noemi's beat

Reading, writing, and more reading...

2011-04-11T00:02:00.000-07:00

"I think I shall never see a poem lovely as a tree." ~Joyce Kilmer

I'm not exactly sure why I sat down right now to write and this quote popped up in my brain. It's funny because until now (I just looked it up), I had never read it in its entirety. I'd never been interested in reading it. It seemed somehow vapid. Hm. Interesting.

I've been reading like crazy. I'm taking this great short story class, as well as an advanced creative writing one, and I'm inundated with readings. If it sounds as though I'm complaining, I'm not. Honestly. I just can't think straight with so many words and characters wandering around in my head. Little boys on mad rocking-horse rides, scantily dressed girls walking around the A&P barefooted, and let's not forget the forgetful swimmer making his way around the bend of the Lucinda River; they're all in there. They're swimming, they're rocking, they're teasing, they're coming of age, they're doing all sorts of stuff in there and they won't let up. Let me let you in on a secret...I love them all, even the ones I hate. That Dave who won't just grow up and be a man, he drives me crazy but he's there too. He's on a train somewhere with his unloaded gun and his dim wittedness.

I just let them be. I let them meander, I let them roam, I let them run and prance and just be. I let them be. They'll all find a place in there and rest. They'll be tired soon and they'll lie down somewhere near a stream for a nap, or maybe under the stars on a plantation somewhere balmy.

They'll be there when I call.

Writing...

2011-03-24T20:01:00.000-07:00

The Winner Takes it ALL...

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

I get like this every year before my birthday; every year that is since Yvette died. It will be 5 years in a few weeks that she got into her car (Nissan 350z) one Saturday night (on her way to my house), didn't put her seatbelt on, somehow lost control of her car and flipped it, from what the police report stated, 5 or 6 times. They say she died instantly. So, every year at about this time, I become quiet and sullen and a bunch of other things I'm sure. I guess there are times that I realize that I'm still dealing with it. I really hate when people say that time heals all wounds. Bullshit. Working through your grief and sense of loss and whatever else you're dealing with heals wounds. Merely living day by day and hoping that someday the agonizing, debilitating sense of utter loss will leave you just because you made it through the day is naive and it's cowardice. You have to face the mountain of pain and begin to chip away and climb it and get on top of it. That's the only way. That's the only way that real hope is ever returned to you.

Untitled

2011-02-21T17:40:00.000-08:00

I find myself at a loss;
at a loss for words, and yet overflowing with them.
I find myself at a loss;
for feelings, and yet oozing them from
every crevice of my metaphorical being.

I find myself at a loss;
for things past long ago,
and even willing them forgotten,
simply won't be

I find myself and lose myself
on a constant basis.
He urges me to go with it
to give myself over to it.

He's beginning to realize where it takes me.
He's starts to see that it's dark where I go
it's frightening and I sometimes go
unprepared

He nudges me towards the dark
unaware of all it holds
of all that gets absorbed there

For he knows that I must go alone
that I will never be whole without
the dark

Acceptance

2010-11-02T22:51:00.000-07:00

I love Spanish movies. Heck, I love French, Italian and Swedish movies. But I guess it really started for me years ago with Spanish films; specifically with Pedro Almodovar. He is this amazing director/screenwriter from Spain who has a penchant for provocative filmmaking. Now, if you're familiar with his work you'll realize that this last tidbit is a vast understatement. If you're not familiar with his work you need to: A) Crawl out from under your rock, and/or B) Stop being a narrow-minded, repressed, judgmental, simpleton and expand your horizons. Having written that, he is definitely not for everybody. Lol...I know, I know I may have just contradicted myself; or did I? Ok, enough with the double talk. He assuredly has a warped mind, with a great vision and incredible knack for making the, sometimes, outlying members of society (whatever that really means) seem so likable, lovable even. He helps to portray them with such compassion and humanity that you can't help loving them. Of course, I love the outlying members of society. Give me a great drag queen. I love that. I love the 'different' telling of a story; the 'non-traditional' track, if you will. I'm one of the most open-minded people I've ever come across. That is no exaggeration. My theory is this: who am I to judge anyone? Who am I to say what someone else's definition of a family is wrong? I thought that separation of church and state was just that; a separation. But, I digress. (I do that)

I guess I was just thinking about acceptance. About embracing. Let me explain. My daughter Viktorria and I were having a very in depth conversation early one morning (4 am), on our way back from LAX after having dropped Tres off. The whole trip back home started out very silly and more than a little loopy. We were both slaphappy. Anyway, towards the end of our trip home we got a little more serious. We started talking about philosophy, religion, and gay marriage (among other things) and the word tolerance came up. She made the point of saying that she didn't like that word because basically you're saying that, "Ok, I'll tolerate you and your lifestyle, I'll put up with you. I'll tolerate the way you live and who you choose to love and spend your life with". She said that instead a more appropriate word might be accept. As in, "I accept you and your lifestyle, just as I know you accept mine. Because as heterosexual people we assume that everything we do is accepted and for some reason we hold the key to marriage, to who people should love and share their lives, decisions, everything with. Well, if that isn't egotistic I don't know what is. She just felt, as did I, that everyone should be accepted, embraced for who and what they are. Whether that's heterosexual, homosexual, transgender, man, woman, white, black, inuit, whatever. I think that the sooner we can get over ourselves (I'm speaking to all of the self-righteous, narrow-minded heteros out there) and accept that 'our' way may not be the only way, the sooner we can all just 'get along'...haha...ok, maybe that R. King quote was too much. But the sentiment is not.

If You Forget Me...

2010-10-29T23:37:00.000-07:00

If you forget me
~Pablo Neruda

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine

The evolution of patience...

2010-10-18T20:44:00.000-07:00

I fear I lack the patience. The patience to see these things through. I can't even meditate without my mind wandering everywhere. Like tonight, I was sitting there, on my cushion, clearing my mind; or at least attempting to. Then the wandering began. My mind began its inevitable meandering, leading into a full fledged sprint around the world. I mean, it was headed to places I haven't even seen yet. At one point it was on the sands of Fiji, the other minute it was in a cavernous hole, in the dark, when all of a sudden an unsolicited thought, like a sneaky quiet mouse, crawled through a small opening in the corner of my mind. It then started to gnaw. It started to gnaw a hole in my quieting mind and began to drag in all sorts of other things, thoughts. There were things I needed to do around the house, there were errands I needed to run, we're out of laundry detergent, I need to take my glasses in to the optician, is there dry cleaning I need to pick up?? Then the thoughts began to get a bit more serious. What am I doing with my life? What happened to my 1,000 words a day and my daily yoga, and my morning pages, and oh, yeah, did I pay my stupid parking ticket??? Well, the point is, I got distracted. And tonight wasn't even bad. My distractions get way worse than this. I guess, in keeping with the theme of patience, I have to also be patient with myself. I have to remind myself that I'm here. I'm trying and that this will all get where it needs to be as long as I just "show up".

I have to remember to be patient with my husband, too. He's the absolute best husband I could ever ask for. If I had to write down a list of things I want in a husband, it would be him. He takes care of me like no one else could. He loves me with all of his being. But, I digress. I can be a bit impatient. Even with him, the man I adore. I'm getting better, I really am. One of my mottos has always been "I don't deal with stupid people". And as I look back now, that's such a non-compassionate stance to take on life, on people. I know it's not flattering. There is a difference between being strong and just being a bitch. I've always been on the side of strength, but there have been times (not many) when I've jumped with both feet onto the 'other' side. The point is that I'm an evolving creature, with continuous lessons to learn and grow from. I don't know anybody who's all grown. I know many who think there are, but again, I digress.

Here's to evolution.

L.A. Paranormal

2010-10-15T20:34:00.000-07:00

Check out one of Tres' latest ventures...

Self Improvements: External

2010-10-11T22:56:00.000-07:00

Ok, so Tres and I have hired a personal trainer to try to get into really great shape. Well, today was our 3rd session with him and I can barely move. The first day, we both worked so hard that we threw up. Yup. We threw up. Now, what's up with that? I don't know, but today's workout was a lot better. In fact, it felt great. He has us doing pushups, lunges, squats, more pushups, weights, more lunges, more squats, and did I mention the pushups?? It's good, though. It feels great to push your body to its limits then beyond. I guess you forget how strong you really are until you have to be. Normally, that's an emotional statement, today it's a physical one. Over the years the limits of my emotional, internal strength have been tested, have grown and improved. I guess being reminded just how strong I can physically be has been great.

