I've moved my blog...

And all its contents over to my main website, jmilanes.com which has a whole new re-vamped look and where I decided all my writing and information should now be.

If you care to continue reading my stuff you can grab a cup of coffee and mosey on over there and make yourself comfy.

Santa Visits the Bartells (as told by William)

This is my transcription of Santa Visits the Bartells as told by Wil to me on our drive home from work...

And Santa comes down the Chimney and William asks, "who's that there?" and Santa says, "it's just me."

"Oh Santa!  Its just you.  You bring presents?" 

"Yes!" Santa says.  And Santa gives William a present and he rips it open and its a boat.  Santa gives a present to William and says, "here this is for Midnight."

But Midnight can't talk, she says "meow".  So William takes Midnight's present and rips it open and its cat food.  And he gives the food to Midnight and she says, "meow", thank you, because she can't talk because she's a cat.

Then William rings the bells to wake mama and dada.  And mama and dada say, "what's that noise?!?!?  Oh, it's just William."  And they come to the livingroom and they see Santa.

William takes dada's present and he rips it open and its a plane.  "Here you go dada," says William.  And then he takes mama's present and he rips it open and its a truck, "here you go mama."

Then Santa goes up the Chimney and he asks William, "you want to come to the North Pole with me?"

"Yes, thank you!" Says William and he goes up the Chimney with Santa and he goes to the North Pole.

I'm guessing there's a sequel since I was never told the second half of the story about what happens when William goes to the North Pole and his return.

Merry Christmas everyone!  It's been a fabulous year!

A Memory

It was right around 4 am when I woke up startled from the haze of the bad dream.  From my open window, I smelled bagels cooking from the bakery distributor a couple of blocks down.  I made out the smell of cinnamon raisin braided in with the onion and garlic that overpowered all the smells.  It was early September.  The afternoon before it had been pouring rain.  On the ride home from Manhattan on the Express bus into the Bronx I wondered if we were even going to make it home.  Rivers had formed on the Bruckner Expressway making our bus driver weave and swerve to get around it and get us home.  I got home an hour later than usual, but by then the rain had tapered off.

I did my usual routine of Chinese take out from the restaurant across from the bus stop and walked the two long blocks home to my apartment.  I watched the evening news.  Primaries were tomorrow, some schools had their first day of school and the weather was supposed to be much better - cooler and sunny.

Now here at 4 am with a nice cool breeze mixed in with the smell of bagels.  I tried to remember why I woke up so startled.  

I dreamt I was back in PR in our old house on the family compound.  But the house was huge this time, a few stories tall.  We were on one of the other floors, second floor maybe, and were told we had to leave.  The house was on fire and the floor was starting to crack.  I've always had vivid, odd and disturbing dreams, this was no different.  Other than the house burning everything else in the dream seemed so perfect.  The air was warm, the rooms in the house were bright from the sunlight entering through the large windows.  The light gave everything a yellow tinge.  It was a surprise when someone said there was a fire.  The only indication of trouble was the cracking sound from the floor.

I tried going back to sleep but it took almost 2 hours.  My alarm went off 20 minutes later. I hit the snooze button a few times up until 7:20.  Finally had to drag my butt out of bed and get to work.  It was cool out but not chilly.  I had the TV on and Al Roker said it was going to be a beautiful day.  I put on my sandals and wore a knit light purple top.  Quite the combo.  Eh, I wasn't trying to impress anyone.

I decided to take the Subway in.  The Express Bus at this hour was going to take longer in peak rush hour traffic.  At least the train would be easier.  I always got a seat since I lived at the second to last stop and could take it all the way to work.  I stood by the back part of the platform and looked over the railing to the street below.  The light this time of year always bought me back to childhood and the first few days of school.  I remember the smell of the new school supplies -- new book bags and pencil cases have a distinct rubbery smell.  I remembered walking to school eager for a new beginning.  The yellow light of that morning vaguely reminded me of my dream from the night before. It glowed against the buildings and the reflected off of windows, bright but warm.

My train pulled in and I sat towards the back of the car.  We made our way through the North East Bronx.  We paused in Parkchester, as usual, it was the switch over for those that wanted to take the local train through the South Bronx.  We were going express into Manhattan from here.  There was an announcement on the PA, something about an incident in lower Manhattan and our train's final stop being somewhere before Wall Street.  It didn't matter to me.  My stop was in mid-town.  We finally got moving again.  We pulled up and over the curve before going underground for the duration of the ride.  

It was such a perfectly blue and cloudless sky.

A wish for the future (for my son)

A wish for the future (for my son)

I hope that someone’s ethnicity and race don’t matter – where people are blind to skin color and everyone gets a chance to be known for who they are.

A world where all religions are respected equally and it doesn’t matter what someone believes, but that they are judged by their actions, deeds, and compassion.

That he gets to be surrounded by people of integrity.  Where people mean what they say, do what they say and live up to the same standards that they place on others.

A place where people are no longer judged by who they love.  Where everyone understands that, just as they haven’t chosen who they fell in love with, it’s also the same for everyone else.

