I Want to File A Lawsuit ...

My grandmother always said white roses symbolize peace.  Something the world needs, oh, so very, very much.  Today I am writing about the brouhaha surrounding Paula Deen.  I love her cooking shows, she always makes it seem so fun and easy.  I've seen her interviewed many a time, have seen her host people of all races on her show. While the "y'all" got at times a bit thick, she always seemed charming, hospitable and gracious to a fault.  And while I do not condone, never have, never will, the use of that despicable word, I do believe there has been a knee-jerk reaction.  It seems the world is hell-bent on destroying her.  And it is not fair.  There are way worse people out there, let's see the press and the world at large go after them.  We all make mistakes, we all say stupid things when we have been hurt, attacked or are just plain ticked off.  Like a very wise man once said, let those who are without sin cast the first stone.

From the Teaching Tolerance blog, post entitled "Straight Talk about the N-Word" Number 40, Fall 2011:

"How did the n-word become such a scathing insult? We know, at least in the history I’ve looked at, that the word started off as just a descriptor, “negro,” with no value attached to it. … We know that as early as the 17th century, “negro” evolved to “nigger” as intentionally derogatory, and it has never been able to shed that baggage since then—even when black people talk about appropriating and reappropriating it. The poison is still there. The word is inextricably linked with violence and brutality on black psyches and derogatory aspersions cast on black bodies. No degree of appropriating can rid it of that bloodsoaked history."

The words "bloodsoaked history" hit home for me.  Because I understand how and why the "N" word is offensive.  I have trouble when the kids working in my office use it.  I've even told them.  But, still, I hear that word used ... A LOT.  Yet, they are still employed and not reprimanded, in any way, shape or form, for using that word.  A LOT.  I am writing today regarding the ruckus about Paula Deen having used it some years back about someone who held a gun to her  head.  I would certainly never use that word.  Nor have I ever.  But, chances are if someone held a gun to MY head, that someone would be called about all the worst words I could think of and would even invent a few.  Yet, everybody and their great-grandmother has gotten on the "let's kick Paula Deen down" bandwagon.  With people, never heard from before, saying how she discriminated against them.  I think it's about their 15 minutes of fame.  It reminds me of that case years and years ago, when a young girl was missing from her home, then turned up with racial slurs written all over her body, said she had been raped by a group of men.  There were rallies, press conferences, then it turned out she was lying.  But she had her 15 minutes of fame. And, man, was the racial divide ever stirred up. Giving a perfect platform for nimrods from all walks of life to spew their vitriol. From calling people uppity to calling people racists, they all had a field day. Nowadays you can say anything about someone (especially if they are famous) and immediately the press is all over it, hungry jackal-jaws snapping.  Innocent until proven guilty?  Out the door.  Race-related?  Hell, let's stir up the pot and make for even MORE divisiveness!  It sells!  It gets ratings!  It generates revenue!  All hail the almighty dollar! Because, seriously people, do you REALLY think it has to do with being offended by the use of a word?  I wish it were so, but I do not believe so.

I don't.  If it was really about being offended, then where are the headlines when entertainers (and I use that word REAL loosely) use that word like I use the word "hey" or when they describe women as hos, bitches, the "C" word (just as offensive in my book as the "N" word), where is the clamor over that?  If the companies that have dropped Paula Deen like the proverbial hotcakes are SO offended by her use of that word, then I am guessing they are going to be dropping a lot of entertainers (and again I use that term REAL loosely) from their stores as well.  For using the "N" word freely and just as freely using derogatory terms about women.  Oh, wait, wait, wait.  My mistake.  Excusez moi.  Pardon me.  THAT is freedom of expression, you know, covered by that freedom of speech thing.  Or, even better, artistic expression.  It's an artistic concept.  Sure, of course.  I get it.  Not.  Then again, there are those that claim they use that word to rob it of its power. 

I find myself offended by the behavior of some ... artists.  They use foul language, spit at people, throw stuff at people.  Granted, paparazzi are annoying as all get-out, but ya know, they do keep your names in the headlines and isn't that what your lives are all about?  Or else why did you get into the business if you do not crave the limelight? Oh, wait, wait, I forget, you are above the law, right?  Again, I forgot.  You can speed, spit, swill, spew, but it's artistic expression.  But still it offends me.  So ... class action, anyone?  Come on, it's fun!  Our names will be in the papers.  ET and OMG Insider will want to interview us!  And we can make even more fun of Paula Deen!  We'll be rich!  Well, maybe just extremely well-off after attorneys' fees and costs are taken out of our settlement monies.  We will get our 15 minutes of fame!  Ah, the possibilities!

She used that term, what, 20 some years ago?  She admitted it under oath.  Imagine that.  Telling the truth ... under oath.  This begs the question, how many politicians, business people and cheating spouses shudder at that concept?  She wanted a "plantation" style wedding reception, with African-American men serving, not the brightest idea.  So who was at fault more.  Paula Deen for that not-too-bright concept or those that went along with it?  Including the men who agreed to work as servers.  I mean, if you are going to do a "plantation style" anything, well, you'd have to use African-Americans in a subservient role because, repulsive as it may be, that was the norm ... back then.  And so many people now crawling out of the woodwork claiming they were mistreated and offended by her behavior, years ago.  Really?  You were that offended and you waited until now?  Why?  Still, that plantation thing was an idiotic idea, in my book.  Sort of like, oh, I don't know, someone making a comedy album about the day Castro finally dies and what will go on in Cuba then.  A Cuban comic (try saying that three times in a row) made such a recording many years ago.  I loved his comedy albums, that one not so much.  It hit a nerve.  Much as the use of the "N" word hits a nerve with some.  I know it offends me.

So, yeah, I am thinking of filing a lawsuit. The "N" word offends me when it is used by anyone, I don't care if they are white, black, whatever their race, ethnic background, even polka-frikking-dotted, it offends me. My first friend in this country was African-American, his name was Kenneth. We were in the third grade together.  It was back when schools were being integrated and some people did not take kindly to that.  I didn't speak English, he didn't speak Spanish.  Yet, by some miracle, we became friends.  He was soundly beaten a couple of times just because of his skin color.  By older kids, 5th and 6th graders, who yelled that word over and over. He returned to school each time. When I asked my parents why kids did that, they told me those kids probably heard those words at home and some people judged people by their skin color or religion or where they lived or came from, which was silly because really we are all the same.

While in third grade, I was beaten up by a bunch of African-American girls, have no clue why, I'm guessing they were ticked off at being called names and I happened to be walking by when they finally got tired of hearing that word yelled at them. You know who came to my rescue? Kenneth.  Now, that, my friends, took guts.  In my first real job I was mentored by a lady by the name of Ruby. I love that name, it's also the name of my Magical Fabulous Fairy GodMother, Ruby.  She of the healing hugs and Jamaican patties.  But I met her in my 40s.  The Ruby I'm talking about now, I met her when I was 18.  She is one of my dearest friends, read at my father's funeral mass.  We have been friends for decades.  One time someone came to our department looking for her and I told them "Go around the corner, she's sitting at a desk, lady wearing a blue dress."  Minutes later this person returned and said "There's nobody there, just some black woman!" I asked "Is she wearing a blue dress?" The guy said "Uhhh .... (brainiac, magnificent vocabulary this guy had), yeah."  I looked at him and said "Well, that'd be her then."  He muttered "Well, you could have said she was black!"  What did that have to do with the price of beans?  I did say lady sitting at desk, blue dress.  Hello?  What that man had for brains I will never know.  My guess is peas.  Dried-up, old and withered peas just rolling around that empty white pointy little bald head.  Sidebar:  You know one of my favorite things about getting together with my marvelous, magical Fairy GodMother Ruby's family?  You see all shades at that table, race is a non-issue.  And what a marvelous gift that is.

