vigil

Again, the nation is on vigil. What will happen to New Orleans?

I did not enjoy living in New Orleans. It would have been a horrible city in which to raise a family. I rejoiced when I moved away after almost three years there, in three different residences--one just off the Vieux Carrè, one uptown, and one off the Audubon Park.

But there are memories there. I was married there. I loved the music there. Jazz Fest. On Napoleon St. yelling for throws. Tchopitoulas. Mona's. Lola's. Jaquimo's. The natives who called you "Love" as if it were your first name. City Park. St. Charles. The Streetcar. Walks on the Riverfront. Saying you're a local every time someone comes up to you saying, "Betcha I can tell ya where ya got dem shoes!" Looking out over the levee and seeing the water level of the Mighty Mississippi higher than the roofs of the homes on either side of the levee. Laissez les bon temps rouler. Zydeco. Saying "He aksed me" instead of "asked me". The Spanish moss hanging from the old oaks, haunting Audubon Park. The invinceable belief that N'awlins is the City of the Saints and that it would never be actually destroyed...the storms come close but the Saints take care of the city. The Wedding Cake House on St. Charles. Carrolton and Claiborne--they intersect but I always would mix those two streets up. Ann Rice's house, and the goths that worship her. The cemetaries...

So much flooding back to me, tears, smiles, good and bad memories, so strong, yet again just as they did three years ago in the anticipation of Katrina. I have not been back since. I am not certain anyone is supposed to be there. I suppose I am not to decide that. I simply pray that those who must decide can learn to read the lessons of Mother Nature and decide wisely, in the best interest of all. For those I know who are natives and other friends who still reside there even following Katrina, my thoughts are with you all on this eve of yet another great storm.

my baby boy

...is no longer my baby.

He turns four years old on Sunday. Tomorrow.

This little cuddlebug at my side, my little protector, the little guy who cannot go to sleep without being wrapped in the embrace of his mama is the light of my life. Together with his sister, they complete my existence.

I could not imagine my life without them, and I thank my God each and every day for placing them in my charge, as their mother, their guide for Life.

They have matching dimples, only one, but hers is on her right cheek and his is on his left. Such beautiful, beautiful children, both inside and out.

Being the younger brother often places the Young Prince in an interesting position when it comes to manicures and pedicures, make-up application and dress-up games. I have a small, complementary collection of clear nail polish (in a green bottle as he loves green), chap stick and large kerchiefs--skirts for Princesita that moonlight as superhero capes for my little Superman.

Little Ponies and Barbies rendezvous daily with Power Rangers and Batman. My Princesita is a very patient teacher and my Young Prince basks in the attention that only best friends could mutually give.

He is now at the age that permits him to comprehend games and play well. The past few weeks have marked a huge growth for him, not only in the understanding of card games but also in the fun play, the good-natured jabbing and the learning to be a gracious winner and loser. My blogging time has been taken over by game and puzzle-filled engagement of his ripe mind, ready to learn and starting to play alone with his sister.

I am starting to see him become his own person--and I am so proud of him.

Tomorrow we will have a small party here, for close friends and their siblings. Messy fun, tye-dying t-shirts and munching down on a Spiderman-decorated ice cream cake will highlight the festivities.

Both he and his sister were so excited for tomorrow to come, neither could fall asleep easily tonight.

Happy Birthday, my darling little love. May you always be my baby boy.

rain

I once used Madonna's song "Rain" in ESL classes. That particular song used a lot of easy-to-comprehend visualization of the idea of love and emotions that surround love.

It was a favorite lesson of older students with life experience. Younger students with budding interests in learning to differentiate between love-lust-infatuation, hormonaly-driven attraction triangle also enjoyed learning new poetry to match their newfound sentiments.

We have not had rain in over a month here, until yesterday. I was mildly disappointed to see on the radar map that, by about noon yesterday, most of Fay's remnants had already passed us by, leaving behind what seemed to be mere droplets of the precious liquid our gardens and grasses are thirsting.

The sound of the rain pouring outside awoke me in the early morning hours this morning and, although it has been a gray, heavy day with a humid chill that does not allow your towels to dry from shower to next day's shower, my heart began to beat a little slower and my mind began to whirr at a slightly decreased speed...

...a piece of home. A piece of Oregon. A piece of who I am.

It felt good. And I have relaxed.

I love to feel the rain on my fingertips and on my scalp. I enjoy drenching my hair by walking in the rain but then avoid looking into mirrors as I hate how I look (yes, I am vain) with soaking wet hair. If I meet someone along the way, I smile--hoping that the sparkle in my eyes and my smile will shine like the sun through the heavy clouds and that my mop of hair will be ignored.

A little wind would be nice, as I thoroughly enjoy stormy weather, but just rain is acceptable. So pure...