That he gets to live in a place where everyone understands that we all want the same: to feel secure; to give and get love; to laugh and experience joy; to express ourselves; to be heard and respected -- and that everyone deserves the opportunity to experience these things.

Above all else, to live in a world where everyone really, truly, deeply gets what a gift this life is.

Believe what you want as long as its your own...

This thought has been on my mind lately.

It can be taken in regards to almost anything: religion, faith, politics, child-rearing, social interactions.  But, it doesn't mean to make up your choices and decisions just based on what you think you know.  We need to be open to what we don't know and the possibility of facts going against our reality, beliefs and truths.

When I use words like Truth and Belief they're not the same concept as we're taught growing up.  How can two people believe two opposing things and both things be true?  How can we believe two different things and both of us be right?  I'm not saying that its always the case that everyone is right and could never be wrong - relativism.  Truths and beliefs do need to be balanced out with a sense of morality, ethics and compassion that transcends through all societies. But, at a different level, we can both have a different approach for the same end result.  There is not just "one way".

I can't accept that someone will believe what someone tells them at face value without having gone outside of their comfort zone to see if there are other opinions and facts.  Just because someone you respect says something, doesn't make what they say true, and it doesn't mean that you have to take it as truth and convert it into your own beliefs.  You can still respect someone and look up to someone, even if you don't agree with 100% of what they say.  Isn't this what friendship and marriage is about?  Same holds true for people with positions of authority in our lives.  We can respect, but not follow blindly.

The strongest ideas and beliefs are those that came about after we were nudged enough to make us uncomfortable.  We learn some information that pushes against what we think is true.  We finally realize that what we believe can stand the test or needs to be re-evaluated.  The strongest convictions come from not taking just one point of view, but looking through the different ideas and deciding for ourselves what is true for us- which may not be the truth for someone else.

Leyéndole a mi hijo aprendo yo...

Leyéndole a mi hijo aprendo yo...

Algo que yo quisiera que fuera más acostumbrado en nuestra cultura es la lectura.  Especialmente en cuestión con nuestros hijos.

Unos de los mejores momentos en mi día es después de haber bañado a mi hijo, cepillarle los dientes y ponerle sus pijamas, nos acostamos en su cama y leemos un libro.  El escoge lo que quiere - muchas veces es el mismo libro por un par de semanas (huy como enzorra, pero es para él) - y nosotros lo leemos.  En ese momento, todo lo demás no importa.  Los trastes en el fregadero, la ropa para guardar, todos los que-hacerse toman el lado y el enfoque es todo para nuestro momento juntos. El y yo y nuestra corta aventura (a veces es papi que va con él).  Es nuestro ritual que ayuda llevarlo a dormir sin protestas porque tuvo su tiempo a solas con papi o mami.

No tan solo es el tiempo para compartir y crear una union mas fuerte sino también el aprende lo importancia de la lectura y tomar el tiempo para leer.  Le hemos leído desde antes que cumpliera el año.  Empezamos con "Good Night Moon" (Buenas Noches Luna) .  Y a lo que pasaban las semanas, el reconocía mas y mas objetos en el libro.  Siempre recordare leyendo la parte sobre el globo rojo y el señalándolo en la pagina.    Ya nos hemos graduado de "Good Night Moon" a "Arthurs Birthday", "Cars and Trucks and Things That Go", "Busy Town Fire Station" y ahora "Harold and the Purple Crayon" (Harold y el Lapiz Color Morado).

Me encanta leerle un libro que yo disfrute como pequeña, es regresar a mi niñez por los ojos de mi hijo.  A lo que leemos el me enseña diferentes partes de los dibujos, o dice algo que yo no hubiese pensado.  Me hace reír y apreciar lo buen niño que es y en que se está convirtiendo.

Es increíble ver lo que esa mente tan joven se imagina.  Y es que son ojos nuevos que no están empañados con todos nuestros años de malas experiencias.  Es ver de nuevo un mundo lleno de posibilidad y que aunque el dragón es feo, no hay que tenerle miedo.

A mis amigos y familiares, saquen el tiempo para leerle a sus hijos y a los niños pequeños en sus vidas. Hagan la lectura con sus hijos parte de la cultura en SUS familias. 

Buenas noches.

Being Present - My View

This is my speech for tomorrow's Toastmaster meeting.  My speech's focus is "Get to the Point".  The speech needs to have a specific purpose and be conveyed in such a way that the audience can understand.

I decided to work on something that's close to me and thet I'm constantly working on.  The idea of being present and living in the now. 

I won't be reading it word for word.  Hopefully I'll be able to remember enough of it to convey my general idea.
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“Having spent the better part of my life either reliving the past or experiencing the future before it arrives; I have come to believe that between these two extremes is peace” --Anonymous

What does it mean to be present and how do we get there?

Being present means focusing on the here and now. 

Part of being present is not dwelling in the past.  Our brains aren’t capable of thinking about the past and being mindful of the current moment.  You can’t think of an apple and an orange at the exact same time.  You can think of either an apple or an orange, but not both.  Go ahead and try it.  We end up switching back and forth between the two. 

This concept also holds true for the future.  We can’t think about what we’re doing right now and the future that may or may not be at the same time.  By doing this and focusing on the future apple, we miss enjoying the present orange since we have left no room for it in our minds. 