There are true victims out there.  Some have survived.  Some have not.  The name Emmett Till comes to mind.  There are people who died hearing that word being yelled at them.  There are people who still defend the slavery concept.  There are people who flat out deny the holocaust occurred.  Or who justify it.  Who think they are better than others merely because their skin is the color of paper.  Cannot for the life of me wrap my brain around that concept.  People who proclaim "I'm white and I'm proud!"  Really?  They set the excellence bar rather low. I don't know, I'd be proud if, say, I discovered the cure for cancer.  Figured out a way to feed the hungry, shelter the homeless, stop people from being cruel pinheads.  But not because my skin is lighter than my neighbors' skin.  You hear hateful words bandied about so nonchalantly these days.  You hear the "N" word, you hear derogatory terms used for just about any race, ethnic group, any and everyone who is deemed "different."  The "N" word particularly resonates with me.  Maybe because I was a child during the civil rights era, I don't know.  But I find that word particularly despicable.  Especially when used by young people because when I hear them use it I think, Martin Luther King, Jr. marched for you.  His followers put their lives on the line for you.  In the end, he died for you at the hands of a racist. And you repay him like this?

I want to file a lawsuit against anyone who uses the "N" word.  I want to file a lawsuit against anyone who uses derogatory terms about women, any ethnic group, nationality, people who have a different sexual orientation, whatever. Because that type of behavior is offensive to me.  I want to file a lawsuit about disrespectful "celebrities" who don't have the brains of a garden slug.  I want to file a lawsuit against those who purposefully inflict hurt on others, just because they had the urge to do so, knowing full well what they were doing.  I want to file a lawsuit against the idiot teacher, yep, a TEACHER, who once told me I was not white because I was born in Cuba and Cuba is in the Gulf of Mexico, so I was deemed Mexican.  When I informed this teacher that Mexican was a nationality, Cuba is in the Caribbean Sea and white is a race, NOT a nationality, she gave me detention. She was actually a substitute with a SERIOUS chip on her shoulder, I do believe had one looked at the back of her neck one would have found either the number 6 three times, or the KKK logo.  I'm guessing she's a Tea Party member nowadays, if she's alive.  I want to file a lawsuit against judges who let criminals with rap sheets miles long go free with just a slap on the wrist, I find that offensive. I would say I want to file a lawsuit against those attorneys who represent them, but there's that pesky "right to counsel" thing.  I want to file a lawsuit against the clerk who when I turned in my citizenship application said "You should drop that first name, it's not American enough."  I informed her my first name, unusual as it may be (to some), is a family name going back to my great-grandmother and she could put THAT in her pipe and smoke it!  I want to file a lawsuit against parents who leave babies in cars alone.  Against people that have slaughterhouses and butcher animals "for religious purposes" except you just know there will be some nimrod attorney who will bring up that "freedom of religion" thing.  Dang!  I want to file a lawsuit against employers who demean, disrespect and discriminate.  Against nimrods who claim their religion is The One True Religion and those that do not convert will Burn In Hell.  Oh, wait, there's that pesky freedom of religion thing again.  Against people who stir the pot and make the racial divide even wider.  On BOTH sides of the issue.  Because racism and bigotry are not just a "white" thing.  Horrible, heinous, terrible things have been done by cretins who believed themselves superior just because of their skin color (or lack thereof).  But people of all colors, races and creeds have marched together for equality ... for ALL. Not all Southerners are racists and not all racists are Southerners.  Not all Christians are Christian, just sayin'.  Not all Jews are cheap, I  have known plenty of uber-frugal Catholics in my time.  Not all Hispanics speak with an accent.  Once I was told I "talked English real good for a little Cuban girl, you have no accent, you could pass for white!"  What is it with the white thing?  Mind you, they really were trying to be nice.  I just said "Well, thank you. I learned English while on the banana plane from Cuba."  They thought that was the funniest thing.  Let's stop generalizing.  There's good and bad across the board.  Trouble is, good does not make for high ratings.  And I sincerely doubt that all those companies who dumped Paula Deen are all perfect and holy and have never themselves used derogatory terms or made a mistake.

Say, whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty?  Or responsible journalism? Oh, wait, responsible journalism, OXYMORON.  Class action anyone?

Well, the skies are gloomy, it is thunder-booming and about to pour.  I'm signing off, brewing some coffee (café con leche!) and enjoying being home while it pours. Usually I am stuck in traffic with some nimrod behind me flashing his lights.  Being at home during a rainstorm is a rare and much treasured treat. Until next time, be blessed, take care of one another, remember, we are all His children.  Peace and keep the faith!

Wheezies, Chicken Soup and Orange Juice



Keeping an Eye on Me

Still under the weather today.  My Bella Bella Smokey Noella is keeping close tabs on me and sticking close, whether I am on the sofa or in bed.  The babies are being good boys, although they have now taken to climbing to the very tippy top of the kennel and then hanging there like wee monkeys.  Breathing better, but it is still an adventure to go further than say from my sofa to the kitchen.  But I had to leave my nest today and go pick up my meds.  I was out of pain meds, b/p meds and anti-anxiety meds, still (blessed be) have plenty left in the inhalers (both Advair and Ventolin), but still I had to get the other meds. Figured I would take the trash out since I was heading to the car. Bad idea.  By the time I got to my car, which is really not far away from my front door, maybe about 1/2 a (short) block, I was wheezing like an old train trying to make it up a very steep hill.  Opened the car, sat down, got my breath back.  Toddled to the trash bin, pitched two bags, put my little Versacart (God bless whoever invented that, I have gotten my money's worth and then some out of mine) in the trunk, turned on the a/c, caught my breath and drove off to Walgreen's.

Ah, Miami traffic!

Anyone who has spent any time in Miami and has actually driven around knows that Miami is, well, in its own special category.  I swear even if you leave your house at 2 in the morning, you WILL hit traffic, encounter some type of detour because of the NERC (Never Ending Road Construction) and/or run into some type of horrific accident or police chase.  It's just part of road map here in So. Fla.  Do I have to tell you I ran into the first AND the second?  Get to Walgreen's (drive-thru), there's a line.  Oh, joy.  Silver Lining, it moved fast.  Second Silver Lining, they had all my meds.  As I am driving away I remember, I'm out of pain meds (Tylenol 3) and allergy meds (Benadryl).  Drive back in, park.  Grab a little cart, find pain med/allergy med aisle.  Advil is under lock and key.  Third Silver Lining, there actually was an employee stocking the shelves and she got my Advil for me.  Bless her!  Remembered I had some pictures to pick up.  Finally, have my Advil, my Benadryl and my pictures, I'm ready to go home!  Yay!



Nap Time!