For me, today, this has been a nice finale to the summer vacation. A cleansing, a preparation for new beginnings next week.

If you don't remember Madonna's song, or are too young (!) to know who she even is...here is a snippit. Enjoy the memories.

life lessons from Wall-E

This movie made me cry, Wall-E.

A birthday gift for Young Prince from She-Ra Fairy Godmother and her clan, we all went smuggling sippy-cups filled with water and snackie-bags of M&Ms into the old movie theatre (yes, vinyl seats and NO CUP HOLDERS! Imagine that...they still exist), Mama Llama with her small canister of soy-free treats and settled over two rows of seats. We did buy popcorn (one large bag that we split into six little plastic canisters for each child...canisters we REUSE from our home supplies), and the lights were never turned off in our theatre, so I personally think She-Ra should have had a partial discount.

At the very least on the popcorn.

I am not even quite sure how to begin all I felt while watching this movie. For an animated "children's" summer flick, I found it extremely profound, evoking anger, resentment, sadness, idealistic desires to Change The World that I once upon a time felt when living in Ecuador, frustration and a deep empathy.

I could write on the varying degrees of symbolism, satire, social statements and the priceless personification of the loveable robots and their cucaracha friend. Equally easy would be to reflect upon what I already do to play my part as a global citizen and what more I can do to be better.

As I cannot simply let a movie with a moral just be...

I asked my children what they took from the movie. Paraphrasing La Princesita (6 3/4 years), she was most taken by the lazy people who were so fat that they could hardly even walk. They would talk on screens to people who sat right next to them on floating chairs that transported them from one place to another, sipping their soda pop, unaware of anything else that was going on around them. Their only realities were what was flashing on the TV screens in front of them...until Wall-E interrupted two of them, who then became aware of this radical situation and these two came to see the beauty of their surroundings and enjoy the actual physical presence (as opposed to the virtual personality) of each other.

She also mentioned that no exercise and bad eating is just not good for you.

The Young Prince's (almost 4) synopsis was that Wall-E was stuck cleaning up the mess that the people had made, but the people didn't want to clean up their mess so they left Earth to go make a mess somewhere else.

He also really like when "the white robot" and Wall-E were in love.

Twinkies, pop culture references, Mass Shopping Giants and technology were interwoven into the plot to bring to mind all that we do today to trash this Earth. I found it ironic that the B&L (play on BJs?) giant that had taken control of not only the minimal clean-up "effort" on Earth but had also created the outer space utopia upon which brainwashed humans could survive (not *live*, mind you, but merely survive, a distinct difference noted by the Captain of the spaceship) ended up being the same entity that had initially created Wall-E, who in turn opened the eyes of the ignorant humans, created allies among robots previously programmed to merely complete their tasks, and empowered the humans to return to Life...and to bring life back to Earth.

Perhaps this is a statement as to what some of these powerhouses can do now so as to stave off the inevitable.

My children, in the meantime, remain even more staunch proponents of cars that run on trash, not gasoline.

other people's children

It is inevitable that, as children get older, their friends will come over to play.

I welcome their presence in this house. I love to hear my little monkeys at cooperative play, solving problems on their own without requiring a helicopter parent (which I consider myself very much not) monitoring and refereeing each moment of interaction. And I like to provide children with a "safe" and trustworthy place to hang, especially as the kids get older.

My poor old house has lately taken the brunt of playtime with friends, however. Now, I like to think that I do not maintain things at breaking point; if I see something in the home that needs to be fixed, I do try to repair, if I know how to, instead of leaving it to further degrade only to have to buy something new soon...

The kids' father is like that; don't lift a finger for upkeep, then spend tons to buy new. That is why I feel like this house will rot out from under me with him here, living in the basement. But that's another story.

In the past few playdates at my house, the venetian blinds in La Princesita's bedroom were pulled off the wall and the wand broken; the pull-chain on her ceiling fan light was pulled off; I saw children on the bed of the Young Prince's room ready to, as was described to me, "jump" to the ceiling fan pullchain to turn it on (and rip it out of the ceiling in the process??); the screen on the door that I installed on the back door pushed through, which is almost impossible to put back in. La Princesita and I had completed about 1/4 of a 500 piece puzzle on a table set up from the floor, out of the main traffic thoroughfare and our work was completely destroyed by a four-year old that I guess I assumed would, by that age, know better. A child's chair has been broken and my front step thrown up on (I hope my kids don't catch that).

I can't say my monitos are perfect. Heavens knows they are not. But I suppose I am trying to raise them with an idea of how to treat things--everything, not just living things--with respect, and most especially things that are not theirs and that are in someone else's home. Doors need not be slammed to be closed. Help may be requested instead of pulling something off the wall and breaking it. I realize also that accidents do happen. I feel, however, that I have far exceeded my quota this year just in the past month.