I also got a really cool bike and that's been just wonderful. I hadn't owned a bike in a while and I'd been shopping for one for the last couple of months. Well, I finally got one and it's beautiful. It feels great to get on it and just ride. We live in such a beautiful place and to get to enjoy the weather and the scenery on the seat of a bicycle is a nostalgic and cool feeling for me. Miles also learned to ride his bike this weekend. It was such a neat thing to watch. Life's good.

Believe in love at first sight...

2010-10-10T22:07:00.000-07:00

Be Water, My Friend.

2010-09-24T22:20:00.000-07:00

While unpacking our bedroom belongings, I came across a CD that Tres made for me early in our relationship. We listened to it and it immediately took us to that time and exactly the way we felt. It was a sweet gift he made for me when we were going to be separated for the first time. ( I think it ended up being the very CD the very first time we...uh...did something else for the first time.) Ha ha, I know, too much info, but these days I'm filtering my writing less and less; while in my speaking I'm filtering/editing more. It works out. Anyway, we really needed to connect this week. He's been working so much and while, financially, it's great, we really miss each other every day. We went from spending every day together and working on most of our projects together, to not seeing too much of each other all week. So, when I found that CD he had made for me when we were freshly fallen it helped to remind us of how much we love each other...and boy, we do. It really is that love that is true and therefore, crazy mad; all in the best way, of course.

Life's funny. You never know what's going to happen. Just when you think you know which way it's going, it goes a different way. That's why it's important to go with the flow. Like Bruce Lee said, "Be like water, my friend. Water can flow or it can crash." Lol...I actually made myself laugh what with the quoting Bruce Lee and all. I'm a sucker for some Lee and his philosophies. It's true, though. You can have all the plans in the world and then what? Your husband/wife leaves you, you lose your job, somebody dies. The point is, stuff happens and we have to be prepared to roll with it. As extraordinary as my life is right now, I'm not taking it for granted. I appreciate it all and all the people in it. I have to remember that I'm a partner in my marriage and that it needs nurturing and taking care of, that my husband needs me to make him feel wanted and taken care of. I can't forget that my kids need me to teach them and guide them. It's all part of the process, the journey. As hokey as it all sounds, there lies the truth. This is it. This is our lives. This is who we are. If that's not ok, then do something about it. Do what you're going to do, be what you want to be. More importantly, be who you're want to be. That's it. No more excuses.

Self Improvement

2010-09-21T13:59:00.000-07:00

This started as a journal entry and I was making a list of the things about myself that I'd like to change. It ended up being a laundry list of the positive things I can do in my life, in myself.

~I don’t know everything and I shouldn't act like I do.
~I should hold my tongue more often, my words hurt sometimes, especially those I love
~I need to be more patient with those around me, those closest to me, everyone.
~I need to be more thoughtful, with my actions and my deeds.
~I need to be more willing to accept responsibility when I do something wrong (which I like to think is never)
~I need to stop obsessing about things that don't matter.
~I should be more helpful in general.
~I should read more
~I should write more.
~I should be willing to write the things I need to without fear.
~I should, therefore, face my fear of writing vulnerability.
~I should be more kind.
~I should write letters, cards for no reason.
~I should remember more birthdays.
~I should get more exercise.
~I should listen more and talk less.
~I should listen more and talk less.
~I will listen more and talk less.

Catharsis

2010-09-20T23:27:00.000-07:00

In the Merriam Webster dictionary catharsis is defined as: a purification or purging that brings about spiritual renewal or release . It's also defined as: a purifying or figurative cleansing of the emotions, especially pity and fear, described by Aristotle as an effect of tragic drama on its audience. A purification, a cleansing...hmm. Well, that's what it feels like; but it feels like a heavy weight being slowly dragged out inch by excruciating inch. And in this process one feels a little more weightless, but also exhausted; deeply exhausted.

I've been really delving into myself. I know it sounds selfish and 'touchy-feely' and a bunch of other descriptions rich with hyperbole, but I find it to be necessary at this point in my life. I've spent the last 18 years raising kids. I'm 38 years old and I've spent the last 18 years raising kids. Just rereading that sentence makes me feel worn out and exhausted. It also makes me feel like I've focused a lot of my attention into my kids. I love my kids, I really do. I don't regret them for a second. What I do regret is that I allowed myself to lose myself. Somewhere along the line, between diapers and potty training, and high school graduations, I lost who I was, who I am. Now, don't get me wrong, I still have a very good sense of who I am; I'm just having problems figuring out what I want for my life, what I want from my life. I mean, it's everything. It's God and religion, it's literature, it's writing, it's yoga, it's everything. I'm 38 and I don't know what I want to do when I grow up. I think that's the bottom line. I don't know what I want to be or do when I grow up. So, as I delve deeper and I read deeper, I find myself very emotional. I have the greatest support in the world in my husband. He encourages me to go wherever I need to go to make my discoveries with the constant knowledge and reassurance that he'll be there when I emerge. I think that his strong love and support of me lets me feel like I could do anything and go anywhere and be safe. We had a bad day the other day and Lord, Buddha, Allah knows that I can be a couple of handfuls at times, he looked at me and said, "It's still true that I'd rather have a bad day with you than 1,000 good ones with anyone else." And although, our great days overshadow our bad 1000 times over, it's still good to know. So, as I continue this uncomfortable cathartic journey, I hope to emerge at least a little more insightful, a little more peaceful, and a whole lot lighter.

Pathetic

2010-09-17T17:51:00.001-07:00

Sometimes I'll come across the blogs and rants of 'young' people and can't help but laugh. And by laugh, I mean, let out a sarcastic, kind of eye rolling acknowledgment of their cluelessness. Their belief that they know what life is really about and that they have even the slightest clue as to what they're doing is downright pathetic and laughable. So yes, this is a rant of my own. I just wish that this young generation had a real, solid idea about life. I wish that they understood, really understood, that the decisions that they make today can and will affect their futures. That if they don't have a plan about where they want to end up or what they want to do, nobody else will have one for them; that their lack of a plan will promptly dump them somewhere in the middle of loserville, halfway to nowhere-land. I wish that I could shake some sense into them. I wish that they didn't act like they know everything when you're trying to impart some small bits of 'hey, I've been there, you should take my advice' nuggets of wisdom. When did everyone between the ages of 18-20 get such a huge chip on their lazy, never have worked, waiting-to-be-handed-my-future-on-a-silver-platter, shoulders? That's what I'd really like to know. Because one thing I know for sure, is that nobody can want something for you more than you want it for yourself. And if you're not willing to work for it then you may as well resign yourself to your minimum wage Walmart job and be done with it.

Ugh. Ok, I'm done. I just needed to write some things down and now I'm done. No explanations, no expanding. That's it.

The Author Who Made Me Write....

2010-05-02T01:10:00.000-07:00

The first time I read Sandra Cisneros was about 15 years ago. It was a book of poetry called Loose Women and it changed me. For the first time I read a book of poems that read like I thought. It read like the way I thought. It was amazing. There was a poem in particular called 'You Bring Out The Mexican In Me'...it remains one of my all time favorite poems. Although, I understood the sentiment behind the poem, it wasn't until Tres that I felt the feelings of it. They are primordial, visceral and all encompassing...just like love. And you would do anything for it.

Tonight, sitting here listening to beautiful, heartfelt music, missing my husband, reading Cisneros, makes me remember; makes me think and feel.

So here it is:

"You Bring Out The Mexican In Me"
by Sandra Cisneros

You bring out the Mexican in me.
The hunkered thick dark spiral.
The core of a heart howl.
The bitter bile.
The tequila lágrimas on Saturday all
through next weekend Sunday.
You are the one I'd let go the other loves for,
surrender my one-woman house.
Allow you red wine in bed,
even with my vintage lace linens.
Maybe. Maybe.

For you.

You bring out the Dolores del Río in me.
The Mexican spitfire in me.
The raw navajas, glint and passion in me.
The raise Cain and dance with the rooster-footed devil in me.
The spangled sequin in me.
The eagle and serpent in me.
The mariachi trumpets of the blood in me.
The Aztec love of war in me.
The fierce obsidian of the tongue in me.
The berrinchuda, bien-cabrona in me.
The Pandora's curiosity in me.
The pre-Columbian death and destruction in me.
The rainforest disaster, nuclear threat in me.
The fear of fascists in me.
Yes, you do. Yes, you do.

You bring out the colonizer in me.
The holocaust of desire in me.
The Mexico City '85 earthquake in me.
The Popocatepetl/Ixtacchuatl in me.
The tidal wave of recession in me.
The Agustín Lara hopeless romantic in me.
The barbacoa taquitos on Sunday in me.
The cover the mirrors with cloth in me.

