Abuela...

For the first twelve years of my life I knew and loved one Abuela. I had another Abuela; one that became a constant present in my formative years, especially when I was a college student, celebrating my accomplishments, being a special partner-in-shopping-crime during the holiday visits, and never, ever letting me go back to school without a new bottle of shampoo. That was Abuela Gloria, the life of the party, gone too soon, who I loved dearly.

However, this entry, is about the other Abuela. The first. The only one and only, Abuela Irma. I stress that she was the first one because for reasons only too complicated for me to understand at the time, she and my grandfather Eddie, my mom's parents, were the set of grandparents we were in constant contact with. And, I mean, constant. Every weekend, if not every-other weekend, holiday and summer vacation, my brother and I were shipped to Mayaguez, to stay with them. That was our second home growing up. The only other home we felt safe, loved, taken care off and were we knew we'd hit the jackpot with every visit to "THE MALL!" My brother and I agreed, so many years ago, that they were the only grandparents of our childhood. They represented a different life, a happy life and many of the happiest of moments around my mother's memory.

Thursday, November 12, red-eye to San Juan to see Abuela. My cousin called. After the fall that broke her hip and dislocated her 95 year old arm, they had to call 911 and take her to the hospital. Blood count low, lots of pain and not eating well. What more to do... I had to go. I went. For the next four days I sat by her side, only to leave her for a few hours of sleep and re-grouping.

The time for re-group came by means of sitting with my aunt, my mother's younger sister, and talk about life. Stories told many times before brought laughter and tears. Stories never before shared stormed through with rage, frustration and the temptation to resurrect and perpetuate pain felt so many years ago when my mother's untimely death changed all of our lives forever.

Abuela, we (including my cousins), all agreed was the strongest, most stubborn, pain in the ass from la playa de Humacao. She married one of the smartest, most handsomest from the near by, Naguabo, Eddie Ortiz and had three daughters. My grandfather, my favorite person in the whole world, was a college professor, scientist, who could have been the most renowned in his field, instead, settled for teaching and family. Their middle daughter, Geraldina, my mother, was like the Pipe Piper. Our house, Hamelin. Everyone gathered there for birthdays, weekend visits, joyous occasions, post-illness care.

From the other two sisters, five more grandchildren joined the party and on rare occasions, Abuelo Eddie would pack up his Toyota Corolla, with all of us in tow for what seemed the most exciting adventure of our lives. We'd go to the movies, shop, they both, in their own ways, taught us lessons still today, very much part of our core.

Abuelo loved Classical music. He played the mandolin, la mandolina, ever so sweetly, the sound of the strings and the melody that stemmed from them, embedded in my mind. I now realize that I have not heard a mandolina being played until I went to a movie, Captain Corelli's Mandolin. All I could do was close my eyes and not see the captain, the scenery, but be transported to the living room in the house in Mayaguez, where Abuelo Eddie stood and played, while smiling, winking in approval of my awe at him. He was my hero. The bust of Beethoven proudly displayed on the very top shelf of his bookshelf, where not only the Classics were featured, but volumes and volumes of the PDR (Physicians Desk Reference), American Journal of Physics and publications from the American Institute of Physics. His Ph.D in Physics diploma from Texas A & M University, on the wall. On occasion we'd pause to catch a baseball game... He a Cubs fan, I a Met, 'nuff said! ;-)

Abuela, in the kitchen, cooking, always cooking. Arroz con carne molida; arroz con salsita; lasagna, and the best, and personal favorite: piñon!!!--for those of you who are not familiar with what piñon is, think lasagna with sweet platanos instead of pasta, and seasoned ground beef, coated with egg and cheese. Heaven, I mean, heaven!

There are two great aspects of Jessica's life I owe to Abuela: my love for coffee and my opinion of bicycles: painful and unnecessary. ;-) I don't know how old I was, honestly, but I do have vivid memories of drinking coffee (really, sweet milk and a hint of coffee, don't panic!) in the bottle! So, I was young. As I got older, she knew that she had to brew some fresh coffee before I would have to ask. To this day, I make and drink coffee in the afternoon because of her. The bike thing, well, it's no big deal, really. For one I was never really interested in riding bicycles and that was perpetuated when Abuela taught me how to roller-skate! I had a pair of white, red laced, red-wheels, high tops that were awesome. She would hold my hands and pull from one direction, then push me forward the other direction until I could do it on my own. We started indoors. The hallway leading from the bedrooms to the living rooms was long and had a plastic (yes, plastic!!! LOL) rug so made it "safe" for me to master the skating with little damage to my knees or butt. After a few hours confident in my roller-skating skills, we ventured outside. To the sidewalks!!!!!! The sidewalk by their house was flat, not gravelly, and made it for a very smooth, and FAST, ride. I LOVED IT!  A couple of bruised marks here and there well worth it. Gracias, Abuela. You taught me how to soar! And bikes, overrated. ;-)

Now here we are, you are still here, but in a lot of pain. Your body shutting down, your spirit saying "enough." Your strength, admirable. You buried a daughter, faced life after that and remained loyal to the memory instilled in us. When your Eddie left you, you were never the same. Ten years since then and the color of your hair turned silver gray, your walk, slowed down and your tears flowed more often then before. Yet, during every visit, you still found a way to tell us a joke, make noises like sheep --sorry, folks, cousins will get it!!-- take my hands and tell me how much they looked like mama's, while studying the birthmarks on my face, like hers, the keloid scars on my arm and chest. When I walked in wearing sunglasses and my hair back, your face lit up because I look like mama now. It made you happy, while it made you sad. You never let me leave the house empty-handed, including the $20 for gas, slipped ever so carefully and quietly so no one would notice. You have been a pillar of strength and even though I have not been there with you every day, all these years, I hope you I thought of you every day.