That’s not to say that we shouldn’t plan for the future.   We always need to plan and set a path for the direction we want our future to go.  But, once we set our plan, we need to release it and let it go on its way without dwelling on the “should dos” and “should haves”. 

Something else to consider is that in different times of our lives we switch between focusing too much on the past or thinking too much about the future.  When a loved one passes, the loss of a job, or an argument with a friend, we go over and over the things we should have said or done.  When planning a major move, starting a new job or going on a vacation, we think about all the things that we need to get done, the people we need to speak to and the “what will they say”.

The reality is that we’re human and it’s in our nature to think about the past – this is how we learn from our mistakes and learn and grow for our future.  But the past and the future don’t exist without the present. 

Then, what should we do we find our minds racing in one direction or another?  When we’re being pulled away from the now?

I’m going to go over a few simple steps to help keep you grounded.

One – pause, breathe and as you do, take a count of the time.  Breathe in through your nose and out through your nose. Slow down your mental clock.  Count to ten.  You’ll be surprised to find out that before this exercise of counting your version of ten seconds was probably much shorter than reality.  We live in such a hurried society moving from task to task that we tend to shorten our minutes.  I read in the book Timeshifting how the author recommends that we tape the word now over our watches.  This helps us realize that this is the time we’re living in – now.    Most times when we look at our watches we’re doing so to see how much time we have before we have to move on to some future task.  We’re not being present.

Finally, after taking in your breathe and counting to ten, focus on what you’re doing at the moment.  Right now you’re listening to me speak, but your mind may be racing thinking about the errands that need to be done, the dirty dishes that were left in the sink, maybe about some family or friend you miss and want to see, or how wonderful the day is and you want to be outside.  Get the racing thoughts out of your head and think about the present moment.  Be aware of the thoughts that come in, but just as quickly let them out.  In practice focus on the task you are working on.

I’d like to give an example of how being present works in my day to day.  One of the hobbies I have is sewing.  This requires that I’m focused 100 percent and that I’m completely mindful in what I’m doing.  When I sew, I need to be present – which reminds me, I need to set some time aside to do it, but that’s a topic for another day.

After the more complex task of cutting the pattern pieces out from the fabric, putting the pieces together is almost meditative.  I need to focus on what I’m doing. I need to be aware of how much tension the presser foot is under.  I need to make sure that the stitches are going in straight and that the feeders are moving the fabric along smoothly.  The seam allowance needs to stay consistent; otherwise the pieces will not come together correctly.  I need to be present with my task.  

To bring yourself back to the present focus on the task that you’re doing.  Narrate the steps you’re taking – not necessarily out loud! 

Another thing is to travel light.  Choose what you’re going to carry in life, not physically but emotionally.  Remove any baggage that you’ve been carrying in life that you no longer need.  There are experiences and people from our past that aren’t worth holding on to.  If we keep holding on to that old suitcase (a bitter memory or an old friend we’ve outgrown) we keep opening it and rummaging through it, bringing up old memories and resentments.  Let them go.  It may not be easy at first, but once we’ve liberated ourselves from that old weight we leave room now to enjoy the present and enjoy our current experiences.

I’d like to end with a sweet example from my own recent experience of why it’s important to be present.

As I mentioned before, it’s very easy to fall into not being present.  Even Children that are usually very good at living the moment can fall into thinking too much about the future—as any parent on a long car trip with a kid asking “are we there yet?” every few minutes can attest to. 

Last Saturday, we went to our friend’s house for Saint Patrick’s Day.  Our son is really good friends with their son.  Early that morning we told him that later that afternoon we were going to Jack’s house.  That was a big mistake (lesson learned).  All morning it was all he would talk about.  “Going to Jack’s house!” this was all he said, even on our way to dance class.  I kept saying, “Later, later”.  I’m sure that it was the only thing racing through his head.  He didn’t nap and it was a very difficult day until we finally made it to Jack’s house.

The same thing happens to us adults.  We get so caught up in some future event that we can’t get anything done in the present.  We stress and dwell and go over all the different scenarios.  We fill our present with worry.  Yes, it’s important to plan and to make sure that we take care of our future but don’t dwell.  Many times we get caught up with the future because of bad past experiences.  But, just because something happened in the past doesn’t mean we’re doomed to repeat it again – and even if we are, worrying about it won’t help change it.  Just do something in the present to prepare and then let it be.

Remember, to work on your future you need to do so in the here and now. 

If you find your mind racing between the past and the future…

1. Breathe and count.
2. Return to the now, think about the task at hand and your breathing.
3. Recite what you’re doing (to yourself).
4. Repeat as necessary.

--Joanna M. Bartell
March 20, 2012

Footnote: those that know me must be scratching their heads because I am very guilty of not living in the present.  This is something I’m working on as well…breathing and counting, breathing and counting, breathing and counting…

Cafe (cuento corto)

No he escrito en mucho tiempo, y menos en español.  Well here goes...

Café

En la tarde, antes de que llegaran los niños de la escuela, y después del almuerzo, abuela empieza su segunda hoya de café. 