Sweet twin. My wicked other,
I am the memory that circles your bed nights,
that tugs you taut as moon tugs ocean.
I claim you all mine,
arrogant as Manifest Destiny.
I want to rattle and rent you in two.
I want to defile you and raise hell.
I want to pull out the kitchen knives,
dull and sharp, and whisk the air with crosses.
Me sacas lo mexicana en mi,
like it or not, honey.

You bring out the Uled-Nayl in me.
The stand-back-white-bitch-in me.
The switchblade in the boot in me.
The Acapulco cliff diver in me.
The Flecha Roja mountain disaster in me.
The dengue fever in me.
The ¡Alarma! murderess in me.
I could kill in the name of you and think
it worth it. Brandish a fork and terrorize rivals,
female and male, who loiter and look at you,
languid in you light. Oh,

I am evil. I am the filth goddess Tlazoltotl.
I am the swallower of sins.
The lust goddess without guilt.
The delicious debauchery. You bring out
the primordial exquisiteness in me.
The nasty obsession in me.
The corporal and venial sin in me.
The original transgression in me.

Red ocher. Yellow ocher. Indigo. Cochineal.
Pinon. Copal. Sweetgrass. Myrrh.
All you saints, blessed and terrible,
Virgen de Guadalupe, diosa Coatlicue,
I invoke you.

Quiero ser tuya. Only yours. Only you.
Quiero amarte. Aarte. Amarrarte.
Love the way a Mexican woman loves. Let
me show you. Love the only way I know how.

Piscine

2010-04-26T22:22:00.000-07:00

I've been reading 'Life of Pi' for the last month and, while I really like it, it's difficult; not difficult to read, but, at times, to grasp. Let me explain--it brings up all kinds of philosophical, religious questions. It just leaves me in a state of deep pondering for long periods of time. So there it is. In the words of Vonnegut, "So it goes".

Gratitude

2010-03-14T22:21:00.000-07:00

I started a gratitude journal today. The idea is this: everyday I have to write down 5 things for which I'm grateful. Having only begun this project today, I don't have a lot of experience to report; although, I do have some predictions. I predict that this undertaking will make me change the way I think. By this I mean that I can foresee my thinking changing. I predict that I won't be able to focus and dwell on the negative on a daily basis when I'm writing down the things in my life for which I'm thankful; those things in my life that I wouldn't want to be without, that I couldn't be without.

So, in the midst of the craziness that is our life right now (and it is crazy with a capital CRAZY), I will stop at some point in the middle of it, slow down my ever running mind and think about the people, things, feelings, that I love. I predict that the more days that I do this, the more often per day I will automatically focus on the positives and let the negatives sit on the back burner of my consciousness and eventually slide away completely. Now, I'm not naive enough to think that there will never be any negative things that I will have to deal with; I just refuse to dwell on them or allow them to control me or my decisions.

So with this, I'm off to read my new current read: Mindfulness in Plain English. It's a great book, full of insight and knowledge-both practical and otherwise.

Pick up a book already...

2010-02-26T23:24:00.000-08:00

I've always loved libraries. (When I was little, my mother used to take us once a week, at least. I remember that once we lived across the street from a library and I was there all the time...but I digress.) My love for libraries is for some of the same reasons that I love bookstores: the smell of the books on the shelves, the quiet. As I look around at all of the volumes of knowledge on the bookcases, one thought never fails to enter my mind: 'There is so much I don't know about so much...'. It almost becomes a whimpering, desperate, pathetic cry from within. Lol...funny and nerdy, but true. When I get a new book, I pick it up and smell the pages before I start reading. I know, I know, weird.

We've got so many great libraries nearby, but I have a favorite and it's beautiful. It's made up of glass ceilings and high beams and I love it. My love of reading began at a young age, I guess I was 4. My mom tells me that I was reading in Preschool. I remember that my father's first church was in Las Vegas when I was around 4, and that we drove down the 'strip' and I was reading the signs of all the casinos as we drove down the road...pretty funny, I think.

Because we moved around so much in my childhood, sometimes it was hard to make friends. Well, more than that, it was hard to keep friends. I counted once and my family moved a total of 10 times from my preschool to senior years. Yes, that's right...10 TIMES!! How did my parents ever think that we'd be totally OK all of those years, through all of those moves?? I don't know that they did think about it much. I suppose that there is still a small modicum of resentment for it, but I also wholeheartedly believe that all of the things I went through made me who I am, for better or worse. I also have to think that my parents did what they thought they were called to do and left us in God's hands to take care of. I do believe that...or at least, that's what I have to think.

Back to the books, most of my time growing up was spent with my nose in a book. I read voraciously. Books were a lifesaver for me in tough times and I've always appreciated them for it. And when it comes to books, like movies and music, I am extremely snotty...lol. If it's not quality, forget it, I am too busy to mess with it! (Ha ha...my husband makes fun of me for this!) Although, I am a lot less snobbish about my book selections than I used to be. Having taken every literature class imaginable, there was a time that I would only read 'classics'. Over the last couple of years, I've discovered a lot of wonderful new writers (and some not-so-new ones) that have provided me with lots of hours of great reading. So, apparently I mellow out with age :)

I like that my love of reading has been passed down to my kids...mostly the girls; I'm still working on the boys :)

Viktorria is so well read and intelligent and I know that her love of reading is directly linked to this. She's a great writer and I'm not sure why she doesn't seem to want to pursue that as a career. Maybe she'll see it one day.

Si en un final...

2010-02-23T02:13:00.001-08:00

My grandmother died a few days before Tres and I got married. To say it was a week full of mixed emotions, would be a vast understatement. When Yvette died I felt like my world had been pulled out from under me. When my grandmother died, I never really dealt with it in the same way. Maybe because my grandmother had lived a full life, maybe because we had more time to prepare for it...I don't really know. What I do know is that in the last few months my consciousness is being slowly filled with memories of her and I'm afraid to 'go there'. I'm afraid to feel all of the sadness that I can feel starting to creep in. I wish so many things having to do with her. I wish that I had gone to see her more often. I wish that she could've seen me marry the love of my life. I wish, I wish, I wish...

{Deseo que ella huviera sido mas feliz en su vida. Que ella huviera encontrado el amor de su vida y que en sus dias finales huviera tenido un companero que la quieria mas que el sol y la luna.}

It makes me think about living without regrets, or at least to minimize regrets, so that at the end of my life I can look back and say that I made the right decisions, that I lived it to the fullest. (Reminds me of "La Vie en Rose". At the end, 'Je Ne Regrette Rein'...amazing song, but more appropriately, Eliades Ochoa's 'Si En Un Final', a beautiful ballad of life and love)

The last 4 years have been changing the things that were holding me back from being truly happy and fulfilled. I've taken huge strides in the right direction. With Tres by my side, I feel like anything and everything is possible. Now I find myself wondering which fork in which road to follow, creatively. That's where I am at this moment. Trying to make the decision to grow and learn, and be successful and happy.

"Si en un final tuviera que escribir la historia de mi vida..."

The sound of my silence

2010-01-06T19:35:00.000-08:00

When my best friend Yvette died, my world collapsed. (She was closer than a friend, she was family.) I remember exactly where I was when her father told me over the phone. I was driving and I was at the corner of Avenida Mazatlan and Eisenhower Ave in La Quinta. I had been annoyed at her all morning for not answering my phone calls and I was on my way to her work to bitch at her for it. Her dad had this very calm tone to his voice when I called her house that morning and asked for her. He said, "No, Yvette's not here...she's been in a car accident." Pause. "She's not with us anymore." I thought: well, where is she? The thought that she was dead was a thought that my brain couldn't grasp. I thought: well, is she at the hospital? I asked him, "Where is she?? Tell me where she is??" He, again very calmly, said, "She's at the morgue; she didn't make it." Just like that. He said it JUST. LIKE. THAT.

All at once, my mind began to shut down. Everything began to get foggy...I couldn't focus on the road. I couldn't get my eyes to see anything in front of me. I had been driving on a 50 MPH road,(anyone who knows me knows that the posted speed limit is just a minimum suggestion to me). I got off the phone and called Ted, my ex husband, and told him what had happened. He immediately told me to go back home. He knew I was going to be in no condition to drive; he was right. I got home, walked in the door and fell to the floor in the foyer. The realization began to eek in. I felt a great heaviness, pressure on my heart, on my whole body. That was my initial feeling. Although, soon afterwards I completely broke down; body, heart, soul...it all broke down. I've written a lot about it in my private journals, in a lot more detail, but for the purposes of this posting, this will suffice.