And if my child feels sick, playdates are cancelled.

To the benefit of almost all these children, they have been completely honest in coming up to me and telling me exactly what happened. They are being raised learning the integrity of honesty and are ready to face consequences--which would not happen in my home, unless a window was broken perhaps, or a ceiling fan actually pulled OUT of the ceiling. And in such cases, obviously, the consequence would be the danger posed to the child.

I have heard stories of older children going onto the computers of my friends without asking prior permission. There is, in a general terms, a certain lack of common sense manners being taught at home. I, as an adult, would never even dream of going onto even my closest friends' computers without prior permission. That is a violation of personal space, and my children will not even turn on a television in someone else's home unless given permission, as in my home, to do so. And I have explained to them why the computers in the library are public and those in private homes are personal. I have had to turn off the television that playmates have felt at liberty to turn on, explaining that they are here to play and not watch the boob tube. True, I may be stricter regarding television-watching or computer-using rules than many other parents, but I also have two children who can figure out how to entertain themselves without pacing the house saying how "boring" it is here and how much s/he wants to go home.

Then go. Please. May I call your mom to have her come get you?

I am starting to wonder if I must have either completely different standards regarding the activity levels and the things I require my children to do to be gentle to this old house, or if my house is otherwise in a state of disrepair such that the same level of activity in their own homes does not result in creating the havoc that is wrecked in my home. Do I have so few activities to offer children to do that it is "boring" here? New friends seem to feel that way; old friends who know my home never seem to have problems finding things to do.

I remember rarely having people during my childhood inside my home to play with. I would play inside other people's houses, but I never played host. Now that the weather is cooler and the bug population will start to decline, the children can play outside safely, but in dry Southern Oregon we played outside all summer without worries of being bug-sprayed, ticks, West Nile and the myriad of other worries we have to face in this humid summer environment. When reflecting, however, I can't help believing that my mother did not want the same things happening to her home that I have had to deal with this summer, just for wanting to do things differently than she ever did.

Does this mean that I will change my ways? No, it is my house and the responsibility of those visiting my house to respect my way of doing things. Cleaning up is nice but not a huge deal. I just won't want my home more broken than it already is. I suppose I just need to better anticipate needs/wants/desires and make it crystal clear what is and is not permitted, at risk of sounding strict.

Although I am certain that there will be something else broken that I had never foreseen, much like the venetian blind fiasco, just to keep me on my toes.

Unpredictability is a good thing, right?

Oh...p.s....I feel in a bad mood today for no particular reason, thus my rants seem to flow much more freely. Perhaps with a bit of coffee, maybe some chocolate, my outlook on the day will brighten.

five years ago

Today is Tiggy's birthday.

This fat, furry funball formed part of the family on Saturday, 23 August 2003. A month before, our other kitty cat had been hit by two cars in the middle of our street and we had to put him to sleep.

We went to the pet store where a pet rescue service was adopting out cats and dogs. We saw Tiggy and knew in that instant that He was to be Our New Cat.

I felt a funny feeling that day; I was between twelve and thirteen weeks pregnant and all of a sudden I felt a moisture where I didn't feel I should. I excused myself to go to the car to check on myself.

My panties were soaked with blood.

I panicked and told my husband that I needed to go to doc-in-a-box. So he dropped me off at urgent care, and called She-ra to come and be with me there as he took La Princesita and our new kitty home.

I was checked, told that my cervix was closed and that it could just be a freak thing. I was shaking uncontrollably and scared. Told to go to ER if I started passing clots.

Tigre was a wonderful distraction for most of the afternoon, but then I started to bleed more, so we got Princesita to a friend's house and I got to the hospital. I was a week away from my first midwife appointment.

It was then confirmed that I was miscarrying. I was given instructions to return to the hospital at 7 a.m. on Sunday the 24th for a D&C, but to come earlier if...

I labored through the night. A sleepless, horribly painful night--the worst pain I have ever known as I was laboring for no joyful reason--and Tigre came out of hiding and laid with me, comforting me all night long. He knew I needed him. That was our first bond.

By the time I got to the hospital I was bleeding heavily and, I later learned, was dilated fully. The doctor was not yet there, and I was told to wait in the waiting room. I paced when I could stand, and fell to the floor with blood flowing down my legs when I could no longer stand. I already had made it through one completely pain-medication free labor with my daughter in 21 hours of labor--but this was different. I was losing the baby. I couldn't even make it to the bathroom, and was thus subjected to the most humillating experience of my life, on my knees in the hospital waiting room, leaving a trail of blood, watching a laboring mother pacing and looking at me with such pity...

until finally somebody was called with a wheelchair and got me into prep. I was in a room with at least 10 other people, and they were dead silent as they listened to me cry and mourn over and over again, "My baby...my baby..."

