Life

My son is in medical school. This week he begins a three week clerkship of Obstetrics followed by three weeks of Gynecology . I am amazed that he will deliver babies during this period. He will encounter parents that will be forever changed by the miracle of creating a life. What a wonderful experience to witness the ultimate celebration of life. It also occurs to me that he will also encounter those parents to be that don't wish to be parents. He will  be there for both. Such is life. It is not always black or white. There are always shades of gray. I hope that he will be inspired through it all. I hope that he will be moved. I hope as he observes he feels the wonder that life is.

A work in progress

The weeks blur into months. The months into years.  I saw a high school friend today. We found each other a few months ago. We had lost touch all those years. We were close friends. We would confide in each other and share our life over the phone.  Now I try to remember why we had  ceased to talk. Life and responsibilities I suppose.  There is something about a childhood friendship that remains strong. There is no polite conversation.
There are no walls. There are no barriers. There is a unspoken understanding. There is a trust. We spoke today of things that were unknown to us when we were young. We spoke about life and about death. We spoke about our children with a sense of pride. We spoke about what it means to lose your parents and watching them die.
We were once carefree. Now we  have lived and so we know things that we thought that we knew then. We learned many lessons. The difference is that now we know that we are a work in progress. There is still so much to learn.

Finding my Zen

A part of me

I have letters in a box. Old tattered letters.  Letters my grandmother wrote to my father. I remember seeing them a few weeks before he died.  I noticed them on the dresser and I identified the handwriting. I  said "those are grandmother's letters !". He  said  "yes, they will go with me till the grave."  Tears wallowed in his eyes.
"I still miss her" he added. It had been years . I shared his sadness in that moment. Today I am thinking of my dad. He is a part of me. I miss him so . I can barely  breathe. There are things that he left behind. Things that mean so much because he loved them. There are pieces of my life and his life all around me. I think of how he felt losing  his mom and I understand. The pain is there so deep. He will always be a part of me till the day I die.

Fourth Grade Council

Today Daniel was voted by his peers to be a part of fourth grade council. He along with a girl in his class were chosen. They had received equal votes. Once a month they will have meetings. Daniel said that on the days when they will have  meetings they will wear red shirts. The red shirts will distinguish them as part of the school council. Daniel was not certain what it all entails but in his voice I heard the sound of excitement. In the way he walked I could feel his sense of pride.

Daisy

My yellow Labrador Retriever is nine and a half years old. She is playful. She is loving. She is beautiful.  Lately I have noticed that her blond hairs are turning white. I  felt a quiet alarm. This morning Daisy's leg slipped. My stomach felt like a bottomless pit. I felt ill. I felt like I had just come off a roller coaster ride. This was the first sign that we had when Angel out German  short hair pointer began to deteriorate. It started with her leg slipping. Months followed of nursing her and struggling to maintain a quality of life for her. Daisy was sad when Angel passed. The change was obvious to us. She hid in a dark room at dinner time. She didn't wait for her treats. She was not hungry. Slowly she felt better and her sadness lifted. She is a happy dog. She greets me every day as she greets a new day with her tail wagging. I want to believe that her leg slipping was accidental. I want to believe that it won't happen again for a long time. I don't want to think about her falling ill. I don't want to think about saying good-bye.

Success

The sounds of Kung Fu were in the air. Graceful bodies floating. Graceful bodies soaring. Today  Daniel achieved his goal. He passed the testing for the two levels he has been training for. On the way home he said, "my shirt smells like sweat and hard work." He received his first staff. I looked on with pride. I thought to myself there he goes my sweet warrior on his wonderful journey.

Reflection

A day to reflect,
a day to find solace.
A day to remember
why we are here.
A day to think about others,
a day of gratitude.
A day to dream,
a day to find a solution.
A day to begin,
a new page ,
a new chapter
to seek forgiveness
to help the world.

Kung Fu on my mind

Kung Fu testing is this weekend. The school is buzzing with excitement. Students of all ages are displaying a desire to perfect their form. Daniel is diligent. He has a goal. His goal is to pass two levels of forms. It is difficult but he is determined. He has practiced  like a fierce warrior. He is focused. He stands boldly and his body moves with grace. He is strong. He is following his passion. He will succeed on his quest because he believes in himself. We believe in him. His hard work and his desire make us proud.

Fishing for details

On most days I wait for my son to call and tell me about his day. I fish for details of his everyday life. I want to know everything that he is willing to share with me. At times he sounds annoyed that I ask him so many questions. He reminds me that he is busy . He reminds me that he is a grown man. I think that he forgets that I have made him my world when he was born. I have watched him every waking moment. I have listened to him sharing  his thoughts and sharing his dreams. I have encouraged him when he was growing up and I encourage him still. My love is everlasting as corny as it sounds. I can't stop wanting to know everything that he is going through. He is twenty four and no longer a child . To me he is my child always . He no longer builds Legos but he is building other dreams. I quietly watch him . Watching him is something I do well. Watching him, loving him is what I do best.