I wait for news now, as Thanksgiving looms near. I thank God for my brother, who traveled from California, and went to see you. I am in debt for my mother's sister and family, who have been taking care of you all these years, as they took care of Abuelo. My cousins who, with me last week, shared laughs and tears while with you in the hospital. Te quiero viejita. Nunca lo dijiste, pero lo escribiste muchas veces. Tus cartas (con los $20!) o tarjetas de cumpleaños me llegaban a la Universidad, al campamento, al trabajo- siempre. Te queremos mucho, Abu y Aba.... asi firmabas. Haz estado en mi corazón y lo seguiras estando... Siempre.

525,600 minutes....

"525,600 minutes, 525, 000 moments so dear, 525,600 minutes, how do you measure, measure a year? In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights, in cups of coffee...."  Those of you who know the song can sing along, and we can keep singing for as long as we like because this song can capture so many emotions, perhaps all the emotions one can possibly experience in a year. Love, life, death, loss, joy.

A year ago I wrote about all the lessons I had learned in life, as I approached my looming, gloom and doomed alleged expiration date of 40. Alas, I made it. I survived. I lived another year and guess what? I lived to tell about it... or I will talk about it. But where to start. Hmmm, that is the question.

Throughout this fine year that has been my 40th on this earth I have expressed many pleasantries, quite positively positive when it came to my birthday. As the big day approached I recall the nervousness and anxiety of how to celebrate it, such a milestone. Chuckle. New adventures and opportunities. Good people around you and wine, what else does one need, right? ;)

Life happens and it brings with it a little bit of everything! Instances and events brought on by life came in the unexpected, yet calculated form of arguments and misunderstandings, trips planned, flights scheduled, flights cancelled, birthday parties and weddings, illnesses and hospitals stays, more arguments, and the ever-present fear of what if... What if I told the truth about how I really feel? What if I say no and create more tension? What if I fight harder for what I want and what I love? What if I would have done things differently? More calculated, yet unexpected circumstances included a difficult transition for a boy into middle school and all the anxiety, stress and fear of disappointment, morphing suddenly, and almost seamlessly, into a more sharp and responsible young man. A-ha! There is light at the end of that tunnel, at least!

Relationships severed; compartmentalized after the harsh reality check that no matter what was done,  said, or intended, it fell on deaf ears. Messages were sent, loud and clear in the silence of the void and the hollow echo of the darkness. A soul, a heart, torn to little pieces laid almost life-less on the ground.

Yet, there was a light. In the darkest of nights and saddest of moments, a bright, tiny spot inviting to the eye wanting to be looked at, to be touched. A voice calling out and saying "that's it, get up, let's go!" That, and the unsolicited winks from heaven that manifested themselves as friendly text messages, phone calls and even better, Skype calls, from friends who just want to say hello. Just that. No agenda, no reason, just to check in on you and see how you are. THAT boosts any soul and along with a soft, gentle shove needed to then look in the mirror, we say to ourselves as we face our fears and may look our worse, I am here, I am alive, I am blessed. There's work to do and people depend on me! There are so many aspects of life to be grateful for and so we should be. And so, I am...

This past year brought an incredible opportunity for perspective and the fear of turning 40 only rectified, throughout the year, what was slightly lost: direction. I had forgotten a few things about myself and of myself. I was steam-rolled and whiplashed into remembering where my passions lay, what my plans were, and with an open heart and mind, I had no choice to release it all into the Universe.

It is incredible how life works and when you stop fighting the fight that is not having faith is the plan that the Divine, God, Allah, Buddha, whoever you worship, has for you. I had to get out of the way, of my own way and give more into my faith. And with that, I close what has been an incredible year of many blessings, many indeed, and I thank those who were part of it. Students thanked me for my work with them, parents advocated and supported my ministry with their children, colleagues extended a professional and mentoring hand, which I am and always be grateful for. Friends, oh my friends, I have no words to express how much I love you- and you know who you are!- for you have been with me when you did not have to, when you were not asked to, and for no reason other than to be a friend. You pealed me off the ground when I was stuck with Crazy Glue and lifted me up like a crane that builds skyscrapers. I am better because of you and for you I will do the same. That is a promise.

As the 41st year begins, new-old friendships rekindle, new-old plans revamp, new-old goals are set. New-old sass makes a comeback with a sparkle in the eye and a red lipstick to match! New trips are planned! Remember I always have that extra suitcase packed, just in case. ;-)

Essentially, the moral of the story is, a year can begin one way and end a totally different one, never knowing what curve balls life will throw at us. What can we do about it?? Get out of the way and let it happen. Trust in God, the Divine and let go. If it doesn't feel right, if it doesn't flow, as much as it hurts we must let it go and let us go - let go of the remorse, of the guilt, of the pain. Forgive ourselves as much as we feel we need to forgive others, for the forgiveness in ourselves come from not being honest with our deep feelings, which are our own and no one else's.

"525,600 minutes... how do you measure a year?  In truths that she learned, Or in times that he cried;
In bridges he burned, Or the way that she died!" It's time now to see that the story never ends, life goes on and WHAT DO WE DO WITH IT? We mourn and grieve our losses, yes. We celebrate our joys, double yes.

Thank you is a word that comes to mind right now. I am grateful, and grateful I will always be for this last year. But even more grateful for what is yet to come.

Life...

My awesome and blissfully sassy friend, Kelly, gave us a warning: September is coming in with a BANG! Umm, ya think? You were dead on, sister. Call it a aligning of planets, blue moons and red moons rising, zodiac signs going postal, September has brought quite the cocktail of events, mixed in with emotions that only time, patience and prayer can help us make sense off.