The reason I was thinking about her death is this: for a long time afterwards, I couldn't stand the sound of silence. I say this because silence definitely has a sound (and not just because Paul Simon said so). Usually, I find, that the sound of the silence around oneself is the sound of what's inside of you. After the death of someone so close to me, all that seemed to be inside of me was broken--heartbroken, soul-broken, spirit-broken. I was shattered. So, therefore, when I was surrounded by silence, it was not good. It felt awful...it was scary. It was actually scary to be surrounded by silence, to be alone. That was a foreign feeling for me. I used to love to be alone, to be quiet. At this point in my life, though, I couldn't handle it. I suppose that the reason I'm thinking about this, not just tonight, but lately is because I'm beginning to be myself again in this way. I'm, once again, relishing the sound of the silence around me. I'm taking deep pleasure in sitting quietly and sinking into the calm. I feel so peaceful in it. I feel like wrapping it around me like my favorite cashmere throw and lying within its serenity. This is also one of the reasons that I begin my meditation lessons. I'm ready to delve into myself. I'm on a spiritual quest. I know this sounds cliche and even that is something that I've come to terms with. Cliches are truths. Overused? Yes; but held in truth, none the less. I'm ready to face the things that make me who I am. To change the things that don't work; to strengthen those qualities that do work, that are good.

So, with the 4-year anniversary of her death quickly approaching, I know Yvette would be happy with where I am today. She would be happy that even though her death devastated me, I used it to change the things in my life that needed changing. I faced the things that had previously scared me and thought I could never do; the things that she and I talked about. All she ever wanted for me is to be happy; whatever that meant. And I am.

Elizabeth Gilbert, 2009 TED conference

2010-01-04T23:09:00.000-08:00

This is an awesome video of Elizabeth Gilbert at the 2009 TED conference; quite powerful, extremely insightful, view-altering.

sick and tired

2009-11-23T23:08:00.001-08:00

I hate this feeling. Fatigue. I'm sick of being tired. I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired. Ugh. I'm not used to feeling this way. And for all intents and purposes, I should be used to it; it's been 7 years. 7 years of not being myself. 7 years of trying to feel better. I think of the line of Lennon's that's become quite cliche, but apropos, "Life is what happens while you're busy making other plans."

My life is happening all around me, all the time, and I'm missing some of it, because I'm trying to feel better, I'm constantly trying something new (when I have the energy). I am at a loss as to what to do. I'm not usually at a loss for anything, not for words, plans, ideas. You name it and I've got an opinion about it. Sheesh. Stupid thyroid gland. It's so much more complicated than first suspected by the medical community. I've been reading this terrific book all about the thyroid gland, its function, its misdiagnosis, its ability to throw my life and my plans asunder. It's actually quite fascinating just how much the thyroid gland can affect one so dramatically, both physically and mentally. There are case studies dating back to the late 1700's, one including Napoleon Bonaparte, relating to the thyroid and its effects. It wasn't until the 1970's that the medical community begun to correlate the mind/body connection when related to this endocrine gland. Ok, my total nerdiness is really beginning to show, so I'm going to stop now.

Well, nobody (except maybe my husband and mother) cares more about my health and well being than I do, so I guess it's up to me to do one of the things I do well; research and figure it out.

God works...well, in all kinds of way

2009-10-30T21:25:00.000-07:00

On Tuesday afternoon, the scariest moment of my life transpired. Miles, 7, has an after school band class that he participates in; he plays the drums. Theoretically, he's supposed to walk from his regular class to another classroom at the back of the school campus. Usually, Tres and I take him to school on Tuesday mornings and we remind him to go straight to his class after school. On this particular Tuesday, his dad, Ted, took him to school and forgot to remind him.

So, at about 2:20 (the time Miles' class lets out), I get a phone call from Ted asking me where Miles gets picked up after band. I tell him where and expect Ted to be finding him promptly. A few minutes later, I get another phone call from Ted telling me that he looked for Miles and can't find him anywhere. I tell him to look in the school office. Ted calls me back 5 mins later and says, the scariest thing I had ever heard in my life, "Miles isn't in the office and I just spoke to his band teacher and he never made it to class. You better get down here." Now, at this point Miles wasn't just missing for a 15 minute time period; if he wasn't in his band class, he had been missing for almost 2 hours! Now, for those of you who have children, particularly young ones, you understand how monumental and terrifying this information really is. Your 7-year-old child is missing. Nobody knows where he is. He isn't anywhere at the school, he either: a) walked off the school grounds to, God only knows where, or b) somebody took him. That's it. Those are the two options. He walked off or somebody took him. HE WALKED OFF, OR SOMEBODY TOOK HIM!

At the moment that Ted spoke those words to me, I felt my heart give out. I immediately began to panic on the inside. Tres was standing beside me and when I told him, he tried to hug me, but I couldn't be touched. I remember putting my hand over my mouth because I felt that if I didn't I would explode. I started sobbing and I felt myself go weak in the knees. I remember standing in my closet looking for something to put on and having to hold onto the shelf for fear of passing out. It was, by far, the worst feeling I had ever felt in my 37 years. The child who I love more than my own life, the son who I would lay down my own life for, without a moment's hesitation, the boy who lights up my day and who God has loaned me to be his mother and protector, is unaccounted for; he's missing. It is tied in the top three of a parent's worst nightmare. (I won't go into the other two, they're too horrific)

So, Tres and I get dressed, very hastily, and get into the car heading to the elementary school. On our way there, I get a phone call from a nurse at a local urgent care. She asks me if I am the mother of Miles Hane. I say that I am. She tells me that Miles is there and that one of their patients had found him wandering in the parking lot and had taken him inside. The constriction which had settled into chest, from the moment I found out he was missing, now moves up into my throat and I start sobbing again. (Don't get me wrong, I'm pretty much crying the whole time-just at different levels) I call Ted and we head to the urgent care. When Tres and I walk in, there must have been a look of complete panic and terror on my face, because the nurse, without saying a word, points me to direction of the door leading to the back. I walk through the door and remember a nurse holding Miles' bag before I actually see him. I turned the corner and there he was. He was standing, holding a cup of water in one hand and a bag of sour gummy bears in the other. He looked tired and slightly dirty. My knees finally gave out when I was standing in front of him. I grabbed him and held him so tight and kissed him over and over again. Needless to say, Miles got a whole lot of kisses and hugs and love that day. And for a few days thereafter.

Now, I could go into the negative effects of this experience on the next week of my life, but I won't delve too deeply into it. I will write that I had a hard time sleeping that night and that I was very emotional for the next week. I will write that every single thing that the school could do wrong that day, they did. I will also write that the distance that Miles walked on that fateful day was 1.6 miles, in traffic, across major intersections. I will also write that the reason Miles left the school and decided to walk home, (because he forgot about his drum class) is that he felt that he had no other recourse. But, for now, that is all I will say about that.

As for Miles, the only thing I can say is that the odds were against him that he would have arrived safely to wherever he was headed. He was completely turned around and walked the opposite way of our (or his dad's) house. He crossed 3 major intersections that are heavily trafficked (and a few other streets). The only answer that I have that makes any sense is that God took care of him. Plain and simple. God took his hand and helped him across the streets. God took him down a path and kept him away from cars, bad people and anything else that may have harmed him. Miles was hungry and tired and his feet hurt, but otherwise completely fine and unharmed. Just for that, I am eternally grateful in a deep way that I am, unfortunately, unable to express.

In a quest to look internally to find answers to queries that my heart longs to know, I am reminded that I must not forget to look up. That I must not bury myself in my own head and forget that the help I always need seems to find its way to me. I must not take that for granted. For God works in all ways; sometimes mysterious and enigmatic, and sometimes obvious and completely undeniable.

Inspiration: Kalos Kai Agathos

2009-10-05T00:38:00.000-07:00

Well, I've been lucky enough to have read some really terrific books as of late. I'm usually more of a 'classics' reader, being a literature major and all, but I have really felt like a change. So, I've been reading memoirs. I always thought that I wasn't interested in anyone enough to want to read their story. Boy, was I wrong. I guess the reason that I've got an interest in other people's stories is because I find it incredibly brave and vulnerable to write about one's own difficult and sometimes painful life journeys. It's open and vulnerable in a way that I find I am not. I feel that even in my ever present frankness, I find it near impossible to be exposed as some of these authors. I can just imagine that the mere thought of writing down their darkest secrets, family or otherwise, must have seemed daunting. To put down on paper the events, experiences and honest feelings that make us who we are, for all the world to read, is a brave act. So, I believe that in reading others' stories and journeys is helping me; it's helping me to realize my own desire to write down my own.