La casa está tranquila.  Después de la limpieza de la mañana huele a cloro y lavanda.  Las puertas están abiertas a lo que abuela espera a sus hijas y nueras vecinas.

El suspiro del día.  Entre los que haceres de la mañana y el corre-corre de la tarde.

El sol esta todavía alto en el cielo, pero la casa de abuela se mantiene obscura y fresca; como si ella misma sabia mantener su propio ambiente.  En la cocina, el olor a ajo, cebolla, y cilantro permanece aunque no hay nada cocinando en la estufa.  El olor a café permea las paredes y los gabinetes de madera.

Abuela vacía el termo del café de la mañana en el fregadero y lo llena con el café de la tarde en preparación para la llegada de sus hijas.

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Entra la primera hija y saca una taza del gabinete.  Se prepara su café con una cucharada de azúcar.  Negro.  Se sienta en la silla al lado de la mesa.

"¿Mami, como te va?"

"Bien.  ¿Y los nenes?"

"Tito esta con la suegra, y Lila en casa viendo televisión."

Entra la segunda, la puerta de la sala cierra con un cantazo.  Se prepara su tasa con leche y tres cucharas de azúcar.  Se sienta en el escalón en la entrada de la cocina, mirando hacia el monte y la quebrada que queda a unos metros de la casa.  "¡Que día!"

"¿Qué pasa?" pregunta la primera.

"Fui a ver si estaban cogiendo solicitudes en la fábrica, y me dicen que no.  Madrugue, estaba allá haciendo fila ya a las seis y media.  Ay que fastidiarse. Pero si la nena de Lucinda la cogieron ayer y esa no sabe na' de costura."

"Si ya tu sabes cómo eh," dice abuela.  Se sienta en la otra silla cerca de la mesa y pone su pequeña taza sobre un platillo para no dañar la mantilla plástica que cubre la mesa.

La puerta harnero abre y mira una pequeña cara hacia dentro desde la sala.  Entre la obscuridad de la sala, y la luz que entra por detrás de la puerta hace difícil ver los detalles de la cara.  Pero su madre la reconoce. "¿Que-eh?" pregunta la segunda.

La vocecita aguda de su hija corre por la sala, "eh que no quiero jugar con Sandy."

"Pues no juegues con Sandy, pero quédate afuera.  Y no te quiero oír."  Se cierra la puerta con un golpe.  "Me tiene harta."

Abuela y la primera inclinan sus cabezas en asentimiento. 

Entra la tercera, mirando hacia afuera.  "Quédate con Sandy, estoy aquí, " dice a lo que entra.  Carga una lata de galletas dulces.  Pone la lata en la mesa.  "Ma, fui a Jiménez y las tenían en descuento.  Ah, y tenían unos brazos gitanos riiiicos."

"¿Y por qué vas a decir y no traes?  ¡Oye!" dice la primera.

"Están en Jiménez.  Te los puedes comprar," dice la tercera con una risa en su voz y se sirve su taza de café.  Negro con tres azucares. 

Agarra una lata de galletas "Export Sodas" y se sienta sobre ella recostada de la pared.

Llegan las otras hijas y nueras entre unos minutos como si el olor a café las haya llamado.  Cada una agarra su tasa y su esquina o lugar de costumbre.

Y empieza el chismorreo.   Dos o tres conversaciones a la vez.  Brincando de tema en tema como una abeja en un jardín con sus flores.

"Y oíste de-"

"Pero no sabías que-"

"¿Desde cuándo?"

"Pero, ¿con quién?"

"¡No me digas!"

"Uhi, si eso no me sorprende del."

A lo que las tasas se vacían y llenan de nuevo los temas seguían.  Pelando a uno y a otro.  Pero nunca hablando de los asuntos de uno mismo.  Hay que tener cierto nivel de discreción.  

Llega abuelo de la finca y se sirve su café.  "¡Ahí que gallinero!" dice y se bebe su café en un trago para rápido salir de nuevo.  Pero antes, para en la puerta para escuchar un poco del chisme sobre uno de los vecinos.  Después sale a la finca a buscar ñames para la verdura para la cena.

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Ya se está acerando la hora que lleguen los niños de la escuela y pronto hay que empezar la comida.

Se levanta la primera para irse.  Sabiendo el riesgo de ser la primera en salir.  Tan pronto te vas, tan pronto empiezan hablar de ti.  Por eso es bueno irse entre las ultimas.  De igual manera que cuando uno llega y entra un silencio en la cocina ya se sabe de quién hablaban.  Pero, ya es hora de buscar a Tito.

Un poco después se va la tercera, con su hija Sandy que la esperaba en el balcón jugando con sus muñecas Barbis con su prima.

Las nueras se van, y por fin la segunda.  Antes de que se vaya, abuela le dice, "si es para ti, es para ti, sabes que tienes un buen hombre trabajador. Y a esa Lucinda, a cada cerdo le llega su sábado."

La casa queda en silencio.  

Abuela empieza a recoger y a lo que limpia las tazas en el fregadero canturrea una canción de su juventud.  Pone las tasas en el escurridor y le pasa paño a la mesa. Y por fin, pone la hoya con agua hirviendo esperando para los ñames que traerá abuelo.