In one side of the world loved ones are closing chapters in their lives in order to open new ones. Or in their case, boxes. I hear about moving plans, reminiscing of times long gone, but never forgotten, while binging on "fall cleaning" when we praise the heavens for the gods of Glad. I have done my share of moving from town to town, out of the country, back into the country, across state lines, and back again... Been there, done that. So done with it... However, I know how it feels to throw away little memories once believed to be the most cherished, the receipt from the concert tickets, the program from the play, the movie stub. Then you find the cards. Oh the cards from that special someone  who took the time to pick one from the pretty, glittery, bright Hallmark section- not the .99c one- and wrote words of love, or sympathy, or encouragement, or just hello.

Moving provides a venue to pitch and cleanse, to close and open, to plan and re-direct, re-invent, re-connect, re-new, all mixed in with tears of loss and joy, at the same time. 

Another corner celebrates the beginning of an academic year, an adventure in adulthood that quickly challenges the teenager inside still needing mom to hug ever so tightly in the mornings. Ah, college. We long for independence, yet can't figure out how to do laundry. Mom/dad on speed-dial. And yes for some, a free ride on a roller-coaster of emotions doomed to derail unless perspective is kept in check. One day at a time, I have learned to say, and will continue to convey that message to students near and far, while the planner in me needs to carve out the next ten years of my life by 3:00 p.m. today. ;) Patience, prayer and reflection on what has been, what is and what needs to be.

Careers change and decisions to switch jobs come in like a bang for some.  Why? Well, because it's time. We are meant to evolve, to soak up knowledge that can (hopefully) fine tune our skills, whatever those may be. Why not use those skills, gifts if I dare proclaim, to make a difference, impact the community, better yourself and feel fulfilled that you, the precious YOU, has a purpose and a responsibility to be present in this world. And, to be happy, loving what you do, doing what you love.

Everyone is different, there are NO two identically equal human beings in this world. Some of us get along beautifully, some of us, not so much.  That's OK. It is imperative that we honor who we are as individuals. We can engage in conversations of this and that, argue for the sake of arguing and agree to disagree. BUT, and that's a very BIG BUT (hehehe), we must never disrespect one another. Even if we don't see eye to eye, there's a line that must never be crossed. Sad are the days when we find ourselves flirting with that same line and then... BANG! It happens, we crossed it. We said something we should not have said, did something we know in our hearts we shouldn't, not because we didn't want to do it, but because it disrespected the other. DISCLAIMER ... and spoken from experience: if you are the one crossing the line and are truly sorry, JUST SAY SO and mean it! I have owned my mistakes and have learned, boy, have I learned from them.

Family members and friends reunite after years of not seeing each other. What a gift, a privilege and a blessing. This is certainly a ride I can share and be part of in any amusement park. The stories, the memories of casual days at strict uniform-clad high school, first love and heartbreaks, bad (oh so bad!!) hair days and how some of us at 40 never looked (and felt) better!!  Thank you anti-wrinkle cream, I love you so. The tears shared, the unconditional love and support felt by these friends, who are truly the family we choose. This is what people mean, when the best things in life are free. Indeed they are: love, support, peace, faith, joy, respect.

Seriously, September... it feels like March 'cause you have come in like a lion. Please, I beg you, leave like a lamb. Some of us are exhausted and need a break. Help us save some of the energy to deal with unforeseen life events and curves balls quickly approaching for a later time. Let us spread the love of drama for times when there is not a whole lot happening.

Ok, it's September 22. Only a few more days to go. Can we make it??? I think we can. We stumble, we fall, but we get up and we move on...

An extra suitcase packed, just in case... part tres! An ode to friendship.

Over a month since my last post and two weeks to the day I flew to a reunion with some of my favorite people in the world... But, how to begin to find the precise words to describe what I saw, felt and experienced so many years ago that, suddenly, came back as if stepping into a Marty McFly's Delorean. It was 1996 all over again, but with better looks. ;)

For a full recall of all the adventures, shenanigans and life-changing events of the 1996-98 "living out of a suitcase on a bus" tour of Life as Jess, see the first post titled "An extra suitcase packed just in case." And yes, there's a sequel.  See, it's so meaningful and special, I had to keep writing about it.

The organization that gathered over 20 countries and introduced many of us to the world in order to go change it turned 50 and on a whim and thanks to wonderfully generous and loving friends, I said OK. I flew to the reunion and smiled from beginning to end-- CAVEAT-- there were the times when the smile was not so there, being under the weather and balancing the emotional roller-coaster. Nevertheless, every single part of my time with the people that I came to know and love almost 20 years ago felt the same: joyful.

Here's the thing... I think (I hope) everyone can relate to at least one thing, regardless of understanding or not what we experienced traveling with Up With People.  We made life-long friends and traveled to many countries to learn and appreciate people and cultures. Hopefully, we all (you and me) have been blessed with those friends who touch our lives in ways we can't explain. We just know. Our hearts know and that's all the matters.  How one person (or 20!) connect with you might be different than how that person connects with me, but if the connection is so strong, supportive, loving, challenging, yet loyal, it's yours to own and to protect. And, to celebrate.

That's what we did.. .My friends and I didn't go sight seeing, didn't spend a lot of money, could not care less about petty and unnecessary drama, (unless the drama was affecting us and then we became furious protectors!), we talked... We told stories, caught up on our lives, children, careers, gains and losses, relationships highs and lows. Deaths, births, depression, new beginnings. We laughed, we cried. We sang, we danced. Some of us actually got to meet in person for the first time after years of being "pen-pals." Again, joyful.

We celebrated our time together, our bus dates and host families and honored how each us individually contributed to the greater good... and that greater good, the organization that brought us together, we praised and pledged to support.

As we sat in the midst of 3,000 alumni gathered for this reunion's many evening performances, a reminder of lyrics that still haunt us, openly inviting to consider if race and ethnicity are the problem in society... "Does it really matter?" Does the color of our skin, the language that we speak, and the beliefs each of us grew up with matter when we are talking about peace, our communities, our children, humanity. Does it matter at all...  And if it does, ask yourself what color is God's skin? Maybe you'll find the answer...