I've been reading Elizabeth Gilbert's Eat, Pray, Love and I am completely loving it. It's the first book of hers I've read and I can't believe it's taken me so long to discover her. Especially since the book's been sitting on my bookshelf for a year! The book is laugh-out-loud funny. She uses great analogies and metaphors, I mean they are truly unique and clever. I like her writing style immensely. It's not a lofty, unattainable writing; its beauty lies in its accessibility to the reader. As opposed to a so-called 'great' piece of literature (I love those, believe me!) that holds itself up on a pedestal, this book reaches towards its readers like the bending branch of a willow tree and pulls us onto its foliage with complete understanding and familiarity. Gilbert makes me laugh out loud; laugh like I haven't laughed while reading a book since I don't know when! One thing I know for sure is that this book makes me want to write, to really put pen to paper and write what has been rattling around for years now. (Only one other book has done this for me in this extraordinary way, Sandra Cisneros' Loose Women)

So, as the Greek say "kalos kai agathos". The singular balance of the good and the beautiful. And I plan on finding just that.

Growing up

2009-09-12T01:27:00.000-07:00

Miles went to his friend's house today after school. Miles is an extremely outgoing boy and he loves other kids. He's just getting to the point where he goes and visits his friends all on his own and he absolutely loves it. Tonight when we picked him up from Adrian's house Miles came storming out of the house really angry, stomping his feet, gritting his teeth--so unlike him and quite rude. He went to the car while Tres and I made apologies for his behavior. Miles came around enough to come back to the house and, through gritted teeth, thanked Adrian's parents for letting him come over. They laughed off Miles' behavior and said that Adrian can get the same way sometimes. I, on the other hand, was mortified by it. Once we got into the car, I asked Miles what happened to make him act so terribly. He was quite upset and just said he didn't want to talk about it. I said, "Fine, but I don't want you to talk to me until you can talk in a nice tone without the anger." He stewed for a little while longer, and when we got home he went straight to his room. I fixed him some dinner and took notice of how incredibly tired he looked. He ate, then took a bath.

After his bath, I picked him up and put him on my bed. I asked him, "Miles, what do you think about your behavior tonight?" He shrugged his shoulders. Eyes downcast, visibly ashamed, he said, "I think it was bad." Looking up at me, with the beginning of tears in his eyes, he asked, "I'm really sorry. Do you forgive me?" To this I responded, "Oh, sweetie, of course I do". With seeming relief he said, "I asked God and Santa to forgive me, too." I laughed and told him that everyone, at one point or another, acts terribly, that the important thing is to recognize it and apologize; to learn from it and try not to do it again. To this his nodded his head and crawled onto my lap. It was the sweetest thing. (It's a lesson that even adults should learn and heed.) He's 7, he's growing up, and although I cling to my last 'baby' for dear life, I realize that he's a sweet, good boy and that he's growing up to be responsible, caring, and thoughtful.

It makes me think about Tres and I having a baby. We've talked about it for the whole length of our relationship. I thought I was done having children before Tres. There's something incredibly right about having Tres' child, but we just haven't decided if it's in the cards for us. We want to make sure that the children we already have are being taken care of like they need to be. But, you never know, one day there may be a big (blue )eyed, brown, beautiful baby in our future. For now, I'm enjoying my children in their various stages of life and praying to God that I'm everything they need me to be.

Elias

2009-08-19T01:25:00.000-07:00

I was just thinking about my youngest brother, Elias. I love him so much and yes, maybe sometimes I thought he should do things differently in his life, but, ultimately I will always be there for him. One of the things my brother is is an artist. I just thought I'd post a few (a very few) of the paintings that he's done over the years. He's 26 and a couple of the paintings are almost 10 years old. He's incredibly talented and if he decides to pursue his career in art, I have no doubt he'll succeed. I love you, Elias.

not a poem

2009-08-15T02:36:00.001-07:00

Tres,

(You just leaned over in our bed and asked me what I was thinking, so I thought I'd answer you in this way.)

I was imagining that first kiss, the anticipation,
the dancing around, the hesitation
I remember the hat,
you wore it all the time
I was remembering the way that your lips felt when they
finally touched mine

All at once I knew what it all meant.
I knew what it meant to finally be able to exhale.
it was bizarre before,
what did people mean 'exhale'? Like the movie.

but I got it. I understood it.
It was as if all of my life I had held my breath
and waited

waited for this kiss, this mouth, this feeling
because it didn't take my breath away
it gave me breath.

With the intrepid fear
of sounding cliche and corny,
it gave me what I didn't know I'd needed,
what I didn't know was possible. It told me
all I needed to know about you, about us.
And while all of our kisses still feel phenomenal and new,
that first kiss, on the street, in the cold,
in, over and under the circumstances, was as it was meant to be: flawless.

With all of my soul,

Noemi

some of the randomness of our lives

2009-08-13T23:03:00.000-07:00

Most of these pics are self explanatory, and for those that aren't, well, try to figure them out. Go on, it'll be fun.

Just a little Big Show

2009-07-27T02:04:00.000-07:00

Here are the girls of The Big Show (minus Nicole) having a blast after the show. Mari and Elayna got in on the shots too! So much fun!

Just a couple of pics before and after our Big Show on Saturday.
This is Katie, our first intern. She's awesome and she's become a friend. She is the best intern ever!! Together we are cafe con leche, right Katie?? LOL...she likes to say she's pigmentally challenged :)

reading, writing and rehearsing...

2009-07-17T18:08:00.000-07:00

I'm currently reading an autobiography (memoir, really) titled "My Lobotomy", by Howard Dully. It's very engaging and disturbing, both at the same time. It's the story about a man, who as a kid in the 1950's, was given a transorbital lobotomy. It's a very detailed account of the particular situations and circumstances surrounding the event and his life in general. It's sad.

I'm supposed to be writing a short story with a deadline of August 1st, but I've been procrastinating it. Well, not really procrastinating as much as swamped with everything else. Right now I'm also supposed to be helping Tres write a sketch that we're scheduled to perform next weekend. Yeah...well, I've been on strike today. I'm feeling very tired. The kids are spending the week at the beach in Ventura with their grandparents and I just decided that I didn't want to do anything today. It's been a very full week: we've played racquetball a few times, we've worked out everyday, we've had rehearsals all weekend, we're gearing up for our August kids' workshops, Tres is coaching Christian's basketball team this summer (we've had 3 games in the last week) and I still have lines that need memorizing. And our show is next week. It'll be fine; it always is. So, I'm taking today off. Tomorrow, on the other hand, is a different story. Tres is shooting a short, independent film all day tomorrow, so it's up to me to do the radio interviews in the morning. I get to take Jennifer with me, which is great because we're buddies and have a great time together. I also have to run tomorrow's rehearsals by myself, including directing myself in a sketch...lol. I love directing, so it's always a blast. I'm my toughest critic anyway, so I better be good :)

big blue eyes

2009-07-15T00:06:00.000-07:00

I just thought I'd post this cute pic of Tres from long ago :) I got it from one of his college roommates Stephanie, with whom I've gotten friendly with on Facebook.
I love this man and his big blue eyes!

Regrets

2009-07-12T03:06:00.000-07:00

I try to live in a way as to minimizes regrets in my life. Unfortunately, it hasn't always worked out that way. As well intentioned as we may try to be, sometimes it can't be helped. Maybe this is a cop out. Maybe. I guess, I try not to dwell on the things I can't change. It's like the serenity prayer for addicts, only without the addiction part. But, oh, the things that I could've done differently. If I'd only known then what I know now. I suppose that is something that goes through everyone's mind at some point; hindsight being 20/20 and all.

All I can do is go from here. That's all anyone can do. Start again. Be what, and more importantly, who you want to be. Now with my husband by my side, I feel like I can do anything. Maybe that's why I've been thinking about the past, because I feel so complete now. That doesn't sound like it should make any sense, but it does. It really does.

2009-07-12T02:06:00.000-07:00

Mi vanidad

2009-07-09T23:46:00.000-07:00

at times I feel guarded in ways that I never thought I was. The resentments are there and I'm not sure how to let them go. I've preached to others about the ills of holding things in and about being direct and blah, blah, blah...ugh. And usually, I am. 99.9% of the time I say exactly what I think, when I think it and people know exactly where they stand with me; whether they like it, or not. Then there are these situations, one in particular, that I can't. She can make me so angry so easily. And I love her, but she can drive me crazy. I don't like feeling this way and I've prayed about it and I can feel it lifting and feel myself letting go, but is it too late?

Little Ashes

2009-06-15T23:18:00.000-07:00

Tres and I went out tonight. Our first date in a few weeks. We'd been so inundated with show stuff, and kid stuff, and "stuff" stuff, that we hadn't had a chance to go out. Honestly, we'd been so tired that we'd opted to stay in and veg out more than once or twice lately.

