments, I laced my hands in front of my chest and prayed. "Ten years, God. Give me ten years".

It has been ten years.

Time has helped. Like it helps with other monumental losses. It has not erased the fear, but it has made it manageable.

I have received my wish.

2011-05-08T13:07:00.002-04:00

Something is Nothing?

Going back to my double negatives, is nothing something? So if it’s something, how can it be nothing? For if it’s nothing, then it’s not something. For something to exist it must be a being, a "something" so for nothing to exist it must be something, but if it’s something then how can it be nothing?

Whatever.

I remember that argument from college some time ago.

Happy Mother’s Day to all the mothers.

p.s.

It’s even hard to find a picture that symbolizes Nothing. If I find a picture of something that is nothing, then nothing is something and…here I go again.

2011-05-07T19:37:00.000-04:00

Room for Rent

Regardless of the status of our lives, we all live inside a trap. Some nicer than others; some scarier than others. Circumstances, obligations, and the like constraint and restraint who we are and who we want to be.

For the most part there is no way out. The trap goes on restricting us ever so tight.

There is one way to avoid being suffocated in that trap and to keep sanity, and the essence of who we are.

Within that trap there is a corner. A small room in that box where we keep what makes us tick.

It is important to find that place where we can be happy and still remain in the trap. A room for rent for a few moments each day, each week. A place that is only ours. That is how we survive in the trap.

2011-05-07T00:08:00.002-04:00

Questions

There are things in life that have no answer. There are answer to questions that still make no sense to me. There were classes that I aced by memorizing and understanding briefly the answer to the questions before the test only to lose the meaning once I walked out of class.

There are things I still question. There are questions I don’t seek answer for anymore.

Some things are better not answered.

Some questions are better not asked.

2011-05-05T13:55:00.003-04:00

Perfection

When you aim for perfection, you discover it's a moving target. ~George
Fisher

There are days that are perfect, or they appear perfect to me. Perfection
like beauty is in the eye of the beholder. I’m good with that. As long as
it’s perfect to me, I’m happy.

I like George Fisher’s quote because that is how perfection is. It is a
moving target. If it wasn’t, recreating it would be easy.

That is one thing that can not be made; perfection like many important things in life can not be recreated.

Perfect days or a perfect run, those that runners wish they could put in a bottle can not be recreated. They happen, and a happening can not be crafted. It needs to happen all on its own.

2011-05-04T22:43:00.002-04:00

On Parenting and Kids

She takes two steps and jumps into the arms of her father “Daddy, catch me!” Another girl takes unsteady steps chasing a doggie, “doggie, here, doggie” and a boy runs after a bird.

I smile at them and see flashbacks of my own children. I miss my little girl; I miss my boy. They have grown much more quickly than I was prepared for.

I never wished those years away, though. I never wished to bypass a stage in their lives. I savored every one of them.

At times I consider if I’d have done a few things differently. At times I wish I had done them differently. But if I had to do it again, I’d without any doubt make as many mistakes as I did the first time, different ones, but still as many.

It would all be worth it the second time around. And that second time would go by just as quickly if not faster than the first time.

2011-05-03T22:39:00.001-04:00

No…I mean, Yes.

My Romance language loves double negatives. Here two negatives don’t yield a positive. It is all about putting emphasis in the answer or statement so there is doubt.

“I did not find nothing”

“There wasn’t nobody nowhere” – that’s more like a triple negative.

“No one saw nothing”

You get the idea.

English being a Germanic language is so direct! “I found nothing” meaning I did find something and it was nothing…No, I found nothing. I mean yes, I found nothing.

I get confused when I ask a negative question:

“You don’t like to run?”

Yes.

Huh?

Yes, that is correct. I don’t like to run, I hate it. Or Yes, Moron, I do like to run, you are confused.

I am.

2011-04-30T17:34:00.003-04:00

Memory
I have the memory of an elephant. That expression is as reliable as sweating like a pig, sicker than a dog, not really knowing if any of those animals live up to their attributes.
Much to the relief of family and friends,my memory iis no longer as sharp as it once was, but it remains fairly good, fairly clear and fairly accurate.

With that memory it's hard to sit through a story the second time around when that version differs from the first one. It also has perks; like remembering little cute things and punch lines that others have forgotten.
I have come to realize that memory and what it stores is like jello. It takes the shape it's poured into.

My mother claims that something happened in the way that she remembers it while my elephant memory tells me something different.
Once an event has passed, it belongs to the ones who remember it how they choose to remember it.