So, thank you, friends...you lift me up when I was down, you challenged me when I was complacent. You invited me to do the same with no judgement or hard-feelings. You invite me to join you in Italy for Spring break ---some day, Katia, some day!!! You make me laugh uncontrollably and you allow me to believe in you and your gifts and talents. I have experienced unconditional love and I am a better person for it.

May you all have the opportunity to NEVER EVER take for granted those who make your heart smile, even if you haven't seen them in twenty years, but somehow, the universe conspires (heheheheh!) to put them in your path. And, hey, if it takes you having an extra suitcase packed, just in case the universe knocks at your door, open the door and GO! When tomorrow comes, together, we'll be there...

Maybes to Can-Dos... Get out and live!

On a whim, the Saturday of this past Memorial Day weekend, I took a chance and decided to road trip, along with my soon to be 13 yr old son, to Baltimore, Md.  You see, my cousin’s daughter was graduating from college, and well, Baltimore was less than 8 hrs away.  Soon, flashbacks from 2011-2012 flooded my mind with memories of the many, many, many weekends I drove from Dayton to Saint Louis, a boring, yet predictable, 8 hr drive.

So, kid, pack an overnight bag, we are going to Baltimore! 

About 4.5 hrs into the trip, on a grove, cruising on and getting close to the exit to get on the Pennsylvania turnpike, I realize the GPS is making us get on St. Rt. 40 after a few miles on the turnpike. Ugh, 40. I had driven to Washington, D.C. once before paying attention to the GPS indicating driving on rt. 40 was the best alternative. It took forever. I was dreading it, but with the kid in tow, I was already on a roll and was not going to mess with the lady from the navigation system.  Where’s my Triple A, or Rand McNally map, as in a REAL map… Did I mention I love maps. Well, I love maps, real ones.  Anyway, squirrel! ;)

Cringing I get off the turnpike and continue on 40 towards Farmington, PA. Mountainy, scenic, I quickly changed my mind and begged the engineers responsible for the digging and paving of the infamous road I had so many times cursed previously. LOL. It was a crispy, sunny Saturday afternoon. Hilly and full of cars, big and small, hatchbacks, cross-over SUVs, humongous SUVs, all excitingly taking their precious cargo to whatever destination awaits. Bikes, canoes, kayaks  trailers, RVs. All headed northwest and many turning left towards whatever destination the bright blue and green sign ahead, pointed to. As I get closer I gasp: “Luis, quick take a picture, we’re in the Laurel Highlands!!!!!”

I couldn’t believe it. Just a few weeks before I had heard of the Laurel Highlands trail, stretching 70 miles through western Pennsylvania mountains. The Laurel Ridge and Ohio Pyle State Parks hosted most of the trail and we had planned to attempt to hike it, some day. I didn’t know where it was, where it started, where it ended. Suddenly, I was there, right next to the area where it all takes place. I was ecstatic.

Fast forward and it’s 4^th of July weekend. Guess what? We’re driving west on I-70 to hike the Laurel Highlands trail!!!  We confess, the two of us saying “yes” to this adventure, not knowing what to expect, except for NOT running into a black bear. J

Thank goodness I read Wild, watched the movie and read and re-read on the how -tos and what to and what NOT to pack... Also, kudos to my planning and hiking partner, who diligently prepared our packs, made sure our supplies were ready and that I had a poncho in case it rained. It had rained days and days in Dayton, and the rain was following us to PA.

I had called the Pennsylvania State Parks office to reserve a shelter, but when we got to the Laurel Ridge State Park no one was there to verify we had a registration form, or anything. We didn’t really know if we were in the right spot to begin hiking towards the shelter areas. Should we go north or south? Well, intuition and a sense of direction won!  We had a map and at the foot of the trail, next to the pole with the box with paper and pencil, I registered our hike and answered all the necessary questions in case of emergencies.  Pack on, let’s GO!

It had poured all the way to Laurel Ridge and it stopped as soon as we arrived at the park. I don’t think I had ever seen such deep greens and intense browns as those reflecting from the grass, leaves, tree trunks, trail mud. The air was crisp, clear, clean.  How clean do you think the air can be so you yourself can feel it clean.  I promise you, it was very clean.  I took deep breaths. I looked down as I studied the trail, step by step.  When I could and knew it wasn’t treacherous terrain, I looked around. The rocks were huge. What fun games of hide and seek you could play, adults and kids alike.

We took a turn and saw the trail heading down, deep, and steep over rocks. OK, here we go. With one hiking stick each for balance, we managed to make it down, not wanting to think that we had to hike UP on our way back… Moving on. The trail went on. More greens, emerald green, I mean, really. For a minute there I felt like Dorothy on the not-so-yellow brick road already at the Emerald City. It was gorgeous.

A few miles into the hike and you could feel the sprinkles. But, you know what else you could feel? The joy in ourselves, the smile in our faces. We were doing this. We were happy, rain and all.---- If you know me at all, you know I am NOT a fan of rain, so this must have been quite a moment---- J

Maybe ten more minutes and the sign so anticipated: Shelter Area à  Yeah! Luis was in heaven. The 5 million star hotel at close range!

There were 6 shelters in the area plus a nice and wide camping area for tents.  Thank goodness for the shelters because the ground was way too wet for tent camping and no sleeping bag would keep the humidity out. Aside from the 3 plus hours it took to build a fire- did I mention everything was wet?- everything was just fine.

Camping food was delightful and along with the smuggled spirits, proved for a fun camping evening. The fire smelled delicious. The smell of smoked wood mixed with the SNAP of the same wood cracking, plus the hiss of the water coming out of the wet logs, provided quite the spectacle, in 3-D and HD! ;) I love the smell of a campfire. It is pure, real and only brings memories of sitting outside with a glass of wine with loved ones, telling stories, having meaningful conversations.  By a fire, find me any clear night.