El fresco de la tarde corre por la casa.  Las palmas en el monte se mueven con la brisa.  Abuela cierra la puerta de la cocina.  Hasta el próximo café de mañana.

New perspective

I tend not to talk or write about what I'm going to post for fear of "rocking the boat" with those people I know.  I also believe that spirituality and religion are very personal, and just like sex and politics its sometimes better to keep ones opinions to oneself.  But, today I took a step forward in my spiritual growth and future and I feel that I need to "come out" with what I believe and have no shame in it.

We should be able to believe what we do, have it out there and not fear being judged. 

I'll start out with how I started the journey, and for that I need to go way back to mom.  As most Puerto Ricans, my mom was born and raised Catholic and as any good Catholic when I was born she baptized me in the Catholic church with a Godfather and a Godmother.  My Godfather is my eldest (full blooded) uncle and my Godmother was chosen by my dad and I only met her once in my life -- at my baptism.  Technically I was supposed to have been raised Catholic, right?

We moved to the Bronx, NY when I was three.  My mom at the time didn't go to any church.  I don't know the details of how things went, but eventually she reunited with her older half-brother, who attended an Evangelical Lutheran Church in Brooklyn.  I know that mom was having major problems with dad and his drinking so my assumption is that this was a way for her to find a spiritual family in a very difficult time of her life.

Eventually we moved to Brooklyn.  I'm sure that the affiliation with the church helped.  We moved about five blocks down the street from the church to Park Slope, border of Sunset Park.  This was the place where I grew up and learned about God, community and church.  It was a Spanish speaking church with many immigrant families.  I learned how to read Spanish by reading the Bible and maintained my language by being a part of the church and participating in activities.

Over time this became our second family.  It was a very large congregation and it was our life.  Everyone we knew and interacted with outside of school or work were the members of the church.  A good part of who I am today is because of this upbringing, which I'm thankful for.

But, even at a young age, I began to question.  I saw how people would say one thing but do another -- condemning rich people but scheming ways to make more money.  Also, how can people condemn others for believing just as fiercely in their own beliefs as they did in theirs just because they believed in something different? 

My biggest moment was after I was told about the need to accept Jesus Christ as your saviour in order to not be condemned to an eternity in hell.  I started thinking, well what about those people that were never told about Jesus but lived a life full of goodness (in my young mind I thought of native tribes in the Amazon)?  How could a God be so cruel to condemn people that are as innocent as children?  And what about the inverse, someone who spent their life full of doing evil deeds and selfish behavior and maybe even murder.  Then, in the last minute of their life, just because they accept Jesus the slate is clean?  So, you're telling me that someone like Hitler, had he accepted Jesus in the last few minutes of his life would have been saved?  It just didn't make sense to me, and the dogmatic ideas I was surrounded by never satisfied those and many, many other questions.  There were too manythings I couldn't wrap my thoughts around.

Being the good kid that I was, I went with the flow and when we went to the Pentecostal Church I went with it too.  I had no choice.  It got to a point I felt like I was being brainwashed and I also began to question the Pentecostal Church's chauvinistic perspective.  I couldn't understand how a strong willed woman like my mom was submitting to such beliefs.  Here, all my life she'd been telling me that I could be and do whatever I wanted but now we were attending a church that said that a woman must submit to a man.  My 14 year old feminist self just couldn't handle it.

I don't know where it would have gone from there.  My mom passed away when I was 14 and I moved to Puerto Rico.  I was ANGRY at God.  First for taking my mom away and then for having to move to PR and leave everything I had ever known behind.  From that point in my life I decided that religion was not for me.  I knew in my heart there was something else, but what it was could not be defined in a religion. 

These feelings were affirmed even more so later when two people at two different points in my life did very un-christ like things.  Both are people that were among the closest people in my life at two different points.  These were people that were supposed to be a part of my upbringing (and supposedly loved me) and touted themselves as devout Christians.  To me, if that's what Christian was, I wanted no part of it*

I went on in life with a belief that yes, there's something out there, but no, I will not pretend to have the answer.  The main reason I couldn't shrug off God or Spiritual existence completely was an experience I had in High School (no not the ever famous Ouija Board experience that's legend in our town now), but something that happened my senior year right after I found out my brother had been in a terrible car accident in Saudi Arabia -- he was in the Marines.

A Marine Captain and Sargent came over to our house (I was living with my Uncle and Aunt) in the middle of the night.  They came escorted by town police since back then where my family lives really wasn't on a map and there was no such thing as GPS.  They told me that my brother was in a head on collision with another car in Saudi Arabia, and that was all they knew since we were at war (Desert Storm), and information was slow to get.  My heart dropped.  My brother was all I had for family.  God could not be so cruel to take him away as well.  They told me that they'd keep us informed and that as soon as they knew anything they'd pass it on. 

I thought of my brother half a world away, hurt and unconscious.  I went to bed and wondered how I'd sleep.  Then a peace came over me.  It was a warm feeling that started in my chest and then spread all over.  There were no words but I could sense that I was being told, "he will be OK, trust me."  And I did.  It was almost like it was my mom's embrace and telling me she knew he'd be OK.  I've had other moments in my life like this, though not as intense as that one.