Yet another Silver Lining, they are all over the place today, very light traffic on way home.  Back in my pj's now.  Tried connecting to firm, but the web connection is down.  Emailed IT people.  No answer yet.  Emailed my boss, who is still in Italy and I'm hoping she was able to get some actual vacation time in.  Checked my yahoo emails, answered some, wrote this and now I am off to bed.  Hope to be back at work tomorrow.  Wheezing is noticeably better now.  Getting sleepy, so I will sign off ... Bella Bella Smokey Noella waits in bed, she's very proprietary!


Until next post.  Be safe, be blessed, look for those Silver Linings!

Beautiful Bed Bliss

Mucky Mondays

 

 

Anyone who says sunshine brings happiness has never danced in the rain.  Anonymous

I love that saying.  Makes me think of a rainy day when my Mom and I went to my aunt's house, she had made chocolate pudding for my Mom and when we returned home, just as we were parking the car, it poured.  Not wanting to get wet, we sat in the car and went for the chocolate pudding ... with our fingers.  As my Dad watched from the porch, yelling "Hey, save me some!"  Not trusting us, he went and got the Big Umbrella and retrieved us from the car.  Mom and I laughing like two naughty children.  We were silly like that.  I am home today.  Typing away while sitting on my comfy cozy sofa.  I love my sofa.  It is cocoony, surrounding you in pillowy deliciousness.  It is Monday.  It'd be lovely if it was raining, but no, it's not raining and it does not look like it's going to.  Last week was emotionally tumultuous for me, there were two late nights at the office, but other than that it was a good week work-wise.  I spent the weekend writing, Saturday morning I took the babies (now sleeping after their breakfast, thank goodness, I had forgotten how very active kittens can be) to the vet, did a bit (a very little bit) of gardening, was wheezing off and on, but did my inhalers and thought the wheezing gig was under control.  Went to bed last night wheezing just a bit, you know, when you can hear yourself wheeze just a little and think, no big deal, take two puffs on the inhaler, you'll be fine.  Woke up in the middle of the night feeling like I had a boulder on my chest.  It turned out to be Bella Bella Smokey Noella, who sometimes decides I make an excellent mattress.  She yowled mightily at my disturbing her comfort, but was soon snoring away curled up next to me.  Could not go back to sleep, the wheezing started up again.  Did the inhaler thing, brewed some chamomile tea.  Last time I looked at the clock it was 3:30 a.m.  I remember thinking, okay, I'll get at least four more hours of sleep.  Woke up feeling just flat-out phhhhhttt.  Thankfully, I can work remotely from home. Checked my emails, took care of some things left over from Friday and emailed my bosses, advising I will be working from home today.  There's nothing on the calendar, we're good.  Checked my personal emails and found a post from Hollye Jacobs (thesilverpen.com) on rituals.  (I love that blog, always brings a smile to my face.  The above quote is from her most recent post.)

I realized I have been neglecting, blowing off, ignoring some of my favorite rituals.  Oh, not big things like birthdays and anniversaries and such, but little, everyday rituals.  Like waking up extra early and having a café con leche, watching the day wake up.  I love that time of day, when everything is still hushed and the light slowly changes from dark to gray to soft early morning sun.  My Dad routinely woke us up BEFORE the crack of dawn, he'd have breakfast all packed up and off we would go to see the sunrise at the beach.  Before the hordes arrived.  It was wonderful.  We had the beach all to ourselves.  I'd forgotten about those pre-dawn trips.  I've been so focused on work, then getting home, taking care of the kits, that I have neglected my own little bedtime ritual of an Amazing Grace shower, fresh pj's, lighting a candle and watching one hour (and one hour only) of t.v. before heading for bed.  Of writing in my journal, my beautiful Whimble journal, before lights out, even if it's just a short sentence saying "Good day!" Of listing at least five things I am grateful for.  Morning prayer has been hurried as of late.  Evening prayer at times completely forgotten.  All those little forgotten bits and pieces, maybe have been part of the reason I felt so discombombulated when I read about my aunt and uncle last week.  Because rituals soothe, guide, gentle one's soul, psyche.  My favorite times of day have always been dawn and dusk.  Something about the colors of the sky at those times just calls to me.


 
 
Yesterday I made a point of watching three Super Soul Sundays (Brian Weiss, Karen Armstrong, Dr. Robin) (thank goodness for the Fast Forward button, so one can skip those annoying commercials), in between writing my posts, keeping an eye on the kits running around on the sofa, Moose discovered he can jump down onto the floor yesterday and kept me busy putting him back on the sofa and saying "No, no, no, kitty is too small to be on the floor!"  He thinks it's a great game.  Jump down and Mommy picks up!  Little Bit just runs around on the sofa, getting to the edge, then backing up and slowly turning around, diving behind the pillows.  I baked a bundt butter cake, just because I like how the house smells when there's something sweet baking in the oven. After it cooled, I wrapped securely in foil and thwapped it in the freezer. Wrote some more, cried buckets (cathartic!) while watching Super Soul, kept going "Oh! That is so good!" whenever someone said anything that resonated within me, there were a lot of those.  Those interviews really ARE food for the soul.  Kindred spirits.  There was a short about a swing set in Canada that makes music as people swing on the seats, each seat having a different note.  That is a lovely idea.  Would love to have one of those in my garden one day.  There was another short of the beauty of a rainy day.  Not that it has rained a drop since Friday night.


Now I am typing this, sitting at my Little Desk, sneezing my head off, watching the babies play in their kennel (they just woke up from their post-breakfast nap).  Beautiful roses (courtesy of The Flower Club) in a favorite pitcher, next to my laptop, I'm in my pj's, I am home.  In a few minutes I will sign off, put on a big pot of chicken soup and watch Under the Tuscan Sun.  Again.  Then I will take a nap.  I'm hoping the wheezies will loosen their vise-like grip on my lungs soon.  Until then I will take comfort in being home, having soup to slurp and a laptop to write my musings on.  Sometimes one needs a Mucky Monday.  I am grateful.  I will make sure to do my little rituals again, to make time for them.  Like Hollye says, "Rituals remind me of what is important and provide a sense of stability and continuity in my life."  If you are reading this, please check out her blog, it truly is a Silver Lining in my life.  Along with Frances Scbultz' blog, my friend's Rx For the Soul, and the Whimbles.  Like I always say, they are my Trifecta Plus One.  Okay, getting woozy, signing off.  For now.  Probably will post again sometime soon, I seem to be in a writing phase.

It's nap time.  Signing off.  Until next time, be blessed, be safe, keep the faith!  And look for those Silver Linings!

Mother's Day 2013

 

 

I just realized, after posting the Broken post, today is Father's Day and I never did post my Mother's Day musings.  So, with all due respect, a belated Happy Mother's Day to all the moms and here is my post for my much-loved and very-much-missed MiaMamma.  A Father's Day post will follow eventually.  And Daddy, if you are reading this from Heaven, I hope you are having a lovely Father's Day with Elsa Maria. I had you for many, many Father's Days, now it's her turn.  I love you, I miss you and I wish you were here.  I wish you all were.  Always in my thoughts.  Forever in my heart.