Rustic is an understatement. I have a bad back, let's be clear here, but, no complaints here! It was all worth it. The open, dusty, wooden shack was just that, a shack. What I think I valued the most was the non-essentials: luxuries, material things, stuff, mere distractions. It was just right. 

Regardless of the assurance that no bear would join our camping party, open shelter and all, I admit waking up more than I hoped. Every subtle noise reminded me, well, that we were in an open shelter. All in all, it was great. It was also good to know there was another camping crew two shelters away.

The next morning, like good campers and AFTER coffee, we packed up our stuff.

Back on the trail as we started to backtrack, the sun was shining. It rained during part of the night, but by 9:00 a.m. the warm sun had dried up the trail. It almost looked different than the day before, wet and damp. The sky was clear, blue and with no clouds to cover and brighter than it had been. Still the many trees provided a nice, cool shade along the trail.  I could almost hear “blue” saying, “move over, green, blue needs some space in this canvas.” All I could do was, again, take deep breaths and thank God for the gift that was that day, the last 48 hours, that moment.

When we reached the top of the steep, rocky section of the trail, we stopped to catch our breaths. Suddenly, “toc toc toc toc toc toc toc toc toc toc”—a woodpecker, OK, use your imagination! ;) it was so loud we could hardly believe it. We looked up and there it was, right above us. It stopped for a few minutes and then went on with its morning work. Smile. “Well, good morning, Mr. Woody, nice place you got here. Thank you for letting us visit. Have a wonderful day. “

We agreed that we wished we had more time to hike a few more miles…just a few more… We did find a rare sight, a little haunting, but eerily calming and for some reason, I thought, fitting. On the trail we noticed an American flag waving. Then another one, then a few more. Right there, in the middle of the trail, a cemetery. The flags make me believe it might have a Civil War connection, which of course made it even cooler because I always enjoyed learning about the Civil War and all that came with those four years in American history. We paid our respects and hiked on…

About 3 miles in it was time to go back, so our adventure on the Laurel Highlands trail had to come to a temporary halt. We will come back, for I did miss not finding some of the mountain side views and outlooks I looked for. There’s a whole new side of the trail we didn’t even come close to. Remember it’s 70 miles long. We will be back.

I share this experience because it is now added to the “can-dos” from a list of “maybes.” My wish for you is that, like items on a bucket list, if you have your own list of “maybes” move them over to the “can- do” list and DO THEM. J And, weather permitting, every time you can, get out a HIKE! Get out and live!

"I am who I am and I will never change..." Ummm, yes you have! :) But, that's OK.

When it comes to friends, or friendships, I have found it fascinating to see how time changes, YES, changes those very friends and friendships. 

We are told that people never change. They are who they are and we have to accept it as fact. OK, I get that and totally understand how certain aspects of who a person is, will never change. But you know what, my friends, with time... people do change. I have seen it. And guess what, with time, newsflash: I have changed too! And, I like it. 

It is a natural part of a person's evolution and development as he/she grows to literally, outgrow habits, likes and dislikes, people. Of course. You grow up and honestly, if the 40 yr old still plays with the Barbie, we can't help but shake our heads, and wonder. However, what I am trying to find the right words to express, in a very general, yet personal way, how people change with time, and that's OK. 

So, if it's OK, why is it that some of us may not be thrilled with the changes we are witnessing in others? Ah, that's a good question. 

Exhibit A: Colleague and mentor, a person I respected and even admired at one point, after I went through a very personal and sad life event, changed how she treated me. It's been 10 years... and it has taken that long for me to accept the change in her. After discerning and processing my own personal and life change I learned to let go of the questioning "what did I do?, why is she so different?" 

Exhibit B: Mentor-type friend who invited me to "sit in" the grow ups table at committees, projects, have a voice and be a "go-to" whenever there was a need. After a while I was exhausted, physically, emotionally, even spiritually. I couldn't give it my all and I was failing miserably at everything, even at home. NO MáS. With a heavy heart I started to scale back, and to utter words hardly ever heard coming from my mouth: NO.  It did not go well.  All of a sudden, I was not included in gatherings, stripped of mailing lists, and well, not made to feel welcome when I walked into certain rooms. 

Exhibit C, D and E: Family and friends who, as time progressed and I grew up, had new experiences, lived in different places, and began to see life from new perspectives, acted differently towards me. Again...why? Again, what did I do wrong for them to treat me so indifferently and often times, mean spirited? Why would someone have a deep love for a culture and a country during certain years of his life, yet now spew negative thoughts and feelings towards it. See, something happened. That person has changed. 

On the blessed occasions, and I call them blessed -as I felt a strength in voice when I was able to express how I felt- because talking it out with the necessary individuals, only lead to either clearing up a misunderstanding or them avoiding the question or subject whatsoever. 

Newsflash: It's OK.  People can change how they treat others because of what they are seeing, what they are perceiving  or for whatever reason they themselves have, that created that change. Everyone is entitled to feel what they feel, own their thoughts and actions. I am OK with that. 

Here's the best part.  My change has been the best thing that could have happened to all those people. My change came when I no longer cared about how they were acting, what they were saying and what they were doing. It really is their problem, not mine. I am no longer exhausted, but at peace. I am no longer disappointed in what I did or didn't do to "deserve" being treated differently. I am no longer afraid to say NO. Au contraire... I am saying yes, again, but only while I can maintain a healthy balance of mind, body and soul. I am not over-stressed with worry and anxiety reacting to unnecessary drama. I listen and observe. Sometimes I declare it's drama- free day and go on a self -imposed retreat, shut the world out for self-care and to spend time with me, my faith and my God. And you, well-intentioned you, sorry, you were also left out. Don't take it personal, it's not about you. ;) 

With all this talk about change, should state that has not and will not change. I have NOT changed my morals, my values, my beliefs, but have re-aligned my priorities to be the best person I can be. Today. Call me tomorrow and I'll say the same thing. ;) 

I have changed and I like it. Throughout all of this, my faith has been my one constant presence. Always steady, present and non-judgmental. Actually, just like a handful of people (which I can count with one hand), who NEVER did change in the progression of witnessing my own changing. 