Anyway, we went to the Palme and watched the movie "Little Ashes" and it was really good. It's the story of the relationship between Federico Garcia Lorca and Salvador Dali, two of my favorite Spanish artists. For those of you uneducated in Latin American Literature, Garcia Lorca was a famous poet around the 1920's and he eventually became a playwright and theatre director, as well as a political activist. His poetry is superb. He was kidnapped and executed by Spanish Nationalists. As some of you know, Salvador Dali is one of my favorite artists, as well. His paintings are intense and he's best known for his painting "The Persistence of Memory", but he was also a sculptor and a film maker.

Just like Tres is a sucker for anything Hollywood, I'm a sucker for art/foreign movies. And, if it's an art movie about an artist, forget about it! I'm so there. Tres really has broadened his horizons about films and art; I'm still working with him on the books. That is a much slower process. :)

The Persistence
of Memory

LA LUNA ASOMA
(Federico Garcia Lorca)

Cuando sale la luna
se pierden las campanas
y aparecen las sendas
impenetrables.
Cuando sale la luna,
el mar cubre la tierra
y el corazón se siente
isla en el infinito.
Nadie come naranjas
bajo la luna llena.
Es preciso comer
fruta verde y helada.
Cuando sale la luna
de cien rostros iguales,
la moneda de plata
solloza en el bolsillo.

Jack Kerouac and other stuff

2009-06-14T00:34:00.000-07:00

It's Saturday night and I'm listening to a recording of Jack Kerouac, one of my favorite authors. Specifically, I'm listening to the "History of Bop". He was so good. One of the major beat poets.

From The San Francisco Scene, "...everything is going to the beat. It's the beat generation, it's the beat to keep, it's the beat of the heart, it's being beat and down in the world..."

I'm currently reading "The Slaughterhouse Five" by Kurt Vonnegut. It's quite good and it's of the same generation as Kerouac. Interesting. I'm currently in a 1960's kind of mood apparently.

Tres and I have been dealing with some 'people' issues. Quite a few of them actually. There are people, from the past (mostly his) that have let us down and have betrayed him. That's all I'm going to say about that. Anyway, like I've told him karma is the great equalizer. We have and will always take the high road, even when it's not easy. And believe me, sometimes it's really not easy. But, he will always be better than those who attempt to bring him down. There are those who have claimed to be his friends and 'only wanted the best for him' and when he was finally happy and healthy, they couldn't handle it. (He had one friend in particular who he had always defended in the past and turned out to be a real snake and a coward.) It just makes me sad for Tres because he's such a trusting, caring person and he's been hurt by all of this. It will make him stronger and more determined, though. It definitely is making him more determined to succeed with our endeavors.

Viktoria's Anti-Prom

2009-05-27T00:22:00.000-07:00

Well, this last week has been quite eventful around here. A trip to the beach, lots of rehearsals, and my oldest child, Viktorria going to her first prom; or rather the antithesis of it. Anti-Prom. For those of you unfamiliar with the concept, it's like prom only it's for the gay and bisexual high school populous. I guess I'd suspected for a while that Viktorria liked girls, now we know. And you know what it changes? Absolutely nothing. I still love her like I always have, we will probably have the same arguments, she'll still drag her feet when asked to do something, she'll still be as smart, as talented, as stubborn and as feisty as always. Instead of someday marrying a man, she may marry a woman; and as long as she's happy and her partner treats her well, I'm ok with it all.

So, when her date to Anti-Prom, Catherine, showed up, Ted and Tres were both there to greet her and that was kind of funny. Instead of giving her a hard time like they would've if she had been a boy, they tortured her with pictures and she took it like a trooper. She seems to be a great girl. She's a senior and will be going off to school in the fall, so I don't really know if Vik will see much of her after that, but I feel like she's been an important part of Vik's life. Because of that, we'll always remember her.

Here are some pictures of my beautiful daughter Viktorria, and her date, Catherine.

Vik and me (I look very tired and haggard; I had just spent 2 hours helping Vik with her hair and stuff)

The Sun

2009-05-17T16:18:00.000-07:00

{the sun magazine}

Ok, those of you who know me know I love to read. Fortunately, I've passed this love of reading onto my daughters, especially Viktorria. (I'm still working on the boys) Just recently, in her IB Honors English class, Vik studied two of my favorite Latin American authors-- Jose Luis Borges and Gabriel Garcia-Marquez; and I was so thrilled. Not only did she enjoy them, she loved them. I'm so, so grateful for teachers who, not only recognize the utter beauty and exquisite talent that Latin American authors can possess, she encourages her class to study their works.

Ok, I'm slightly off the track I intended to travel in this post. It's a blazing, sweltering Sunday afternoon and I just came in from laying out in our backyard (not that I need to work on my tan...I just love the feel of the heat). I had been listening to one of my favorite salsa albums (NYC Salsa Vol 2) and reading one of my favorite magazines, The Sun. (Tres is at rehearsal and because he knew I was exhausted and is such an awesome husband, he 'allowed' me skip rehearsal today.) Anyway, I have a weakness for periodicals. I've got subscriptions to National Geographic, (I grew up reading it, my Dad loved it, and have always had a subscription- very nerd-like, I know) NG Traveler, The New Yorker, Time, and a couple of fitness mags, as well as Poets & Writers. Now, of all of these periodicals none compares to The Sun. It's just a small magazine that I love because of the writing; plus, I really appreciate and admire the fact that it is completely ad-free. The writing is at times sad, but always real and personal. It's inspiring; it's poignant; it's provocative.
It's some of the things that I hope I am and some things that I'd like to be.

I'm in the process of researching grants (not very much fun), and we've been extremely busy rehearsing our kids show. In the middle of all of this craziness, I've been dealing with Christian being sick. We don't really know what's wrong with him, yet. He's missed the last few weeks of school and has been under the care of his physician, as well as specialist at Loma Linda. He's scheduled to have a couple of minor surgical procedures in the next weeks to help determine what exactly is going on. I will say that having a child, that grew inside of my womb and whom I bore, become sick really puts your life into perspective. All of the things that you think are trivial and unimportant are really put in their place. Respectively, all of the things that are truly important grab a stronger hold.

Funny, I started writing about reading The Sun, while lying out in the sun on a Sunday and ended up writing about my son...ok; I'll stop now :)

My lover is mine and I am his

2009-05-13T22:56:00.000-07:00

I wonder why it is that we learn more from the mistakes that we make than from the things we do right. I guess I don't really wonder; I know. If one does everything right, there really is no learning to be had. Like learning, as a toddler, that the stove is hot; you probably touch it once and know not to touch it again. I've made mistakes in my life. The mistakes that hurt others are the ones I really regret. I've hurt so many people in my past. I'm truly sorry. I wish there was a way to go back and undo the hurt, the mistakes. I'm a huge advocate in learning from my mistakes and moving on, of knowing that we must move forward from today-- that certain moments in the past are there in the recesses of our minds, to remind us of the time and place we never want to go again. Tres knows these places. He knows mine and I his. It's one of the many things that makes us so strong; so impenetrable. I know him-- not just the 'happy', trying to get along with everyone, swallowing his emotions, closed up person that he feigned to be in the past. I know the real him-- the 'not always in control', scared, strong, emotional, scarred, 'wanting his King Lear', true self. When I first met him, I could see right through him. He seemed broken, shattered, not whole; somehow, though, I saw so much more of him. I saw a shadow of what he used to be, what he was still to be. He knows me like no other. He knows my flaws, my strengths, my weaknesses. He loves me despite these; sometimes I think he loves me because of them. It's not easy to be so emotionally naked to someone. But, easy or not, it's the way it is. It's the way it's been since our inception. We never intended to hurt anyone. We're just supposed to be together. In the past I had settled for love being a fact of life. When Tres and I met, love became a feeling. It became a whole emotion, but more importantly, it became a healer. For the longest time, I had longed to be alone. I didn't want to answer to anyone, I didn't want to account for anyone, I didn't anyone to belong to. Tres and I belong to each other. There can be no other way. I believe in love at first sight only because I have experienced it.