 

The one thing that always got me about my Mom was the sheer joy and wonder on her face in the photos I have of her holding me as a baby.  She looked like she'd just been given the best present ever and (lucky me) that present was me.  Even when I was a snotty, snooty, roll-the-eyes almost teenager, she would hug me out of the blue and call me her "chiquitica" (little one).  She loved me, the short, round, buck-toothed, non-ballerina or math brain, tripping over her own feet freak of the family.  She did not see me as that, she saw me as someone who could conquer the world, do anything she set her mind to, talented artist.  She encouraged my painting, gave me my own wall to "create" when I was little.  She encouraged my writing, always made sure I had plenty of notebook paper, pens, journals.  She encouraged me.  She spoke her mind, without losing her cool.  A talent I wish I had inherited, although I have gotten much better at that.  She was a loyal friend, a loving daughter, wife, mother.  She was also fiercely protective of her loved ones.  She was the bravest person I have ever known.  Faced situations head-on, with the attitude of "Okay, we've been thrown this curve ball, what can we do about it?"  She tended to run into situations head-first and never shirked from the truth.  A few months before leaving us, she was sitting in the living room, having some brandy.  It had been a good day, it was Sunday, relatively pain-free and we were watching a movie.  Her sister came over, saw the brandy snifter and told her "You should not be drinking, it's not good for you!" She turned to  her and said "I've got cancer, I can drink whatever I damn well please."  She faced life head-on, the joys, the bumps, the valleys and the highs.  After her death I found a little note from her, it said "It is never too late to learn how to live."  I have kept that note in my wallet ever since.

 

One afternoon we were in the hospital, waiting for her chemo treatment, there was another patient in

there with us complaining about everything under the sun.  Mom took a notepad from one of the little tables, tore a sheet out and made a little boat, she was incredibly creative and could make the most intricate objects out of a simple piece of paper.  The patient stopped talking, looked at her and said "What is that?"  Mom told her "It's a little boat I am going to use to sail around the world, do you want to come along?"  Which made the lady laugh, she stopped complaining and pretty soon they were talking as if they had been friends forever.  She used to sneak out of the chemo treatment room, with her I.V. on wheels and go visit patients on other floors.  She would look for the oldest people, because she said they were usually the most alone.  The first few times, the nurses would call me at work, if I had not gone with her that day, or my Dad, saying they could not find her.  Then they learned where to look.  But because of safety issues, they wound up giving her a stationary I.V.  Mom was NOT happy about that.  After the chemo treatment was over, she had about an hour, sometimes an hour and a half, before the side effects kicked in.  We lived about 15 minutes away from the hospital, so after treatment she figured she had about an hour to visit her "viejitos" (little old ones) as she called them and off she would go, with my father or me keeping track of the time.  My Mom was beautiful inside and out, but she had no ego whatsoever.  When she lost her hair, it was no big deal for her.  Her thing was to take one day at a time, one hour at a time, seize joy.

 

She made the world a magical place for me.  My childhood was filled with fairies and angels, underwater gardens and amazing adventures all without leaving our home.  She encouraged imagination, laughter and independence.  One of my first memories of her is of watching her cut angels playing trumpets out of gold foil and red foil and pasting them on our dining room wall in our beach house in Cuba.  She told me the angels would play music when were asleep and the music would give us beautiful dreams.  Christmas was magical when I was a child, it was not centered around presents, it was centered around beautiful trees full of tiny twinkling lights, fairies that came out at night, elves that worked with Santa and Three Wise Men who visited our house while riding their camels.  It was about fantasy and love and the Baby Jesus.  Going to Midnight Mass and coming home, snuggling in bed and listening to stories.  Singing traditional Christmas songs.  Cleaning the house from tip to toe for the new year, making our house helpers laugh while helping them clean.  When thunderstorms rolled in, she'd tell me the angels were housecleaning, the thunder was their moving furniture around and lightning was they'd dropped a lamp and the lightbulb went off.  The rain pouring down was their throwing buckets of water on Heaven's floors getting them all nice and clean.  To this day, whenever a rainstorm rolls in I get the urge to clean.  Which works out well if I'm home.  If I'm at the office, well, let's just say my boss, bless her, has gotten used to my dumping my desk's drawers' contents on top of my desk, emptying file cabinets and going into reorganizing mode.

 

My Mom had the biggest heart of anyone I know.  She loved unconditionally and gave her love freely, no questions asked.  No matter your race, sex, whatever, she loved you "as is."  She never complained.  When diagnosed with advanced breast cancer, she never asked why.  She just asked "Well, what can we do about this."  She took joy, there was no bitterness in her.  To her dying day, she never complained, ranted or raved (I took care of the ranting and raving department for a very long time, then realized I was wasting time I could be spending with her).  She made a mean arroz con pollo and her tostones were the best.  She loved chocolate in all its forms and hoarded her king-size Snickers bars like a squirrel preparing for a long, cold winter.  Laughter came easily to her.  She loved babies, children, old people, animals, her parents, family, my father and me.  It was a blessing, an honor and a joy to have her as a Mom.  She was the truest person I knew.  She was, is and always will be, my hero.

 

Broken

The Three

 



My grandparents (Mom's side) had three children, one boy, Felix, and two girls, Flora (my Tia Nena) and Eduviges.  That is them in the photograph, my Mom is in the middle.  Eduviges, nicknamed Billin.  She was the youngest of the three and, from what my grandmother once told me, not really supposed to have been born.  My grandparents were married in September 1920.  Their firstborn, my uncle (and godfather) was born a year and a month later, in October 1921.  My aunt followed two years later in November 1923.  My mother was born in December 1924.  She used to love telling people her birthdate, 12/12/24.  Oddly enough, in his obituary my godfather's birth year is given as 1924, he always had this thing about aging.  Maybe tweaking his birth year made him feel younger, I don't know.  Anyway, when my grandmother realized she was pregnant again, so soon after having my aunt, she took the trolleys with the bumpiest routes, drank all sorts of vile concoctions, walked to the point of exertion, trying her best to cause a miscarriage.  But my Mom stubbornly held on, she had taken root inside my grandmother's womb and was determined to stay there and make her entrance in due time.  Lucky for my grandmother.  My Mom was the only one of her three children who would welcome her and my grandfather into her home with open arms at all times, even when they were old.  My Mom truly took joy in my grandparents' presence.  Then again, my Mom took joy in the simplest of circumstances, she was truly one of the most joyful people I have ever known.  She woke up happy, whistling a happy tune.  I did not inherit that gene.  I wake up in the same type of mood I imagine bears wake from hibernation.  Grouchy and hungry.  It is only after I have my morning shower and café con leche (sometimes at the same time), I start resembling a human being.  Before that, look out.  Anyway, to me having my grandparents in my day-to-day life was as natural and normal as breathing.  They were part of our fabric.  They were home.

Mom's Graduation Portrait

My mom and her siblings had a rocky relationship once they all became adults.  Oh, she got along with both of them.  But my aunt and uncle were forever at odds.  One of my earliest memories is of a morning my godfather called saying he was in town and would be dropping by for lunch and then my aunt called saying the same thing.  My grandmother promptly developed a severe headache, saying over and over again "They are going to be here at the same time."  After instructing our cook about lunch, she retired to her bedroom, a cool cloth over her eyes, still repeating that sentence over and over and over.  I could not figure out why she was upset, being over the moon about getting to see both my godfather and my aunt on the same day.  Visits from my godfather were rare treats, he lived in another province with his wife and daughter and we rarely saw him or them.