They are with me and have been with me (friends and family) pushing along, cheering along the sidelines, ready to embrace the good change that has taken place inside me. For that, I am eternally, grateful. 

I have changed and I like it. Even if some of you don't quite see the change, trust me, I am a better person for it. For those who did change, and dare I say, our relationship will never be as it used to be, it's OK. I miss some friends and they way the friendship was. They are still around, but things are not and will never be the same. It's OK. You and I have a life to live and with respect, we move on and embrace our own journeys. Maybe our paths cross again, maybe they won't. It's OK.  

What's the point? People change, that's all. That's OK. You change, I change. That is part of the development of a human being and the coming into each of his/her own. 

A word of caution, just because we are who we are and we have reached some new sense of awareness of self, doesn't mean it gives us any right to use that to impose our thoughts and beliefs unto others. 'just saying. Acceptance of others' thoughts,opinions and believes is the best way you can change, if you are looking to make a tweak... is it easy, of course not. But, with time, people change, yes, they do. I know it! And that's OK. 

My Puertoricanness is getting in the way of the Gringolicious environment I am in...

To start or not to start with a disclaimer.. that is the question.

Ok, here it is, just to play it safe. :) DISCLAIMER: Anything written in this blog is 100% bias, from my own perspective, based on what I have seen, lived and learned from. Do I have a choice? It's what life has taught me and what my contribution to this world is, based on who I am as God's creation, just like everyone else living and breathing in our lovely planet. I write with the outmost respect and appreciation for the gifts and blessings my family has recieved.

Skeptics will take the title of the post and have a field day... boasting confidently how they "always knew it," how a person who is from a different culture, country and speaks a different language can never assimilate fully to an adopted land. Well, for many years I have proved them wrong. Or have I?

Previous posts have highlighted my upbrining in San Juan, Puerto Rico. While family life highs and lows made for a "not so typical" childhood, my goal was always to take who I was, my culture and take it further from what seemed the norm. To want more than that was expected and NOT to give in to stereotypes. I also faught tooth and nail NOT to be pigeon hold or the "token" Latina in my newly found home. I had something to prove. Puerto Ricans are hard working, passionate, loud, yes, very loud, life-loving, food and drink obsessed, colorful people. We are different, we are special. THAT had been minimzed to a mere side-show of the occassional salsa song played by the DJ at a co-worker's wedding. My dance partner and I were entertainment, and we were good at it.

Problem no. 1. What if the entertainment actually wanted to discuss current political issues, global affairs in government or the economy? WHAT? What do you know about that? And while politics are never a "light" topic, I do my best to lighten up the load. 

Again, I am simply telling a story... stay cool. I did my polite best to brush away the ignorant comments and questions and again, minimized the fact that I could eloquently tackle any small talk and conversation driven by the most educated in the room. Some were accepting, others walked away. I didn't want to offend.

Problem no. 2. What if the little Puerto Rican, with her energy, enthusiasm, commitment, skills and persuasive talents was to excel far beyond peers' expectations? Unheard off.

Recently, and with long, soul searching periods of discernment, prayer and inner reflection, my own culture, language and qualities that define me as who I am, NOT how I am expected to be, have been chipping off pieces of the walls I myself carefully and meticulously built. Being loud is part of me (I get that mostly from the Ortiz side!), especially when I speak Spanish. Hugging is something I do. No, it's something I HAVE to do. We are warm and loving people with NO agendas, people. RELAX. I give a peck on the cheek to my closest friends, as well as my family. Again, RELAX, it's a way of showing we care, that's it.
We love music, we love to dance, we love people and we NEED, I NEED to be around them to be the best I can be. My best version of myself is with people, leading, teaching, learning.

The point of all this, folks, is simple. No matter how many years I may have lived in Ohio, regardless of how much I have called this place home, which has certainly been home,  I will ALWAYS be an island girl. I am sure my fellow Hawaiian peeps can relate, even if they choose to live in Alaska. :)

I have struggled lately by having to stand firm and defend my culture and language. I shouldn't have to. No one should. For the first time in almost 20 years here, I have felt different. Maybe it was always there, duh! :) I mean, I am different. Even growing up, I always felt different. I wanted more, I wanted different things than my friends, my family. I had to give in on a few things, but that never changed the fact that Iwas different. I always wanted MORE!

I now stand, after feeling the most proud representative of my Puerto Rico, standing even taller than ever, owning my Puertorricanness hoping it can still find a place in my adopted Gringolicious home. Another disclaimer: As stated in previous posts, also in defense of my "different-ness" (I think I just made that up!!) I will not use the same culture and language that makes us unique, as a crutch or excuse for this or that. On the contrary, we are assets, we are bi-cultural, bi-lingual and CAN assimilate and appreciate different cultures and expectations BETTER than others can. It's in our DNA, it's who we are as a colonized culture.

In conclusion, I stress that everything written is from a place of love, respect and appreciation of all that has been granted to me in my personal and professional development. Lessons learned about how to be and how not to be, but always, always TRUE to yourself, even if the wake-up calls takes a few hits to the snooze button. :) To be the best version of myself, no matter what language I  have to use to communicate, including Puerto Rican pig latin, HA! ;)

Eventually, people who need people are indeed lucky...

Thank you Barbra, for in your best Fanny Brice, charmingly serenaded the ruffles off Omar Sharif's shirt in Funny Girl you tell us that "people who need people are in the luckiest people in the world."