All that week, everyone was worried and giving me looks of pity (much like they did when my mom passed -- how I hated those looks!), but I knew he would be OK and I told everyone that he was fine.

I've spent my life wandering and wondering.  Knowing that I was never going to return to a church.  Sorry, can't do it.  I read books on Pagan religions and Wicca, not quite me.  Then Buddhism which came pretty close to what I believed in but that was just reading and literature.  I still needed that spiritual connection and now with having Wil, looking for a place where he can have that sense of community and belonging that I had as a child.  There just didn't seem to be anything.  We're members of a Jeep club and though some members would say its a spiritual experience for them and there's a definite sense of community, that's not quite what I'm looking for.

Then last fall through a posting on a baby board that I'm a part of someone mentioned Unitarian Universalists.  When I don't know what something is and it gets my interest I quickly go on-line.  I came across their web site: http://www.uua.org/  I also looked them up on Wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Unitarian_Universalism and after that picked up a recommend book A Chosen Faith.  Here it was, a group of people that believed what I believed and had a committed group of people within the community to build fellowship, education and community service.

I was even more excited to find out there is a fellowship 5 minutes from our house in Plainfield.  I visited last October and took Wil -- he wasn't quite ready for it.  I waited and waited to go back.  Life seems to always get in the way (vacations and errands).  I finally went back today on my own.  After the very enlightening service they had a "New Member Orientation". They only have these 3 times a year.  My timing was perfect -- or maybe things were aligned just right.  I sat at the session which was almost 3 hours long but felt like 15 minutes and got to know an amazing group of people and hear their stories which were very similar to mine (and some very different). 

I joined today and have committed myself to take this next step in my life to further my spiritual journey alongside my son (and hopefully hubby).

I share this in the hope that if anyone is like me-- still on their spiritual journey and not knowing their truth yet -- its OK to continue the search.  Its OK to admit that we don't have the answers and we don't know.  The journey can be amazing if we keep our minds open. 

-JMB



*Part of today's service made me realize I need to work through this.  The Rev. read the book "Zen Shorts" and there was a story about two monks which needed to cross a river.  The story was adapted for the children's book from an actual Buddhist story.  This is the actual story:

Two Buddhist Monks were on a journey, one was a senior monk, the other a junior monk. During their journey they approached a raging river and on the river bank stood a young lady. She was clearly concerned about how she would get to the other side of the river without drowning.
The junior monk walked straight past her without giving it a thought and he crossed the river. The senior monk picked up the woman and carried her across the river. He placed her down, they parted ways with woman and on they went with the journey.

As the journey went on, the senior monk could see some concern on the junior monk's mind, he asked what was wrong. The junior monk replied, "how could you carry her like that? You know we can't touch women, it's against our way of life". The senior monk answered, "I left the woman at the rivers edge a long way back, why are you still carrying her?"

The Holidays and Gratitude

I haven't posted in a while, with the craziness of work and the holidays it's taken its toll on me.  There's a lot going on for us -- not just the upcoming holidays.  We're getting geared up for our annual pilgrimage to Puerto Rico in a few weeks;  we have some work changes; and we're trying to get the house ready to sell in the spring.

I'm also not a big fan of Christmas.  I HATE shopping and the crowds and the pressure of finding the right gift for people.  The materialism of the season really gets to me.  I prefer Thanksgiving.  You get to spend time with family and don't have to deal with the gift giving frenzy.  But now Thanksgiving has been over shadowed by Christmas.  I love this cartoon, it says it all:

I enjoy being with family and friends.  And being thankful. 

People forget how fortunate they are.  We live in a country where no one goes hungry (a missed meal isn't starvation) and where we don't see the level of poverty that exists in other countries.  We also have a level of freedom unheard of in other places.  Which gives people the ability to whine and complain in public about how terrible things are currently.  People need some perspective.

Back to my point.  Its been a busy and a lot is going on.  Much of it is looking forward to the new year and some of the stress we're about to endure. 

I need to take my own advice and shift gears to the present. I need to focus on things like the funny moments I have with Wil.  Just now he came over and asked me to give him 5, he stuck his hand out and we slapped hands a few times.  The other day he asked for a hug and told me he loved me too after I had given him a kiss and told him that I loved him.  I need to reshift my focus back to the central ring in my life.

Summer Day Trip

I wrote this poem as an undergrad.  When I was a kid we used to make a yearly church trip to Sunken Meadow beach in Long Island.  We used to look forward to it all summer.

SUMMER DAY TRIP

Anticipation
for the next day to begin,
for the morning to break.
The hum of the floor fan,
with the swish of the cars outside
make the sheets offer to much warmth in this summer day,
but they are my protection.

Anticipation
so
I barely get any sleep.
I see the sky get clear
as the sun begins to rise
and mom wakes us up.
It's time to get ready, eat breakfast, pack up our things 
and begin our walk to church.

The warm air smells sweet
mixed with the smell of fried chicken
that I carry in the grocery bag.
My new jelly sandals squish on the pavement.
Brother complains about the weight of the thermos,
its ice clatters against the plastic.