Tia Nena

The rift between my godfather and aunt was deep and wide.  It had something to do with his marriage.  From the bits and pieces I overheard, my grandparents had not gone to his wedding, it had something to do with her not being Catholic, or at least that was my impression.  Being really little when I overheard that bit, I really did not understand.  I still don't, then again, I never got the whole story from anybody.  Secrets were big in my family.  Always.  But the tension between my aunt and my godfather was palpable.  Always.  The trite phrase "tension so thick you could cut it with a knife" applied perfectly to them.

The three grew up, married, had children.  They each had one daughter.  My Mom was the last to marry.  I have written about my two cousins before, I always thought of us three as the Beauty, the Brain and the Toad.  As I grew up, I always wanted to mend the rift between my aunt and my uncle.  It seemed so stupid, really, I mean, there they were siblings, family, not talking to each other because one of them had married outside their faith?  So?  Apparently the marriage worked, they were together years and years, they had a child, they were happy together.  Why not celebrate, accept, take joy in that?  But, nope.  Years passed.  We emigrated to the United States.  Settled into new lives.  Scattered all over the country.  My aunt and her family in New York.  My godfather and his in New Mexico.  My parents and me in California.  My grandparents joined us there, about a year after we arrived.

Our very first Christmas in the U.S., there was a knock at the door one afternoon and when I opened it, there was my godfather with this huge smile on his face.  Behind him were his wife and daughter.  They whisked us off to Disneyland for the day.  Can you imagine a seven-year old seeing Disneyland for her very first time and at Christmas?  My first memory of Disneyland is seeing this huge Christmas tree with presents underneath.  I thought I'd died and gone to heaven.  When we all returned to our apartment, out came the presents and I got my very first Barbie.  I remember she came with a set of wigs, three wigs, one red, one brunette and one blond.  The adults sat around talking, my cousin showed me how to put the wigs on and take them off.  I was fascinated by my cousin, Elisa.  I thought she was so beautiful, with straight black long hair she wore in a braid.  She had a dimple when she smiled.  So did my godmother.  Both my cousins had a dimple.  I didn't.  Many years later watching Carol Burnett being interviewed, she talked about how she would spend hours with a finger poking her cheek trying to make herself a dimple and I thought "Hey!  I used to do that too!"

Great-Uncle Dr. Felix Hurtado

The rift between my aunt and uncle continued and grew.  My aunt was highly insulted when my godfather chose to use grandmother's last name (Hurtado) instead of grandfather's last name (Perez), because Hurtado was more well-known in the medical field.  My great-uncle, Felix, who he had been named after, was a rather well-known doctor.  I know it had hurt my grandfather, but he never mentioned it and he was always so happy to see his son and proud of him.  My godfather never mentioned or asked about my aunt.  She, however, would always ask about him whenever we spoke on the phone or in her letters.  The rift seemed to meld into some type of competition (on her side) about who made the most money and had the most rarefied social standing.  In that respect, my uncle won.  He traveled all over the world for the U.S. government, gained national renown in his field, was awarded all sorts of awards, medals and recognition.  His wife often sent us newspaper clips mentioning him.  Instead of taking joy in her brother's success, my aunt seethed instead.

My Grandfather Holding Me and
My Cousin Yvonne, Santa Fe, Cuba

My nuclear family, my parents, my grandparents and me, we were happy.  We lived a simple life. 
Both my parents worked, my grandparents took care of me while my parents were at work.  My grandfather walked me to school and walked me home every day, rain or shine.  Something my classmates found odd, but I loved it.  He was a constant in my life, making sure I got to school safe.  We had the most wonderful talks on our walks to school and back home in the afternoon.  When it rained, he'd show up at school with this big umbrella and my red rain boots.  He'd tuck me in under his arm, beneath his raincoat and off we'd go, with him telling me "Don't splash!" when we'd tromp through a puddle.  He always made me feel safe.  Loved.

Godmother and Mom, Cuba

Here in the States, we got the whole family together just once.  One summer my aunt visited with her grandchildren.  We were still living in the little house in Hollywood, with that wonderful deep porch and its rocking chairs.  Where you could see the Hollywood sign.  The front garden had two orange trees and two lemon trees and when they were blooming their perfume was intoxicating.  My godmother had died by then.  Her children were 1 and 2 when that happened.  And they were still very young that summer.  We'd rock them to sleep on the porch for their afternoon nap.  My godfather and his family drove in one weekend.  And there we were almost all of us, together.  My grandfather was fairly beaming, seeing all three of his children, two of his granddaughters and his great-grandchildren all gathered under one roof.  My godmother was very much missed, but we had her children with us, those precious reminders that she was once here.  Her death marked my family in such a way, it was like losing a limb.  You learn to live without it and you go on, but  you always remember it and somehow, you always miss its being there.  Like a missing piece of a puzzle.  That was the last time I remember us being together.  And, for once, it seemed like my aunt and uncle put their differences aside and just ... were.  We took joy in our being together, under the same roof, after being scattered all over the country for so many years.

The next time that happened was at my grandfather's funeral.  My grandfather died in September 1971.  After being ill for a few months.  While still conscious he repeatedly asked for his son.  We were blessed by the presence of a medical schoolmate of my uncle's being on staff at the hospital.  He was so kind.  He checked in on my grandfather all the time, sometimes going in pretending to be my uncle.  But my grandfather saw through him every time saying "You're not my son, you're his friend, Gabanzon."  He even called my uncle asking him to come, see his father before he passed away.  But my uncle chose to stay home.  He did not want to see his father dying.  Which I can understand, just can't understand why he still didn't come.  I mean, nobody wants to see their parents dying, slowly fading away.  But what we want doesn't really matter, what is really important is how they feel.  How could you deny your parent at that moment.  I don't know.  But that was his decision.  My aunt did the same thing.  She had visited us that summer, as had my godfather.  Thankfully at different times.

At my grandfather's funeral, my aunt and uncle got into a screaming match about who should pay a larger share of the funeral costs.  Why?  Their father was dead, couldn't they just be there for each other, for the rest of us, their family, for once?  My father, trying to protect my Mom from her siblings' pettiness and ever the peacemaker (and also being the one with the least money) stepped in and said not to worry, he would take care of it.  And he did.  I never knew whether or not my aunt and uncle chipped in (that seems like so trite a phrase, doesn't it?), I'm guessing they did. Hoping.  But the matter was never brought up or mentioned.  At the funeral, my grandmother was thankfully sedated, thus not witnessing her two eldest bickering over money, at their father's funeral.  I was pissed off, but good, at them both.  Thought their behavior was shameful.  And it was.  Each one trying to out-grief the other, but still quarreling over money.  Nice.  I think it was at that moment I realized, and finally accepted, my family was truly and irretrievably broken.  And now my grandfather was gone and nothing would ever be the same again.

Years passed.  I grew up.  My grandmother died.  My Mom.  My Dad.  My aunt and I always had a difficult relationship, yet she was there for me and for my Dad when my Mom became ill.  She was there again when my Dad became ill.  She was, in a word, family.  The night my Dad transitioned, she was there five minutes after I called her.  She was by his side holding his hand, when he left us.  A year later she opened her house to me and I moved in.  She was not living there then, but she came home on Sundays.  I felt safe in that house.  My parents' and my grandmother's voices had once sounded there.  I felt their presence there.  We had our ups and downs, but bottom line, she was there for me.  A year after that, she moved back to her house and we became roommates.  Which, oddly enough, worked quite well for a time.  Then she got it into her head to remodel the house, we went 50/50 and redid the floors, putting down tile which we picked out together and redoing the kitchen and the bathroom, had the house painted inside and out.  I had kept in touch with my godfather all this time.  We'd talk on the phone and exchange short letters.  I tried, I really, really tried to mend the rift between them.  But neither budged.