I couldn't agree more. Some of you out there may concur, some of you not so much. However, if you would have asked me a year ago, I would hesitate a bit. You see, I was ready to embark in a new adventure of the job-changing kind where I was to work virtually, leading a team of professionals located in several call centers across the USA. The task at hand to build employee engagement that would result in retention.

Stationed in Ohio, I worked with engagement "teams" of volunteers for a Fortune 50 company, as I was constantly and quite condescendingly reminded off. The Fortune 50 company way is this, the Fortune 50 company way is that... You get the idea. Well, for a closet introvert, as my "thirties" would tell you I'd become, was totally up for it. OK, I can do this. I have managed volunteers and teams before. Let's plan strategy for engagement, events and let's have fun!

Did I say I'd be stationed in Ohio working virtually with teams all over the nation?? Yes, I had multiple meetings and calls a day with my colleagues, but it was done virtually. Week 1 turned into month 1, then month 3 and by the time month 6 rolled around, I had carpel tunnel in my right arm because I'd spent at least nine and a half hrs a day on my computer and on the phone. I had hardly any face to face, real interaction. The people on the floor where my office was located were all, like me, on the computer, phone headset on, doing their thing. "Good morning!" I'd cheerfully greet everyone I passed by. Nothing... My supervisor who lived an hr away, commuted, but stayed home three days a week and on days we'd have our one on one meetings, she'd stay in her office and call me over the phone. One day I had a bad cough and she asked me not to come in because I'd likely get her sick. Sparing you the details of what came later, you can say that there ended up being not so much positive engagement in the employee engagement world. Why? My theory was because the definition of engagement there had a lot to do with invoices, numbers and orders coming from top down, and not with the "engagement" of people.

I eventually began working from home. I mean, what was the point. Not one person I worked with was physically IN the office. Might was well roll out of bed, make my own coffee and have Hoda and Kathy Lee in the background-no wine, though. ;)

When that adventure (term used loosely and full of sarcasm) wrapped up I took a leap of faith and began working on new projects from home. Loved the classes taking, the planning and writing I was doing, essentially, the work was mine, and I felt productive. Unfortunately, I was starting to feel something huge was missing.

Disclaimer- there is NOTHING wrong with staying home, working from home, or doing "nothing" at home, if that is your choice. It was definitely, NOT for me.

This closet introvert is that: CLOSET introvert. More of an extrovert I began to desperately miss human interaction, actual, interpersonal interaction. Screw the phone, texting, emailing or the use of any other piece of technology available to us mere mortals to hide or shelter physical contact. In a nutshell, and before I went nuts, I realized I am a people person who needed people, who needs people,... Cue Barbra! How lucky I was to wake up from my "stay at home" comfort zone and wave away the fog that had attempted to blind me with thoughts and voices inside my head that justify and glorify the benefits of working on your own, from home. Again, this is MY story. Don't knock it. Some professionals out there have made it, and made it big, while working either alone, of from home. Again, not for me. It was simply too isolating.

I will say one thing, and here's where the true appreciation comes in. Fast forward to a few weeks ago. Still basking on the joy of rejoining a real, living and breathing work team, there were voices, presence of certain somebodies, all good people, but too "loud" for my mind and my heart, and even way more opinionated about MY life, career choices, parenting skills, etc. They may all mean well, but quite frankly I had to tune them OUT! I deactivated social media accounts, unplugged everything that needed a chord to stay "alive," turned off ring tones, changed ringtones, deleted ringtones and decided to focus on what was right in front of me: human beings, real people. Just like that I re-committed to tuning out voices and influences outside of my control. The point I want to make is that I put myself on a self-imposed "retreat" and was silent, disconnected and by choice, not interacting with anyone who was not in physical proximity. I was able to reflect, write and read, then relaxed and not stressed in order to peacefully enjoy the here, the now and the moment.

Then a miracle happened... the one app I had not deactivated was Skype. Through Skype calls, three by the same person in one week, I was able to re-connect, talk, laugh and even cry, looking into eyes, smiling in unison. Two people who live thousands of miles away, in countries apart, felt human (albeit visual) contact and that made all the difference...

So, in closing, and acknowledging the occasional need for any person to either work alone, from home, or other wise, disconnect himself/herself from the world if needed to regroup with ONESELF, to first and foremost listen to YOUR voice (internal and external) and be OK with yourself, your life and your own decisions, people need people. At least I do. I am a people person. I love to be around people, to work with people, to see, talk to, touch and laugh with people. And yes, I am one of the lucky ones.

iSe habla español!

I am sure I am not the first fully bilingual person who had an A-HA moment as the one I am embracing at the moment. It may not be as significant to the likes of many out there, but if a certain "bilingues y hasta trilingues" are reading this, I trust they will indeed give me a virtual high five or a fist pump!

Yo hablo español y al que no le gusta, pues, que se puede pedir, ojalá pudiera hablarlo también....
I say that in the most respectful way. I speak Spanish and if you don't like it, sorry, I wish you could speak it too.

Born and raised speaking one language can be hard enough for anyone. I mean, really, who loves grammar lessons at school in ANY language? Having said that, from an early age, I fell hard, hard, in love with the English language.  I would sit for hours watching TV "ien inglés!" and repeat phrases, words, sing songs, memorize then recite full scripts ranging from "Annie" to "Gone With the Wind."

Becoming an English major was probably one of the best decisions I have ever made, allowing me to write and express myself, thoughts, points of view and opinions about a work of fiction, among other things. I was happy, intellectually stimulated and motivated to want more, to thrive and to not settle.

Landing jobs after colleges came easier than expected, having voices inside my head still echoing "You don't belong in the English department. You have no business here." Yet, instead of feeling proud and milking my "bilingués" -I think I just made that one up!- I was determined to be the best English speaker there was. I perfected my accent, boasting I didn't have an accent to speak off and made sure I was not pigeon held as the token Latina like it was job. It was mentally, emotionally and sometimes physically, exhausting--headaches every evening at 6:00 p.m. only to be soothed by Juan Luis Guerra y 4:40 merengue CDs playing in the car. I needed my Spanish. I needed what came naturally to me...