Like jello, it takes whatever shape and color you want to give it. Even an elephant wouldn't be able to argue with it

2011-04-29T11:15:00.000-04:00

Losers

“As I lose you, you and I both lose.

I, because I was who loved you the most,

You, because you were who I loved you the most.

But as I lose you, you lose more than I do,

Because I will be able to love again like I loved you,

But no one will love you like you I loved you." - Ernesto Cardenal

I recited that poem many times in the early stages of a break up. Over the years, the anger subsided and I rejoiced in the memory that I had loved that way and could love again.

We both moved on, formed other relationships and left our memories behind.

Over a decade later we had the chance to reminisce and laugh at the old and shared part of the past we had not been part of. A tap in the window as I drove off gave me a different outlook on that poem “I never loved again”.

Never loved again the way that I was loved, but I’m sure love appeared again as it did for me. Never the same, nor it should be. As much as the void cries to be filled, it can never satisfy the same thirst.

A strong relationship -whichever its nature - forms a benchmark for all others that follow. Anything after is measured based on what “that” one was without realizing that a major happening can never be recreated. Every relationship is unique in its nature. They are not better nor worse or indifferent. They are different.

In losing a relationship all parties lose; a past relationship can never be brought back nor it can be recreated. When a friend is lost a lot more than a friend is lost. The times spent together and the places that became synonymous of the friendship will never be again. Others will come and go, and many will stay, but not one will replace what the lost friend was because what it was can never be. A relationship is unique, it can not be replaced.

As I lose you, you and I lose…damn right. It will never be the same again.

p.s.

this should have been Big losers, but I needed the L

2011-04-28T08:18:00.002-04:00

Karma

Would life not be simple if it was ruled totally by the laws of Karma? The cause and effect rules. The “what goes around comes around”?

According to Budhism nothing happens to a person that he or she did not deserve. Basically, what happens to a person is the result of past actions and present doings.

Understood, nothing can be that simple; “be good so all good happens”, but sometimes there seems to be no correlation.

I have seen people get away with murder, sort of speak – AND actual murder. Do to others what never comes back to them. Go through life stepping on and hurting others and never paying back. How is the Karma applied then?

I don’t understand the law of inequality nor the theory that past actions from other lives will manifest in future lives - paying for what is done in this life in future ones – ones we won’t remember…It simply does not make sense. To theologists and the like, yes, to a simple mortal like me no.

Under the umbrella of Karma, it does not seem justified to see good people suffer not it makes sense to see others carry on with no repercussion to their wrong doing.

But then, that would make life too simple, and who would want that?

“Responsibility for unskillful actions is born by the person who commits them.”

2011-04-27T08:56:00.001-04:00

Jack In the Box

In my teens struggling to survive, I worked at a Motel Six. Low paying hard work. Some of the rooms used by the hour, some used by Welfare.

I was struggling. My car, a number of junk pieces put together, brought me to work and sometimes not. The gas gage always boardering on E.

One of those rooms was occupied by a couple and a kid. The father was a middle age man. The kid, a blond green eye skinny 5 or 6 year old, always wore shorts in the warm temperatures of California.

There were days when while I pushed my housekeeping cart I’d see the kid sitting on the doorstep while his parents argued. He sat there quietly, staring into space, the screaming and cursing behind the closed doors.

One day I asked his parents if I could take him across the street to Jack in the Box. They readily accepted. I held his skinny hand and crossed the street. I paid for his kid’s meal and drink with my only $2.00. While I watched him savored his meal chewing with his mouth wide open and laughing I wondered how I was going to make it back to work the next day when I had used the only $2 I had for gas.

I came home and pulled my spare pair of jeans off the bathroom hanger. As I shook them to release some of the wrinkles since I didn’t own an iron, something fell on the floor. I picked up the tri-fold bundle. $2.

I had enough to go to work the next day. Life could go on.

2011-04-26T05:00:00.008-04:00

Inopportune

You come to me in the most inopportune times.

In that twilight moment between dream and reality you squeeze your scent into.

I feel you, I smell you.

When darkness meets light.
I hear your breathing.

You are there, next to me.

I feel the light in my pupils and I reach for you.

The empty space that was you.

2011-04-25T07:34:00.002-04:00

Humiliation

I only dated him for a short while. He was tall, tanned and handsome, and he knew it well. He often talked about the women who had wanted to “capture” him. The ones who would haved given anything to procreate with him. I never let him get close enough for that to be a risk. Nevertheless, we dated and pretended we were serious about each other.

He came with me to a party at one of my relatives. I remember thinking on our way there that it was only a matter of time before we stopped seeing each other. Little did I know the time was that night.