My Cousin Beba and Me, Cuba

Both her grandchildren, my godmother's children, were grown, married and with homes of their own by then.  They both married good, solid people.  The boy had three beautiful children.  A boy and two girls.  The girl lived out of state and visited once in a while, at least once a year.  She visited the year we remodeled the house.  Came down for the baptism of her brother's baby girl.  That was when everything changed.  My aunt, always a bit caustic with me, became even more so.  Slowly she turned on me.  My cousins and I had been getting closer, that changed.  Somehow a wedge came between us.  My aunt wore me down.  I started to lose myself.  Eventually I moved out of my aunt's house and into my cocoon.  For a while I kept in touch with my aunt, calling her.  Did the same with my godfather.  But after a while I realized that every time I spoke with either one, I was off-balance, sad, upset for days afterwards.  They were not happy phone calls.  They were disruptive to the peace I found in my nest.  And I stopped.  Neither one called.  Going through some boxes from my move one day, I found some photos I thought one of my cousins, Beba, should have, they were of her son when he was a baby.  Called my aunt to see if she had her phone number.  Someone who identified herself as my aunt's nurse told me she was taking a bath and could I call back later.  When I did, the same person said my aunt was taking a nap.  That night my aunt's granddaughter called me, asking was something wrong that I had called my aunt twice, had anyone died (I'm guessing she was thinking of  my uncle or his wife).  I told her no, no, everyone was fine, I'd just found these photographs and wanted to know if my aunt had that cousin's current phone, address, as I had been unable to locate her.  She said my aunt didn't and that was the last time we spoke.  That was in the Fall of 2005.

In late December 2005 I received a note from my godfather saying he had learned my aunt was in the hospital and did I know anything.  I called the hospital, was informed she was in stable condition.  I wrote back to him giving him the hospital's phone number and her room number, where he could call her. I was not going to be the go-between again.  Ever.  Shortly after that, he sent a brief, very curt note to me.  For some reason, it cut me to the quick.  It was like I only mattered to get information on the other, whether or not I was doing okay, was fine, happy, sad was inconsequential.  That had been the case all along, I know, but for some reason that note really brought it home.  A week later, January 6, 2006, I had my first panic attack.

Months of sheer hell followed.  Healing came, but at a slow pace and if it had not been for my friends, I really think I would not be here today.  Happy for the most part, reasonably healthy, whole.  It was hard to come face to face with the fact my family was broken.  Gone.  Irretrievably and irreparably broken.  No matter how much I had tried, I could not fix them.  I could not fix that relationship.  It was not my job.  Or, I finally accepted, my place.  I was allowing people that had no interest in my well-being control it.  Time to stop.  But, oh, how I missed that connection.  That, even though a fractured one, was still a link to my past.  To my parents, my grandparents, my true home.

This past week I learned my aunt and uncle passed away last year.  Within months of each other.  It's not like I miss them, they were no longer part of my life, but still it has weighed upon my soul.  I could not help but think, maybe if I had tried a little harder.  If I had stayed in my aunt's house.  If I had refused to leave her side.  If I had tried a little longer.  Maybe.  Re-reading their obituaries (on the internet, of all places) yet again this past Friday, while waiting for some attorneys to come to terms and sign off on a document so I could file the darn thing, I thought "Okay, Father, they are in YOUR territory now, their rift is now Yours to fix."  And, oddly enough, the thought came to me, it always was.  They were, they are, first and foremost His children.



Coqueta and Me, Cuba

Now, finally, after many tears, a lot of memories, some laughter, I just remember happy times with them.  No, there are no memories of them, of all of us, together at one time, happy, laughing, just being a family.  Except for that golden afternoon when we all came together in California.  But I do remember my godfather showing up at our house in Cuba, big smile on his face.  Him and his family knocking on our door that first Christmas in the United States.  Surprise visits when my Dad would show up at school to pick me up and my godfather would be in the car with him.  I loved those.  The many times we visited each others' homes.  Nights around my godfather's pool, bottle of wine breathing and him saying "Botamos el corcho!" (We're throwing the cork away) and him, my Dad and me talking into the wee hours, with me just listening to them talk about politics, world history, any and every subject under the moon.  I remember playing with my aunt's dog, Coqueta, and taking naps in my aunt's house, with her singing me to sleep and tickling my tummy.  Rainy afternoons in her house when we washed our hair in the rain, thunder rumbling overhead.  My aunt sitting at my bedside when I broke my arm and had surgery on it, while living at her house.  I will remember her standing vigil with me as my Dad transitioned.  I hope and pray they had peaceful transitions.  I hope their last years were full of joy and peace.  They were not bad people.  Both of them had very big hearts, generous, kind.  Joyful.  They were just stubborn, certainly a trait I inherited.  I will remember that, yeah, our family was broken, but there were times when we were, for a time, whole.  I have always thought of my family as a snowglobe.  One of those beautiful spheres holding within a joyful, beautiful world.  Then someone came along, threw it against a wall and shattered it beyond repair.  But there were and are bits and pieces of joy remaining.  My cousin's children are some of those pieces.  When living with my aunt, I babysat them a few times.  I called them my little slices of pure joy.  My family, maybe someday, who knows, someday, somewhere, somehow.  Even though we are no longer in each others' lives, I carry them in my heart.  They are a part of me, a link to a world they will never know.  In the meantime, I live my life, I continue creating my world.  I have my memories, my roots, they allow me to continue becoming, to keep moving forward.  And I remember good times, happy times.  I remember what it was like to be a family, a group, a tribe.  I know that we were not always, we will not always be, broken.

On Fairy GodMothers, Rescuing Kittens and Welcoming Summer ...

 

Cocoon, Sweet Cozy Cocoon

This promises to be an interesting summer.  It started with my (at long last) meeting Most Marvelous Magical Wondrous Fairy GodMother Martha and the Most Excellent Master Exchequer Jock.  I have to say they are truly one of the most beautiful couples ever.  They traveled to my neck of the woods just to see me, can you imagine?  Something that truly touched my heart and made them even more special (if that were possible) to me.  Their visit set off a rather spectacular chain of events for me.

 

The first being my driving to see them at the beach.  Miami Beach was a favorite place of my parents.  We would drive there at the crack of dawn to see the sun rise, spend the day in the water ... yes, my Mom and I would have lunch actually IN the water (with my Abuela tsk-tsking from shore saying "You are going to get indigestion!" but we never did) and my Dad keeping us supplied with cool drinks and sandwiches, while he kept Abuela company.  He would periodically bring us suntan lotion, which smelled like coconuts, and make sure we slathered it on.  Those were days when I didn't worry about sun damage, I just wanted to get as tan as possible.  One summer I even trotted a bottle of Sun-In out to the water with me and periodically doused my hair with it.  By summer's end I looked like I was wearing a calico cat on my head, with splotches of varying VERY odd orange hues mixed in with my natural really really dark brown.  I thought I looked fabulous.  My Mom promptly marched me to her hairdresser when it was time to get ready for school and that is when I got my very first pixie cut.  All those odd orange splotches came off.  I felt like a newly shorn sheep, but liked having really short hair, simple upkeep, just shampoo, condition and go.