There's the bus!
Large in the narrow street.
I don't remember the ride.
Lost sleep is found.
Bright sunshine warms us,
and the hymns are my lullaby.
The patter of the rain--barely audible.

Picnic is set half a mile from the beach,
and there is no rain here
like the weatherman said.

Late afternoon, after hours of playing
I sit on the wooden bench
and eat my fried chicken sandwich.

The baptism is now!
Someone calls.

They all rush to the shore
to see the purified.

People are cleansed
just like John baptized Jesus.

Afterwards we eat dinner
and celebrate.

The new souls.

We go home.

Late afternoon sunshine and
the sun is dipping behind buildings.
We walk home.
My jelly sandals squish with water.
Brother swings the empty thermos
while I carry nothing.

I get home and shower
and lie in front of the TV.

CHiPs is on.
Mom sits besides me
and strokes my freshly washed hair.
I feel the ocean in my chest--
rising and falling waves,
rising and falling.
The yellow sunshine fills the living room
but it's almost gone.
As Lavern and Shirley 
sing their song
I fall asleep.


--Joanna Milanes
December 28, 1996

EMBRACE THE MOON

This story is based on a dream.  Not sure what before bedtime meal caused it or maybe it was some cold medicine.  I was in grad school at the time I wrote it and had a lot on my mind regarding what the heck I was going to do with my life.



EMBRACE THE MOON
I sat on the sand and waited for him. It was dark early morning. The moon sat on the horizon and began its descent.

By the shore and secluded beach, they danced around the fires near the line of coconut trees that was behind me.

The moon was large as it dipped into the black ocean. It seemed that he would come. I left everything behind to wait: the bonfire dances, the warmth of the songs and grandmother's hum when she prepared the stew.

The moon beckoned me, and asked why I was so far. I told her I was waiting. "Swim to me and find him here," she said. I stood and walked into the cool water. The soft waves lapped against my ankles. The light foam rippled between my toes. I entered slowly. I didn't look back but could feel the heat of the rising bon fires against my bare back as I dropped my robe into the sand. The coolness of the water wasn't strong until it reached my belly. I gasped.

The darkness of the salt ocean embraced me. I dove in completely and found comfort in its coolness. I hesitated. "You won't find the truth on the shore," the moon said. "You'll find it here." And so I swam in backstrokes to her on the horizon. Her largness covered the ocean. The yellow light illuminated my floating nakedness. Her warmth in contrast to the cool water. Soon, I was so close that all that was left in the sky was the moon. "Hug me," she said. I stretched my arms around her swollen body. "Yes, is the answer," she whispered in my ear, though there was no one else around to hear us.

I swam back knowing the truth. The answer was already in myself. When I returned to shore I waited no longer, I put on my robe and headed to the warm bon fire. I danced new dances no one had ever dreamt of dancing before and taught the others this new joy. We still danced when the sky became purple and light rose through the mountains. He arrived on the shore.

I saw him in the distance as I still danced and wondered if the sun would call to him as the moon did I. Did they--the sun and moon-- meet briefly right after he came out of his slumber and as she was going to bed? But, the sun did not call him.
He turned to the bon-fires that were dying from the lack of fuel. When he saw me he walked over the shells that had been pushed near the end of the sand by the evening tide.

"Why were you not waiting?" He asked. I embraced the moon last night, but he did not need to know. I asked, "what joy is there in waiting?"
______________________________________________________________________
Copyright 1999, Joanna Milanes

Posting some fiction...

I've decided to dust off (really dust off) some fiction I used to have in my old web site.  These were written back when I was in college, so be gentle.

You'll see these over the next few posts.

Finding your "bees"

I've had this song from Blind Melon in my head all week.  I think it has more to do with the video associated with it.  If you've never seen it, it's the story of a tap dancing honey-bee dressed girl as she's trying to find people that appreciate her for herself. 

She's odd looking.  She has a freckled face and wears glasses.  Her bee outfit doesn't seem to fit quite right.

She gets laughed off a stage, gets strange looks in the street, and finally finds her "bees" in a park that's brightly colored green and blue in contrast to the rest of the video.

Its a great message.  We all have our bees that we can fit in with.  Its just a matter of time when we find them.  These are the people that accept us unconditionally.

An honest discussion - racial identity (Part I)

I read an article the other day from a writer who's half Puerto Rican and Half Irish, and recently there was an entire series in the NY Times regarding the increase of multi-racial people in this country.  Bi-racial would no longer fit the hodgepodge background that some people have. 

It made me think of my son William.  He'll be among the statistics.  What will he consider himself to be?  I think that's a good question to ask.  To disregard it as, "he's American that's all that matters" is a little naive and overly simplistic. 

I'm already a mix since to be Puerto Rican is to be not a race, but an ethnicity.  It means to have roots from Spain, Africa and the indigenous people of the islands, the Tainos.  Actually the correct term would be Borinque~no, since Taino means "friend".  The Spanish confused the native wordfor the tribes name. 