While at the party I introduced him to the people I knew. One woman parked herself next to us and engaged in a conversation. I walked away hopping from group to group as I always do. I paid no attention that song after song they danced together. Why would I worry? He was my date and she was a friend, an acquaintance.

He never called again after that night.

It didn’t bother me that our relationship ended for it was on its way before that night. But it bothered me the way that it did. The lack of respect on both parties and the humiliation I felt when friends and relatives mentioned that he had chosen somebody else in front of my nose.

The man was handsome and in spite of his arrogance had many qualities, but discretion was not one of them.

I never missed the looks nor the qualities, I would have appreciated some respect, however.

One can’t get blood out of a rock and some can’t give what they don’t possess.

2011-04-23T19:46:00.000-04:00

Good Job

"I need help. Can you do this asap? it's very important".

"Here, it's done."

"Thank you. It didn't take you very long, right? It was easy ,wasn't it?"

Sometimes "thank you" should be all that is said.

2011-04-21T21:17:00.008-04:00

For All The Wrong Reasons

I took a hiatus from my running club weekly runs a few years ago. My relationship with them became distant without really knowing why or when it happened. Whatever the reasons I can’t remember what they were.

I joined them again for reasons that were not the right ones. Sometime at the end of the year I started showing up for the runs. Whether they liked it or not, I was going to be there. In their face.

And I was. Faithfully every Thursday I drove straight from work to the runs. Extreme cold nights, single digit temperatures, pitch dark roads, bundled up to the point of not moving freely. Every night car after car parked, people got out, smiled, laughed, joked and ran.

The colder the night, the more people joined, it seemed. It looked as if there was no other place for us to be on a night like that, no other place to warm up faster than in the company of our running buddies. It didn’t take very long before I rushed out of work with a smile in my face to meet them.

Faster than our pace, relationships were strengthened, new friendships developed, and a sense of camaraderie embraced me. I was no longer driving to meet a bunch of people to run a few miles, I was looking forward to meeting my friends, my buddies and to enjoy the warmth of their company.

For all the wrong reasons that pushed me to be with them on a Thursday night, I have found a good reason to stay. I am glad and I am grateful for all the right reasons.

2011-04-20T22:38:00.002-04:00

Easter

The smell of charbroiled “chuzos” or meat-on-a-stick filled the air as dozen of merchants took the streets of downtown Cali on Holy Thursday. The fair type of atmosphere on a day of observation and abstinence seemed a paradox to a predominantly catholic population.

Inching our way through the crowd my family and I would visit 7 churches by foot. Inside the church, the altars combined tradition and art. The seven churches symbolize the seven sessions of Jesus in front of the tribunals after being arrested. For a few minutes, in front of each alter, a prayer is said. It was then I remembered why I was there.

At home things were different. Sardines and white rice were served on Thursday and Friday. Abstaining from meat did not mean having a succulent seafood meal; it meant having a humble meal. The stores lined up the oval sardine cans in preparation of the two days.

The ambience was solemn. The radio was kept on a station that discussed Jesus passion. On Friday, the day of the crucifixion and death, a priest analyzed Jesus’ last words from the cross.

Easter Sunday was a relief to the somberness of the past 3 days. We wore our “Sunday” clothes, went to church and a few friends joined us for dinner.

Somewhere in there the true meaning of Easter was lost. The resurrection of Jesus as the foundation of the Christian faith was learned, but the feeling of that day never equated my faith. It remained a day when normality returned home. When I could play without being turned into a fish for my disobedience. I could be me again.

I love the Thursday tradition. I wish my kids had had a chance to experience it. It was fun, even if in my mind, it had nothing to do with Easter.

2011-04-19T21:18:00.004-04:00

Duality at Work

My Boss told us she had been reported to upper management by one of her co-workers. "You two are friends, aren't you?"

"I thought so", she replied.

"Then what happened?"

"He got promoted."

2011-04-18T20:40:00.002-04:00

Captive

Can we see beyond the scars?

Can there be forgiveness when the scars are so thick, the cuts so deep? Forgiveness is a big word, an act expected of all, yet difficult to be honestly given.

Jesus teachings urge us to “forgive your brother seventy seven times” but there is also the requisite of repentance. Can one exist without the other? Honestly.

I read an interesting concept on forgiveness. It came from Oprah who got it from somebody else, “forgiveness is giving up the hope the past could have been different”.

Is forgiving equated with moving on and making sure that person never hurt us again? Breaking free from the confinement of hurtfulness is just that, freedom.

Can we see beyond the scars even after we break away from captivity?