 

Noelle at the Beach

Driving to the beach to meet Martha and Jock, however, brought back all sorts of conflicting emotions and memories, I'd just as soon keep locked up and put away.  But, nope, they all came flooding back as I navigated the streets of South Beach, got quite lost and wound up stopping a police car for directions (and God bless that lovely cop who told me I was on the right street, just going the wrong way).  Pretty soon I was (again) driving past Jock and Martha, only THIS time I saw them and finally I arrived.  I was a bit worried about meeting them, it's one thing to email, correspond and speak with someone on the phone and another to meet them face to face.  But it was like seeing friends you have known forever.  Hugs were exchanged and we sat down for a chat.  They both have the most extraordinarily blue eyes that just beam.  I met the oh, so lovely, friendly, loving Noelle who greeted me with doggie kisses and promptly stole my heart.





Edwin Valentino!

Martha introduced me to Edwin Valentino, who was patiently waiting on a tabletop.  He is quite enchanting and I was so very happy to meet him and know he was coming home, with me!  Soon we were walking across the street for a most delicious lunch, consisting of the most beautiful Caesar salad ever and truly deeeeelish salmon and veggies.  We talked for what seemed like hours, then walked back to their hotel where Jock retired for a rest and Martha and I headed to my Cozy Cocoon.  It was a sprinkling off and on kind of day, but to me it was sunshiny, I had my Fabulous Magical Most Wondrous Fairy GodMother Martha with me!  For the day!  Martha is one of the most ALIVE people I have ever met.  She just exudes this joy of life.  When you are speaking with her, she concentrates on you.  She reminded me so much, her personality, her talent, kindness, of my beloved MiaMamma, I believe they would have been great friends.  And Jock is quite handsome and charming, an Old World gentleman.  They are truly one of the loveliest couples.  They just seem so happy to be in each other's company.  I love seeing that.  It is a rare gift.

 

Beautiful couple

Backtracking to a week before the visit ... One morning leaving for the office, I heard meowing from underneath my car.  Peering underneath, I didn't see anything under there.  Fearing a cat or kitten had gotten inside the motor, I popped the hood, but didn't see anything in there either.  So, I carefully backed out, really, really slowly and what did I find, but two tiny kittens, eyes beginning to open.  The Momma Cat was there too, but I couldn't very well leave them lying on the asphalt of the parking area, so I scooped them up and put them on the grass and drove off to work.  Came home that afternoon and there were the two kittens, but no Momma.  Then I see my neighbors walking towards me, holding yet another kitten.  They told me they had heard a meowing from their car and, long story short, the Dad, bless him, took the motor apart and found this teeny tiny kitten under the car battery.  How he got there, I have no clue, but that's where he was.  The Momma Cat, they said had been pacing up and down, trying to get at the motor, when he was tinkering under there trying to find the kitten and they had to keep shooshing her away.  So, I went and got the other two, put all three kittens in a box with old towels and we put them on my terrace under the roof overhang, thinking, okay, once the Momma Cat sees all three of them safe and sound, she'll take them.  But, that was not the case.  Next morning there they were, meowing their lungs out, hungry, no Momma Cat to be seen.  My neighbor, Josefina, fed them during the day and kept an eye out to see if Momma came back, but never saw her.  When I got home that afternoon, Thursday, there were only two kittens in the box.  One of the two that I had put on the grass and the teeny one from my neighbors' car.  Josefina, her husband and their two girls searched high and low for the third kitten, didn't find him.  In the meantime, it was thunder-rumbling and we couldn't very well leave those two little ones outside, sooooo ... in they came with me.  I got my big laundry basket, more old towels and plunked them in there after feeding them a bit of milk with a little syringe thingie Josefina had been using to feed them.  Friday morning they were very perky and trying their best to crawl out of the basket, so I put my beautiful antique tole tray on top.  That fixed that problem!

 

Saturday morning, it was off to Pet Supermarket to buy Kitten Milk Replacement Step 1 (i.e, KMR 1), two sets of baby bottles, a vitamin supplement, a flea comb, and pee-pee pads.  They both took to the KMR 1 and Josefina said she would feed them during the week while I was at work.  That was one hectic week, they got a bit stronger and were soon walking around and the basket was quite confining.  During the week they had two baths (with Dawn) each to eradicate the flea issue.  I was not about to let Bella Bella Smokey Noella (who I must say was VERY patient with me taking so much time to care for the kittens) get fleas from the two young ones.  They were very good about their baths, holding very still and letting me soap them up, then towel them off and dry them with the blow dryer on low.  Flea issue solved.  The following weekend Martha and Jock arrived on Sunday, I took Monday and Tuesday off for their visit.  That Sunday my neighbor and I went to Lowe's and bought plumbagos and ferns and Josefina, bless her, planted them for me, so my garden would look a bit more decent for FGM Martha's visit.

 

Fairy GodMother Vibes

Okay, back to the Fairy GodMother Visit.  When FGM Martha and I arrived at the Cocoon, she asked to see the kittens and I brought the basket out.  She looked them over and said she was not worried about the bigger one, but the little one looked like he needed help.  The big one would suck down a whole bottle no problem.  The little one not so much.  She held both of them and kissed each one in turn.  After a while I drove her back to the beach, where we took a little detour and drove around a bit, I came upon a lot of places from a long-ago time.  It was a bit unsettling, nostalgic, surreal somehow seeing these places again while in the company of FGM Martha.  I dropped her off and drove back home.  That night the little one had almost a full bottle, something he'd never done before.  I'm thinking it was the Fairy GodMother vibes ...

 

Little Bit

The next day Martha and Jock were off to Atlanta and I puttered around at home.  Went to Pet Supermarket and bought KMR 2.  Well, the little one took to it like a duck to water!  He sucked down a whole bottle, belched and then went to sleep right in my hand!  The big one did the same.  I decided to name them Little Bit and Moose, respectively.  Two weeks went by.  I called a shelter that said it was a no-kill shelter and made plans to take them there.  Which brings us to last weekend.