Until they finally came and took me, and drugged me as I begged them to just take my pain away and make this nightmare end.

I awoke, tummy deflated, threw up and it was over.

Called my mother. This was the anniversary of her own mother's death, so of course it was all about her. Refused to fly out because she didn't want to be a part of a "community event." Blamed me for the miscarriage..."it's your fault being so far away from family, it's because of where you live."

My friends...my true friends...came to me and helped me. And I started teaching two days later as classes at the uni. began anew.

Five years have passed, and I still cannot tell that story without sobbing.

A year and one week to the day later, my baby boy was born.

And such is the circle of Life, heartbreak, tears, joy.

hot Friday night date

La Princesita and the Young Prince were supposed to have a night, to start out a weekend, with their father. However, the Young Prince threw such a tizzy about wanting time alone with me--and granted, he does not get a lot of alone time with his Mama Llama--so I took him out as my date for the night.

To Friday Night Live. The last concert of the season. Drop Dead Sexy was headlining, an 80s party band. I saw them last year; they have so much fun while they perform, they are creative and they are good. So I was not going to miss them this year.

It was a perfect night. No humidity, lovely sunset, great patch of grass upon which I spread my Peruvian wool blanket and my Young Prince at my side. I got myself a glass of wine and the two of us dinner, and we sat and ate. The opening band was okay, but was an opener. There were three men sitting next to me in their chairs with young girls. Two were in their 50s, one perhaps mid-40s. I'm a people-watcher, and it's also a safety thing for me, to always be well aware of who is around me. Anyhow, the children kept coming over to me so I got to talking to one of the men a bit.

As it became darker, the Young Prince became sleepier and, as Drop Dead Sexy came on we only were able to dance 2 songs together when he begged me to hold him and he fell deep asleep on my shoulder as the band rocked the entire audience.

I sat myself down, cradling my son in my arms when the one man I had been talking to came over to my blanket with a glass of wine in hand.

Dude.

So he squats down by me, but then starts to complain of his knee and I offer him to sit on my blanket; there was plenty of room. But I thought, if his general age (although I suppose I am The Target Age for the age 50+ male set while I am 36, that ain't what I would be looking for IF I WERE LOOKING--which I am sooooooo not doing anyway) and physique (I would hypothetically require someone in my life who will care for and respect his body...if he can't, how could he possibly respect mine?) weren't enough, strike one. Why? Because I am demanding and I require very good physical condition, in almost every aspect of my relationship with my partner.

Take that any way you want.

Bad knees *can be* a bad sign. Must take these clues in context, however; an athlete with bad knees is a bit different than an overweight, gray-haired 55 year old (maybe I'm overestimating the age, but that's also not good if I can't estimate clearly). But his "baby sister" was there--and she is 41.

We had a nice chat, and he assisted me in folding my blanket while I gathered the rest of my goods while holding Young Prince, still zonked over my left shoulder like a sack of potatoes in a red sweatshirt.

He gave me his card, almost apologetically as my hands were full. I said that perhaps next year we'll see each other at another concert.

"Let's not make it that long."

Duuuuuude....Smoooooooth. Yikes.

I smiled, glad I had an excuse to leave and suddenly extremely happy I had not, in fact, indulged in a night out at the concert by myself.

I drove home feeling a huge balloon of disappointment rising in my chest. Is this all I would have to look forward to? Mama Llama holding Sleeping Son--desperation choice? I am, evidently, so past my prime. How would I ever get back into the dating game again when I'd be ready to do so? Or ought I plan to live the rest of my life alone? Perhaps I'll be happier that way. I really couldn't feel more alone than I have felt while married. And as a 36 year old (now...even older as time goes on...maybe that's another reason why He is stalling so on the residential separation), I would never be a very hot catch for anyone under, say, 60 years old.

I suppose there are a few things I don't understand.

1. Is wearing a ring--or not, in my case--an assumption of status? Will women who wear a ring be left alone? Do the same standards go for men? Should I just wear my ring, even charged with all that wearing a ring implies, so that I am not bothered if I ever do go out? I like to be social, I just really want friendships now. And a gay Latino dance parter. Is that too much to ask?

2. This man went and got me a glass of wine. I obviously could not go as I had a 4 year old zonked out in my arms, but did not ask him to go. I offered to pay for it, as I could have used another glass of wine, anyway. But he refused. Ought I have insisted so as to not have any obligation? Not that it was bad talking to him--it's just that it was evident that he wanted to continue this, on my terms, at a future date and I have absolutely zilcho-desire to do so.

All I want to do is have fun. I will not deny that I hunger...and that is natural for any human. But I will not use someone to satisfy my hunger. That just runs contrary to my grain. And like we talked about before regarding FWB, I need to attach myself emotionally to truly satisfy my appetite.