A love for Art

I could say that my love for art began in the womb. My parents loved art. When they could not afford to buy good pieces of art they bought  the books with wonderful art in them.  As a child I stood in front of a Murillo painting and felt inspired by the feelings soaring in me. My parents took my brothers and I to museums on our vacations. We would wander in grand rooms with indescribable beauty. At the time we questioned why we were not running around outdoors.  Why we had to spend so much time in the museums. The seed was planted and a love was born. A love that would grow with time. As a mom I attempted to plant the seed as well. Both my sons were toddlers when they were bitten by the bug. They both loved Picasso before they were three years old. I remember my older son walking into a London museum and confidently asking the security guard "excuse me but where can I find the Picasso exhibit?". I watched him with pride. Now that I am a mom one of my favorite art is made by my children. There is a painting my son had made for me while I was sick. The painting is now hanging in our kitchen. It has red hearts and a red hand print of his little toddler hand. I cherish the painting. I cherish my children. I cherish that they possess this love for art.

Cliche'

The definition of cliche' is "an expression idea or element of an artistic work which has been overused to the point of it's original meaning or effect meaning played out". When I began writing this blog I was questioned to the reason I wanted to write it. One thing that was thrown at me was that what I write will end up being cliche'.
The other was that what I write can't be original. I agree to a certain extent. Then again what I write about is authentic. I write about my feelings, my views, my life. My passion is expressed my way. There is only one of me in this world. My words are not cliche'. My words are mine.

Hard to remember-must never forget

My man

In the kitchen we dance. We dance to a song by Christina Aguilera. I love my husband for all the obvious reasons such as his intelligence,his humor, his kindness. Yes, he is a wonderful father and a wonderful partner. Today I remember how he helped me to take care of my parents when they were ill. He helped them even though he didn't have much love or admiration for them. I remember how he rushed to Home Depot to buy a large piece of wood. The fancy bed they had bought from Neiman Marcus had no base for the mattress. My mom had rolled out of bed several times before he thought of this solution. My man was the one dad trusted with his medication when he had lost his trust in everyone else. He was patient to repeat the names of the medications and why dad had to take them. I remember it all. I felt lucky then. I feel lucky now. I close my eyes and wrap my arms closer to him.

A New Year

Today I miss my mom and dad. Today I miss the holiday sounds of my childhood home. Mom's table set with beautiful linens and beautiful china dishes. Dad would  be sitting at the head of the table and I would be sitting at his side. I miss my brother yelling at me to stop recording all of us on the video camera. I miss the love and the dysfunction of the family. Today I miss my mom and dad. The wound feels open once again. Today I am also grateful . My husband is in the kitchen cooking a traditional dish that my mom cooked every new year of my entire life. I know it will be delicious. I know it will be nostalgic. Most of all I know that he loves me.

Magical Colorado

Labor Day

This morning I lingered in bed for a few moments. During the night I awakened to watch for the entrance light to be turned off. Once the light is off I can finally sleep in peace because I know Josh is home. Josh came home for the weekend from school and he went out with his friends.  I enjoyed cooking his favorite meals. This morning my husband and I were packing perfect measured meals. Picadillo, a ground beef Cuban dish with rice and beans. Carl was carefully measuring with his eyes and his touch to be certain that all the vacuum bags were equal in size. He made sure each one was a meal that would satisfy Josh. He froze the meals first. Afterward he vacuum packed them. The science behind that was so the potatoes don't become mashed potatoes in the process. " What a good dad" I thought to myself. Late this afternoon Josh left with his cooler packed with love. As he drove away I was sad. Sad to see him go. Sad because I don't know when I will see him again.  I held back from crying and then I smiled. I smiled because I am so proud of Josh. I am so happy that he is following his passion . I am so happy that he makes the world a better place.

Live it, Feel it, Dream it.....

My World

This moment
is a minute in a lifetime.
My life is in this room.
The world is in this room.
My world,
my sons.
One a grown man
the other still a child.
One a realist
the other still a dreamer.
I watch them chase each other around the house.
I love the sound of laughter as they play.
Today the years between them vanish.
Today love grows like a seed that is watered.
Today this moment will be remembered.
A memory that bonds two brothers.
A memory of a happy childhood.
A childhood that they will treasure
when they are old and gray.
A memory to hold when I am no longer in this world.

Life is in the details

Potato Soup

My son Josh loves Potato soup. He can eat it for breakfast, lunch or dinner. When the soup is cooking he hovers around like a helicopter looking for a landing spot. Sometimes I think he dreams about it. Potato soup is not only good for his body but I believe it  feeds his soul. It's nostalgic for him. My mom would cook Potato soup for him when he was a child. Potato soup evokes memories of grandma and grandpa's house. I love to make it for him. He eagerly  tastes it and judges it at the same time. Last time that Josh was home he said to me, "it tastes like grandma's". I smiled and replied "finally!". I was just happy that he could close his eyes and the taste and smell can take him back to a happy memory. Here I am waiting to make another pot of  potato soup to feed my son's soul.

Intuition

Intuition is defined as a direct perception of truth. Intuition is immediate apprehension. Why do some of us have it while others do not?
My first answer was "no" and then I was swayed to say "yes". I had a feeling that it was a mistake. I learned today once again never to go against my intuition!