 

Moose



Friends Make One's Heart Happy

My friend Marny came over at the crack of dawn, we put the kittens in the carrier.  By this time they were eating Purina Kitten Chow moistened with KMR 2, drinking from a little water dish and using the litter box (improvised with disposable aluminum cake pans, since they are still way too little to get inside a real litter box).  When we got to the shelter we were informed they were too little, should still be with their mother (frikking DUH!) and if I left them there, they would be euthanized, they were too sick and too little for them to take.  I asked if they were that sick, could I be with them when they put them to sleep and they said no.  Well, that set me to crying buckets, they were so harsh and nonchalant about euthanizing the babies.  Marny said they couldn't be that sick, they were eating well, doing their business and playing, that's not a sick kitten.  I grabbed them back, put them in the carrier, called the vet down the street from where I live, who told me to bring them over and he'd take a look at them.  God bless that man.  He checked them out tip to toe, gave them each a shot, gave me some pills, said they were perfectly healthy for having been abandoned and told me to bring them back in two weeks.  He said there was no need to euthanize them, they'd be fine.  The KMR 2 and Kitten Chow were excellent for them, just make sure they always have fresh water and they'd be fine.  Marny and I came home, hauled out the big kennel and set it up, we put several pretty boxes in there for them to play and sleep in, another disposable "litter" box, their water and they have been happily in there ever since.  I think I may wind up keeping them.  Unless I can find a good home, but it's kitten season and there are lots and lots of kittens out there.  At the ripe old age of 57, I am a new momma again.  Sunday, my other beautiful Fairy GodMother, Ruby, came over.  We were to meet Jim at his place and see his movie, but on our way it started pouring so much, you could hardly see the road, we called Jim and rescheduled, we turned around, ordered pizza and watched Cirque du Soleil, Worlds Away.  Oh, my.  I've always said FGM Ruby's hugs are healing and they are, they truly are.  It poured off and on.  We munched on pizza and talked.  It was a lovely, soothing, healing afternoon, much needed after Saturday's fracas! 

Bella Bella Being Naughty

This week has been hectic and stressful at work, but that is SOP. My lovely boss is off on vacation, bless her. She needs the break, although she will be keeping an eye on things this first week since we have three major filings due.  But we'll be fine.  Between work, traffic, the kittens, I am whooped by bedtime.  But it's good, it's good.  My beautiful baby girl, Bella Bella Smokey Noella greets me at the door every night.  First I feed the outside ones, then I feed her.  After she finishes dinner, she goes off to bed, I close the bedroom door and proceed to The Kittens.  They are very playful and make a mess, but they are happy.  I clean the kennel, they do their business in the litter box, but still scatter a lot of sand when covering up.  Put down clean pads, a new litter box, wash their food dish and their water dispenser, while they run amok on the sofa.  Fix them a bottle each, fix their Kitten Chow drizzled with KMR 2, give them their pills, their multivitamin.  Then put one inside the kennel and give the other one his bottle.  Then take the first one out of the kennel, put the one that had his bottle in, and give the other one his bottle.  THEN it's into the kennel for both and that's when they get the Kitten Chow, which they promptly chomp on.  I open the bedroom door, turn on the tv, Bella Bella Smokey Noella joins me on the sofa for some snackies and a bit of tv and then it's off to bed, where she gets more snackies and I read.  Sleeping quite well lately, blessed be.

 

HRH Bella Bella Smokey Noella

Bella Bella Smokey Noella has been quite the lady about this development.  I am making sure she gets lots of attention, love and snackies from me.  Once the vet gives them a clean bill of health and they are a bit bigger, I will let them out to play with her.  For now, she just sits on the sofa or on the table and looks at them.  But when I take them out to play on the sofa, I put her in the bedroom and she's good with that.  Right now they are napping in one of their little boxes, they sleep all curled up together.  They are eating well and thriving.  All we need now is to get them snipped and possibly declawed, Smokey has no claws and I do not want them accidentally harming her with those sharp little nippers!

 

Interestingly enough, going back to Martha's visit, one of her remarks made something in my head go "click" like when something is turned on or a lock is opened and your mind expands and goes "Oh, yeah, she's right!"  Upon meeting, when we sat down to chat she looked at me and just beamed.  I told her "I told you I was very, very round and a Pillow Whimble!" and she smiled and said "But, really, you are tiny!  You would be teeny tiny should you lose weight!" And suddenly I remembered, recovered, found, the right word eludes me, but it was like a door opening to a time when I really was small and felt so ... free.  I had beautiful clothes and could walk, run, BE and not be in constant pain.  Ever since that day I have been eating healthy, salads, fresh fruit, LOTS of water, homemade soup, lentil soup and split pea soup being the current favorites.  Practically eliminated sugar, except for my weekend cafe con leches.  I've lost weight enough that I notice my clothes becoming looser and I feel happy in a way I have not felt for a very long time.

 

My lovely boss, JTM, mentioned an eating plan called the 5/2 diet (I do NOT like the "D" word), where you eat healthy for 5 days and fast for 2. Got the book from amazon, along with Nate Berkus' Home Rules.  Loooove him.  It's not really fasting, at least to my way of thinking, because you are allowed 500 calories on fast days, 600 calories for men, SO unfair.  She told me to get the phone number of a restaurant near our office which delivers and all their meals are under 500 calories.  One of my favorite co-workers had been there for lunch with her.  Got the number and have been ordering from them, they have deeeelish salads, some with grilled chicken, others with just veggies, plus shakes, sandwiches, which are all really filling AND under 500 calories.  It has made lunch all the better for me.  When I'm home, it's soup and a yogurt (low-fat) for supper.  LOTS of water.  Drink coffee only on weekends for the most part. I feel better about myself than I have in a long, long time.  Oh, the idea of being able to wear pretty clothes again!

 

Little Desk

So, meeting Fairy GodMother Martha, keeping the kittens, losing some weight, friends pulling for me, writing again, really writing, renewing my lease for one more year, being employed which is SUCH a blessing these days, Fairy GodMother Ruby's visit, feeling happy, it looks like this is going to be a very good summer.  The other night two Mormon missionaries knocked on my door, as always I welcomed them and we talked for a bit.  They asked if they could pray for me and what blessings would I like from the Father?  I told them I am incredibly blessed, but if they would pray for two friends for me, I'd really appreciate it.  We prayed together and when they left I told them anytime they're in the area, please knock, if I am home I will answer.  It was nice praying together. A visit with Most Fabulous Fleaing Magical Fairy GodMother Stephanie (a/k/a Estefania Queen of the Macedonian Fairy GodMothers) is coming up. Every morning I give thanks to the Father for protecting us through the night, for my life, for always being there for me and mine.  As I told the two Mormon missionaries, I am blessed, I am blessed, I am blessed.  The first half of this year was filled with quite a few bumps and snargles, but also with lots of joy, an unexpected visit from one of my Talley friends, Jodie, was restoring and faith-affirming, Martha and Jock's visit, they came to Miami just to see me, that was, is and always will be a truly special gift.  This month friends' children graduated some from grade school and others from high school, oh my!  One of them turned 21, and I reminded their mother even though her daughter, that lovely, beautiful child is now 21, we will ALWAYS be in our 30s, ha!  There is a new baby in the friemily.  My pain issue is somewhat under control.  I am continually reminded of my blessings, the blessings of faith, a job, true friends, life.  The blessing of, finally, allowing myself to let go and be ... happy.  No longer scared of having the happy suddenly snatched away, because even if it is, at least I will have held it and set it free for this moment.  Like I said, looks like a very good summer.

 

Okay, I have yammered on long enough.  Until next time, be safe, be blessed, be loved and keep the faith!  Sometimes faith, that little stubborn light that refuses to be extinguished and reminds us there IS a light at the end of what can sometimes be a very winding and dark tunnel, is the one thing that keeps us going!  Remember when the snargles threaten, when the dementors flap their nasty little wings, remember to click your heels together (even better if you are wearing ruby-spangled slippers), have faith and repeat "There's no place like home!"  Home, where your memories live, where loved ones smile at you, where you are linked to the past, relish the present and look forward to the future.

 

Wizard of Oz Decoupage on Little Desk ...
There's NO place like Home!
Blessed, blessed Home!