I hate cliches. I hate the regurgitated ruminations and musings of shallow minded people. And yet, since Tres, I have found the emotions attached to the beginnings of these corny cliches. I understand the lyrics of the mushiest, corniest love songs. UGH! But, I can't help it; and I won't. Because understanding them means that real love has touched me and I won't ever be the same. I don't really know what I started out writing and that doesn't usually happen. It ended up here.

gracias a la vida

2009-05-05T21:10:00.000-07:00

Gracias a la vida que me ha dado tanto
Me dio dos luceros que cuando los abro
Perfecto distingo lo negro del blanco
Y en el ancho cielo su fondo estrellado
Y en las multitudes el hombre que yo amo

Gracias a la vida que me ha dado tanto
Me ha dado el sonido y el abecedario
Con el las palabras que pienso y declaro
Madre amigo hermano y luz alumbrando
La ruta del alma del que estoy amando

Gracias a la vida que me ha dado tanto
Me ha dado la marcha de mis pies cansados
Con ellos anduve ciudades y charcos
Playas y desiertos montanas y llanos
Y la casa tuya tu calle y tu patio

Gracias a la vida que me ha dado tanto
Me dio el corazon que agita su marco
Cuando miro el fruto del cerebro humano
Cuando miro el bueno tan lejos del malo
Cuando miro el fondo de tus ojos claros

Gracias a la vida que me ha dado tanto
Me ha dado la risa y me ha dado el llanto
Asi yo distingo dicha de quebranto
Los dos materiales que forman mi canto
Y el canto de ustedes que es el mismo canto
Y el canto de todos que es mi PROPIO canto

Greece, books and all things beautiful

2009-05-04T23:18:00.000-07:00

Well, I've been reading lately...a lot. I started reading F. Scott Fitzgerald's Jazz Age Stories on our trip to Greece; at the JFK airport, to be exact. It's an anthology of short stories that was published in the 1920's and they're pretty great. One of the stories in it is 'The Curious Case of Benjamin Button'. From the first line of "The Offshore Pirate", I was hooked immediately. "This unlikely story begins on a sea that was a blue dream, as colorful as blue-silk stockings, and beneath a sky as blue as the irises of children's eyes".

I've been supremely inspired upon returning from our amazing Greek Honeymoon;
inspired to do more, to complete all of the things that I'd started or wanted to do. I also felt better physically than I had in years (I've got this thyroid condition which gives me this feeling of general malaise a lot of the time). Which leads me to believe what I've suspected for a while now...the desert is making me sick. There, I wrote it. The desert is making me sick. Although, the weather is beautiful for more than half of the year; the remainder is well, it's unbearably hot. I've been here for almost 12 years and I've loved the heat for so long that it's taken me a while to realize that I don't love this heat anymore. Now, don't get me wrong- I'll always love hot weather, I'm talking about 90-100 degree weather. Not 120 degree days like we tend to have more and more often in the summer here. I still think this is a beautiful place, but I'm sick of the heat. I want to be closer to the beach, the water. Tres and I have discussed how we both felt as though we were waiting for something when we met. We had been waiting for each other. Now, we can really get to the business of living; of attaining our dreams.
I don't know, I guess I'm getting itchy. You know what 'they' say (whoever they are), if you get an itch, the best remedy is to scratch it.

Just some cool pictures that I took in Greece

merwoman

2009-02-19T22:03:00.000-08:00

at times I feel more than slightly overly analytical;
at times I feel that I fall short in the analysis of things happening.
well, my mind continues to busy itself with unnecessary, trivial non relevant events, people...things (for lack of a much better and accurate word).
I struggle to untangle the webs collecting in the recesses of my mind.
I long for the sharp, clear SHE of long ago.
She exists, but has lay dormant for such a time as to make me begin to forget her.
I remind myself and keep her more near the surface; still she sinks and floats away. I must then hold my breath and my heart, and delve down into the murkiness to embrace her to me. I must bring her back to the surface.
She has forgotten how to even tread water. She has forgotten how she used to shine and glow. At times I remember. At times I recall her.
I think, "wow, if you all could have seen her; she would have left you amazed." Now, within lies a dull shine, a zirconian sparkle; where once shone a brilliant star.

why i love my husband

2008-11-24T22:55:00.000-08:00

I love my husband because when we go to bed, some part of him has to be touching some part of me.

I love my husband because he refuses to eat without me.

I love my husband because he rubs my feet every night (no matter how tired he is).

I love my husband because he leaves me love notes everyday...really everyday

I love my husband because he loves my children like they were his own; his heart doesn’t recognize the difference between blood and marriage when it comes to them.

I love my husband because he loves me without fear and with great faith and understanding. He sees my flaws and loves them and me in spite of them; at times I think because of them.

I love my husband because he thinks I’m brilliant and strong.

I love my husband because he really is brilliant and strong.

I love my husband because he is the most caring, loving, trustworthy man I’ve ever known.

I love my husband because he’s so talented and it turns me on to watch him perform.

I love my husband because he loves my family so much and I never realized how important that is to me.

I love my husband because of the way he loves his mother and grandmother.

I love my husband because of the way he loves God; because of the way he prays for my food when I don't.

I love my husband because his touch is like no other’s; because when we’re together he’s all I’ve ever needed.

I love my husband because he works so hard to take care of me.

I love my husband because his face lights up when he sees me; every time he sees me.

I love my husband because he makes me feel complete, as cliché as that sounds.

I love my husband because his love made me understand clichés and corny love songs (and that's saying a lot- a whole lot).

I love my husband because he loves me so completely and utterly with his whole being.

I love my husband because I was meant to love him; despite the circumstances we found ourselves in or the mistakes we had made along the way. He was my redemption. He was my healing as I was his.

I love him because like Neruda wrote, “I know no other way”.

viktorria

2008-10-12T20:48:00.001-07:00

sometimes I watch you when you don't know it.
when you're talking or singing or dancing.
it's when you're the most innocent, vulnerable,
unaware

I remind myself that you grew within me, from me.
I remind myself that you were once an imperceptible
size.
I remind myself of the sacrifices that have been made
Sacrifices of time, sleep, body, physicality, heart

what I never need to remind myself of is how much I
love you.
what I never need to remember is how amazing you really
are
you're wise beyond your time. Yet, naive as well.
That naivete is beautiful, endearing.

The excited way you play with the others, the way you
ask me about things you don't know; innocent, yet knowing

so, you ask me whether I realize that you'll be gone in
two years and the answer is yes, and no.

my head realizes that you'll be away from me, but my heart
cannot possibly grasp the concept.

you are now and will forever be part of me, of my flesh.
my blood will always flow through your veins.

whenever you feel like you have nowhere else to turn,
whenever you feel lost and afraid, I'm here.
there's nothing you can ever say to me that I won't
understand or that will make me turn my back on you.

I love you with everything that I am or could possibly be.
I love you with all of the things I wish I had been, and
those things I still will be.

My love for you overflows from within my chest and rises up
so that I feel that I may choke on the lump in my throat.

So doubt that the moon shines in the night sky, or that the sun
will burn your tender eyes in its light,
but never doubt my love for you.

joan and mercedes

2008-10-12T20:17:00.001-07:00

These two women have always really spoken to me, or sung to me, as it were. Part of what's been happening to me lately has opened my eyes and heart in inexplicable ways. I can probably explain them, but I don't really want to at this time.
So for those of you who read this and are open minded (I know some of you aren't), and can grasp what I mean, (again, some of you can't), watch the video and listen.

southwest journey

2008-10-01T19:51:00.001-07:00

Everyone is tested. At different, pivotal times in their lives. The tests of our lives shape who we are, what we will become. They test what we're made of, how we're made; our reactions to the unexpected tests and tribulations of our existence, however short, on this earth. A lot of tests throughout my life I've failed, or gotten just enough to pass. But most of the tests of my life, all of the big tests that have tried my strength, and endurance therein, I've not only passed but with flying colors.

This test is particularly difficult. It's excruciating, in fact. It's exquisitely painful. Sorrowful. It reaches deep into the hidden corners of my soul and being. It's taken me on a journey into childhood, adulthood, motherhood; reminding me how fragile and fleeting we really are. How we can live beside someone, share their roof, their parents, their blood and be helpless to help? The personal journey we all face is just that: personal. while we need spectators, witnesses to our lives, to our pain and suffering; the journey itself is private, individual. It's a journey often filled with horrific discoveries; startling, disturbing revelations that we're not prepared for. Discoveries and revelations that we aren't equipped to handle. We then attempt to reach back into our past, our internal, historical reference points in order to make sense of it all. What happens when these reference points are lacking? When those things that we run from are within us, where then will we run?

why?

2008-08-13T02:59:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking about you, wondering
I feel like I know you, but we've never met.
I know that if we met I would dislike you.
If you met me you would loathe me.

You would loathe me for my ease, my freedom,
you would loathe me for something you lack
you would compare yourself, you would ask why

you would climb onto some imaginary high horse
and attempt to look down, only to find yourself
bucked off on your ass

you would stamp your feet and scream and throw a fit
you would ask 'pourquoi',
you would shriek 'porque',
whisper 'perche', exclaim 'warum'???
In any language, in any tone you can scream it, mouth it
yell it, cry it
Why?

Why her and not me?