I remember many people pushing and  strongly suggesting ("suggesting" used loosely) that I become the Latina this or the Latina that of any company or organization. I refused, I rebelled. I fought long and hard to make my mark as everything except who I was. What was I? Who am I? A college educated bilingual bad-ass that can relate to people from different cultures with an open mind, can speak and write fluently in two languages and has finally, truly and whole-heartedly appreciated the second language is just that... a second language. The main, primary, mother and native tongue or language is what naturally flows from me... in words, in actions, in mind, in body and soul.

Blessed I have been to travel and lived in many different countries and cultures, lucky to have friends who have taught me to say "I love you" in Swedish as well as in German and French, I now speak Spanish more than English in my day to day.

Whether it is working with a student from Puerto Rico, who needs help filling out a college application or doesn't understand what FAFSA means, or praying along side Doña Cecilia, whose daughter is ill and needs la Virgencita to watch over her, I do it en español.

Being bilingual is a gift I want and need to share with the world. I hope my son some day also realizes the same thing and embraces his roots and language of his parents and every member of his family, regardless how mid-western he may feel. Now, every day, I look forward to finding material to translate, calls to return and interpret, prayers to share, all in Spanish.  Finally!!! Working every day using a God-given talent and ability and NOT keep it to myself. It is my responsibility to use this gift for the benefit of my community, to help my people. Mi gente.

If you need me, se habla español! :)

When asked what is romantic love to you, I answer...

Romantic love can mean many things to different people.  Yes, it can be the Disney fairy tale some of us princesses dream off, or the instant connection made when two eyes meet and with no words to describe, a sensation of comfort, sprinkled with butterflies fluttering inside one's stomach, that sends a signal to your heart,  saying "I like this.  This feels good, keep going."

Love can also be that same feeling of comfort when two people share common thoughts,  goals, values, likes and even dislikes. Sometimes it comes quickly, other times ....with time.

Love has to develop, whether thunderbolt or gradual,  built on a foundation of respect for the other person. With no respect, no relationship lasts. But, let me add that when I speak of respect, it can't only be respect for the other half. I also mean, self - respect. Respecting yourself enough to know right from wrong.  If a person doesn't respect his/herself, one's own thoughts,  feelings and opinions can get lost in the fictional land of "I just want what you want." That same  place, however, can certainly exist,  if and only IF both parties are in true,  whole - heartedly honest about their thoughts,  feelings and opinions and it by providence,  all are in sync to please each other,  in some compromise,  so be it.... buy land and set up shop.

Love is compromise and I can't stress that enough.  Revisiting the same statement above on being honest, that compromise has to either come naturally or in unison,  based on understanding,  conversation and openness if/when there's a disagreement.

No relationship can be one-sided. A relationship, by definition,  includes more than person. Not everyone is the same,  no one is perfect..but how cool is it when two imperfect people find love and common ground to make perfect love. .. and by perfect love I mean whatever it means to them. We are all different and different is good sometimes.

Love is fun... oh so much fun. It is not meant to hurt, but to make you smile from ear to ear and to want to hold the other person's hand, and hug them as often as it's humanly possible.  Love is asking how's your day going or how was it when there's stress in the air.... love is listening to the other person, telling the fun story as well as the serious one.

Love is taking note of those little things that may offend the other person,  and (reference back to honesty and respect) either do them lightly without offense or if the offences take place and it was not meant to be hurtful, own up to it and apologize. There can at times, nothing more loving than an honest apology when due and spoken with heart.  It shows vulnerability,  humanness and responsibility.  A responsibility for the feelings of the other and a responsibility for oneself.

Love is opportunity and not wasting it by not telling those who mean a lot to you how much that is...

Love is taking risks, leaps of faith, with the understanding that the leaps may scrape the knees if falling to fast. If it's worth the fall, jump!

In a nutshell,  I love love,  even when it hurts... I believe in it, in all of it and I pray and hope that as I, like you and many other people, experience a light or severe case of love sicknesses,  we quickly recover with an open heart and a healthy soul to journey on...

David Lee Roth v. Sammy Hagar

In pondering the thought provoking invitation to consider, and also choose which lead singer better suits the infamous rock band, Van Halen,  my conclusion follows.

David Lee Roth, crazy hair, sexy, deep voiced and quite the fun-loving boy represents the youth and discovery years, which for me, were the beginning of my love for MTV, et al. 1984 is probably one of the best albums that represent the 80s generation x's early appreciation of videos and long hair! ;)

While fans had to deal witn the fact that DLR was far too focused on his own ego by becoming "Just a Gigolo", he was somebody and gave us a treat in his solo albums, including introducing a new generation to "California Girls" - thanks Dave. ;)

In comes Sammy Hagar... a raspy voiced,  pseudo beach-bum that could easily pass as a permanent resident of Margaritaville. He also can't drive 55.... but we give me a chance. 

Numbers, numbers, I hate numbers,  and what do we get: 5150. The sound sounds similar... a familiar tone, beautifully married to the sounds of Eddie's electric guitar.  Again, Sammy's raspy voice serenades the hard core fans to "What can't this be love"  and I'm entranced. Next thing you know, I ask for the LP for my birthday. Then.... I discovered "Dreams" and that cemented my role as a fan.

In conclusion.... both singers were perfect for the band at the time they were members...in fhe height of their original  and complimentary popularity. However, to me, DLR represents the young Van Halen, jumping and being  hot for teacher. Sammy is the slightly more mature Van Halen,  giving to us a glimpse of hope, love and dreams, deeper and more meaningful than a spring break in Panama.

My choice is clear... I hope. ;)