2011-04-18T07:00:00.002-04:00

Boston Marathon

Boston Marathon is the oldest marathon dating back to 1897. It is said to attract an estimated 500,000 spectators. Starting as a local event, its reputation and status attracts now runners from all over the world. It is the milestone of marathoners, a marathon all long distance runners want to run…well, most of them, anyway.

There are other marathons considered to be a “must do at least once”, New York City Marathon is one of them. But they differ in what I consider essential. To run NYCM, a runner must be selected by lottery or must have been rejected 3 times to enter on the 4^th try. A one time when rejection is not as bitter.

Boston qualifies runners based on their times and a sense of “I’m better than you” comes to mind with that.

Running is relative; that is the beauty of it. My best times would be the worst for some of my fast friends, and by the same token they are good to others. But what’s more important than that is that the monster of a marathon is to some extent unpredictable, one never knows for sure what the outcome will be.

Qualifying for Boston is no more than circumstantial. It is, to some, running under that qualifying mark after much effort while others can quality anytime and every time. Same times as with any other marathon…Why the high status then?

Boston is the oldest marathon and one that most runners will want to run at least once, but it remains nothing more than a marathon; it does not make a runner better than what they are anywhere else.

2011-04-16T14:18:00.006-04:00

A While

It’s been a while since I’ve cried.

It’s been a while since I’ve mourned what’s long gone.

It’s been a while since my tears spelled your name as they hit the floor.

It’s been a while since I entered into that solitary room where there was only your memory and my breaking heart, my face leaning on a wall chocking in my sorrow.

Your memory, my sadness. Your absence, my despair.

It’s been a while since I cried.

It’s been a while since you’ve been gone.

Maybe there is a correlation there.

2011-04-15T20:40:00.004-04:00

Taking on the Challenge

I enjoy my paisana Doris' writing, and since she has entered the A - Z challenge I know I can count on one of her stories per day- Ahhhhh! how I love to read them! Well, I have hesitated entering the challenge, but the idea has been floating around in my head...Can I write daily? I normally do except that most pieces are not posted, but this would be writing on demand to meet a challenge.

I face challenges, I don't seek challenges. Will I enjoy this one?

It reminds me of the time when I trained for my first marathon. The idea of hours running in the company of a friend with whom I enjoyed long conversations was enticing. I loved running and I loved our conversations, what could be better than to combine the two? but the result was astounding; I hated it. The thought of having to run because I was supposed to, not because I wanted to exterminated my enthusiasm. I would run in silence trying to keep my friend at a distance after the first hour or so. I had enjoyed our impromptu runs and our spontaneous conversations, but the training runs were scheduled, demanded, expected.

This might be the same...Or it might be a welcome thrust to my writing. I am going to take the plunge, regardless. I am already thinking what I can possible write that starts with X other than a story about Xerox and Z I guess will be about a Zebra.

This is not official, I couldn't figure out how to enter the challenge...you see? I'm challenged.

2011-04-13T22:56:00.003-04:00

Are You Talking To Me?

When I first listened to the message “We would like to discuss something with you, please return my call ASAP”, my first instinct was “what did I do?” “What did they hear? Did I say something that offended someone?”

My surprise was even bigger.

“Your name has come up from three different people to nominate you as a board member representing the County, do you accept the nomination?”

Me? This is a board composed of high profile figures and high paid professionals.

Me? I am honored, I said and I’d hope I can contribute in some small way to the mission of the organization if elected, but…me?

That question went unanswered and unasked in my head. I put it out of my mind. I would never be voted in. There are a dozen prominent women in the county deserving of the nomination.

The recommendation letter written on my behalf was astonishing. Can anyone write something like that about me? I was touched and grateful and skeptic.

Almost a month later, an unknown number left a message. I was voted in. I am the new member, and only female representing my County. Me?

Aside from the honor of the nomination and the assignment of the post, I am more stunned by my own surprise to the opinion of others. Is it possible that others can think higher of us than what we think of ourselves? Humility or negative feedback that lowers our self esteem to the point that it is difficult to see ourselves worthy of merit?

On the other hand, a dose of humility is necessary in every human being to keep a balance in life. In a world that incites arrogance, greed and selfishness, a world that at time promotes stepping on others to achieve a goal, a small sense of “I’m not the only Pepsi in the desert” is good to have. It is accepting other’s worth and acknowledging that maybe others are just as good as or better than we are. That is not a bad trait.

Some kind of humility that has lingered somewhere in the depths of our psyche is not a bad thing to have. Either or, I’m still asking “are you talking to me?