Running, Books, and Billy's Candle Hat

2008-07-24T22:46:00.000-07:00

As aforementioned, I've been reading quite a lot lately. I've read a couple of Chuck Palahniuk's books in the last month and have really enjoyed them. For those of you who are unfamiliar with his works, he wrote Fight Club. It's disturbing at times, but incredibly well written. Anyway, his books that I've read, as of late, were also very good. He has a way of writing from a psychological point of view and problems, issues, etc..., in a way that is uncanny and extremely unique. His psychological narrative is remarkable. I don't have traditional tastes by any definition. This pretty much goes for everything. The music, movies, books that I like are usually not the mainstream; which is great, as far as I'm concerned. So, Chuck is right up my alley.

Another of my favorite authors is Amy Bloom and I just finished her new novel Away. It's very good, but different than her other novels. Nevertheless, it's quite good, even though the end felt like a different story than the beginning.

One of my favorite poets is Billy Collins. He was poet laureate a few years ago during Clinton's administration and his poetry is incredible. If anyone is interested, you should definitely check him out. He has a way of writing things that appear to be written effortlessly. He writes about everyday. By this I mean that he writes about things he sees or does sometimes on a daily basis and yet makes them very interesting and makes the reader see in a different way, from a different perspective. He's great. I was first introduced to him in college by a creative writing professor and I've loved him since. Below is one of my favorite poems of his. It's entitled Candle Hat and it's written about Francisco Goya, the famous painter. It's well known that he used to paint until very dark and since electricity had yet to be discovered, he needed light to paint. He used to wear a hat made of candles and so Collins wrote a great poem about what it must have been like if he'd been espied in such a state. It's actually pretty funny. I hope you enjoy it.

I've starting running lately, in earnest. I used to run track in High School. Cross-country. Although, I was fast and used to run the last leg of the relay, too. I forgot how much I liked it. I prefer sprinting to jogging, but I can't very well sprint for an hour! Well, this blog posting's been a ramble of completely different thoughts and really had no direction and I'm sure it shows! :)

Until next time...

Candle Hat

In most self-portraits it is the face that dominates:
Cezanne is a pair of eyes swimming in brushstrokes,
Van Gogh stares out of a halo of swirling darkness,
Rembrant looks relieved as if he were taking a breather
from painting The Blinding of Sampson.

But in this one Goya stands well back from the mirror
and is seen posed in the clutter of his studio
addressing a canvas tilted back on a tall easel.

He appears to be smiling out at us as if he knew
we would be amused by the extraordinary hat on his head
which is fitted around the brim with candle holders,
a device that allowed him to work into the night.

You can only wonder what it would be like
to be wearing such a chandelier on your head
as if you were a walking dining room or concert hall.

But once you see this hat there is no need to read
any biography of Goya or to memorize his dates.

To understand Goya you only have to imagine him
lighting the candles one by one, then placing
the hat on his head, ready for a night of work.

Imagine him surprising his wife with his new invention,
the laughing like a birthday cake when she saw the glow.

Imagine him flickering through the rooms of his house
with all the shadows flying across the walls.

Imagine a lost traveler knocking on his door
one dark night in the hill country of Spain.
"Come in, " he would say, "I was just painting myself,"
as he stood in the doorway holding up the wand of a brush,
illuminated in the blaze of his famous candle hat.

~Billy Collins

2008-06-16T18:57:00.000-07:00

I haven't posted anything on here for a while. I've been really busy with life, kids, Tres, everything. I've been doing a lot of reading and writing quite a bit lately. Tres and I were at the bookstore this weekend and I purchased a book called The Power of Kindness: The Unexpected Benefits of Leading a Compassionate Life. I'd heard of it and have been wanting to read it for a while now, so I picked it up. I started reading it and it's very interesting. There's a forward written by the Dalai Lama and one of the points he makes is that our very life depends upon kindness, the kindness of others as well as our own. He goes on to explain this by pointing out that when we are born we depend upon the kindness of our parents in order to nurture and care for us. We also depend upon the kindness of others at the end of our lives. It's the middle of our lives that we seem to have problems with.

Anyway, I've been reading it and have been trying to get as much out of it as I can. I've been writing a lot. There has been a book rattling around in my head for years now. A book that, as of yet, I've been unable, perhaps unwilling, to pen. Maybe, no definitely, afraid to write. I lacked the courage to write what I thought or felt. I lacked the courage to write what I'd been through. What had been through me. It's so naked. It makes one feel transparent, unprotected. Nevertheless, since these last 3 years have been a catalyst for me, my life changes, it's inevitable that this is where I must go.

As usual, (when speaking of writers) it's semi-autobiographical, more than semi-self-involved. Well, as is the old adage for writers: Write what you know. If I don't know myself then what, pray tell, do I know?

There were definite circumstances and events in my past, especially my childhood that have shaped who I am and will become. I'm trying to be more in control of that, of the impending evolution that is my life. I find myself in a place to begin to write the awful, wonderful, traumatic, epiphanous, events that have been pivotal in my journey, thus far.

My brothers, coincidentally enough, are also in a place in their respective lives where they too are dealing with their own events. Elias has this idea of the three of us writing, directing and performing in our own original play about our life together. My brother Sam will write the music, Elias will do the artwork and they've recruited me to write the actual play. Sam is supposed to come out for about a month this summer and collaborate on it and then we'll go from there. Of course, Tres will help us. He's such a strength for me. Within his love I've found incredible healing. He's been, and continues to be, a rock for me. I hope I do the same for him.

ode to billy

2008-05-04T03:56:00.000-07:00

How do you do it?

How does your Purity emit from every pore of every word you
write?

How does your Trouble With Poetry leave us wanting more

The effortless way that your pen must glide upon paper and flow
from idea to idea constantly changing shape, form, structure,

as we ride along attempting to decipher your not so subtle genius
all while trying to hang on

grief

2008-05-04T03:36:00.000-07:00

the wind howls like the way i feel
angry, violent thrashing
uncaring of what's left behind,
what's been destroyed

if my feelings, like the wind,
could destroy themselves they would
like the gusty, angry emotions they produce

the wind howls, moans, groans its pain in
incomprehensible misery
its pure feelings, raw sorrow

were i the wind, i would swoop down with
all of my fury and stamp out my rage on
the trees, the earth itself, anything in my
path

i would lift and hurl against closed doors, walls
feel my pain through the broken grass, branches,
windows,

my tears in forms of rain droplets would trickle side
to side until my weeping and gnashing was spent and
i, like the wind, would fall into an exhausted quiet
void

my moon...for christian

2008-03-27T13:45:00.000-07:00

Moon.
Sun.
The celestial embodiment of me.
Your love fills me to brinks unimaginable.
You were my divine intervention
A salvation from myself
Chaos, self-destruction,

Your eyes speak to my inner essence,
Calm, peace, love,
Unconditional love.
Love like I’d never known.
I am better by virtue of you

My moon.
My son.

your smell

2008-03-25T03:39:00.000-07:00

I miss you

I miss you

I miss your smell…

The crook of your neck where the smell of man and the scent of long ago boy

Co-mingle and mix with the fragrance of my own perfume

The smell of us.

The smell of us afterwards

The smell of your masculine sweat blended
with my own femininity filling the room with the
undeniable ardent aroma of love

The smell lingers almost tangibly in the air, permeates
the bedding, seeps deep into the pillows nesting,

remaining so that when our heads once again rest upon them we are reminded, we remember

Remember the passion with which we love each other, live each other,
intertwine each other, consume one another with mouths, limbs, hearts

My heart is consumed by you; you have permeated the deep recesses
of it with your love, as our smell permeates the bed so your love permeates me,
my soul, my body

The smell of you leads me to your arms, to you

From our inception it has been your smell that has drawn me to you, into you

In your smell I am home

ode to the wretch

2008-03-21T10:28:00.000-07:00

you must think you’re clever
you must think it grand to sit upon a throne of inadequacies and fabrications,
when you look in the mirror, what is it you see?
do you see the insecurities that nag at you and leave you empty and afraid?
do you see the selfish, unlovable thing that hides in shadows and crevices of your soul,
the Ugliness that you try to mask and pass off as strength.

you wouldn’t know strength and courage if they came upon you in the street
and asked you for directions,
then continued to follow you down the street just to see what
you’d do next.

because you fascinate them.
you who vainly speak in their name
they don’t know you.

you’ve sat at conferences where they’d been speaking and waited to get their autograph.
you’ve attempted to summon them to you in times of difficulty, but no,
they can’t stand the likes of you.
the petulance, the vileness, uncertainty that makes you who you are.
they won’t tolerate it.

yet, you continue to beckon to them.
and they continue to watch you from afar,
laughing hysterically at your attempts.