I can just imagine the first encounter:  Spanish Conquistador, "Quienes son?" (Who are you?).  Natives look at each other and figure they don't want to start on the wrong foot with these guys with metal armor and swords.  Better to let them know they're good guys and here to extend a helping hand.  "Taino" (friend), they said.  Little did the poor natives know.  Maybe it was lost in translation, maybe if the Spanish only knew that they were being called friends things would have turned out differently?  (yeah right)

I digress.

Growing up I never really fit in anywhere.  I really didn't fall under the "New Yoriquen" crowd since I didn't talk like the kids around me with the slang and I was many times told I wasn't dark enough.  Sometimes even told I "talked white".  Thanks for making proper English an exclusive thing of "white people".  I wasn't accepted by the black kids in my JHS for some of the same reasons and because black racism exists as well (yes I said it).  Oddly-- well maybe not so oddly -- the group that accepted me most readily were the white and Asian kids.

Over the years I've been asked if I'm pretty much every race or ethnicity in the book, except Asian or Caucasian.  I've been asked if I'm Greek, Italian, Jewish, Israeli, Arab, Turkish, Black (I can pass for light skinned when I'm really tanned), and of course Hispanic.  Notice the heavy Mediterranean confusion.  Wrong sea.

What will William's experience be like?  Well, he's medium skinned, has some of my olive tones, and will be ridiculously tall.  Physically, people would have a hard time pinning his ethnicity down like they did with me.  His dad is "white" but we'll be exposing him to both cultures - his dad is Czech.  Maybe it won't matter as much as he grows.  It seems that within his age group there will be many more mixed kids than there have ever been before.  We have quite a few friends that are in mixed marriages. 

I hope that "what are you?" won't matter as much as who you are. We always say that he can decide his own identity.  As parents its our job to expose him to different aspects of his background so he can decide who he is and how he wants to identify himself.

Which ring do you want to focus on today?

My manager gave us a copy of the book "Juggling Elephants" during our last team meeting-- THANKS!


In the book, the writer equates managing our lives to being the ringmaster in a circus. The title comes from how we try to manage so mant large tasks all at once that it feels like we're juggling elephants. The reality is that it becomes an impossible task - and creates a poor performance.

As ringmasters we can only be in one ring at a time, be it work, family or self. Running from ring to ring only creates chaos. We also must decide, and this is REALLY important, on what acts we allow in our rings and which acts we must let go. Too many times we're guilty of taking too much on for fear of saying no. But the reality is that this can take away the focus from something else that's a lot more important. And, its not just about saying no. We can always say -- later. The option exists to always let that act in later in our lives.

After reading the book, I now ask myself at work-- what ring should I focus on? What act should be on now?

More to come.

Toastmasters Speech

One of the things that I recently did was join Toastmasters...like I don't already have a lot going on. But, sometimes I find the more I have scheduled the more I have done.

Last Wednesday was my first speech. My Icebreaker. Pretty much its a speech about yourself. Here was mine it its written form. Its verbal version of it was somewhat different, but maintained most of the context:


9 of 27
I come from a very large family. There are 27 first cousins, we have 9 aunts and uncles. Out of those 27 I was number 9. I’m at the bottom of the oldest group -- there were three phases of cousins.

Coming from such a large family I learned to talk fast, talk loud and shyness got thrown out the door. Especially with games like truth or dare – I tended to take the dares. There’s a little bit of brutality involved as well,  I developed a really thick skin to all the teasing from older cousins that hug grandma while proclaiming “Grandma’s mine!” just to make me cry.  After a while I just shrugged it off because I knew better. I was grandma’s favorite, at least that’s what she said to me when we were alone.

When I was four years old we moved to NYC, first The Bronx and then Brooklyn, NY. That left me with less exposure to my family that lived in the mountains in Puerto Rico on what was my grandfathers old farm. I only got to see them during summer vacations.  If I wasn’t toughened up already by having to battle it out with my cousins, Brooklyn finished off the last layer.

We grew up attending a large church where the kids became like my foster cousins. We played freeze tag and hand ball outside while the adults had their after church social hour.  And again like with my family, I was in an environment where you were expected to stand up and speak out. Church plays, special Sunday services led by the kids made for a very extroverted group of kids.

Right before tenth grade I had to move back to Puerto Rico. My mom had passed away and I had no family in New York that could take care of me so I was shipped off to live with numbers, 8, 11 and 16 of 27 and their parents.  I lived with my best friend, sister, cousin Michie, her brother and sister and my uncle and his wife in a small house on part of my grandfather’s old farm, across the street from one uncle, next door to an aunt and on the other side of the creek from my grandfather.

At that point my one and only goal became to get back to NY – no matter what. Waking up at 5 am to roosters crowing wasn’t what I wanted. I needed my city, I was tired of being number 9 of 27, I need to be me. I figured the way there was to be the 1st of 27 to go to college. When the time came I looked at college brochures and after a dizzying time I chose Syracuse University.  Little did I know that it was 5 hours and 20 degrees colder and away from NYC. Plus an extra 3 feet of snow deeper.

My first year of college I was really homesick, as much as I wanted to get away from those Roosters I really did miss them.

I eventually moved back to Puerto Rico and worked as a teacher – the fast talking, lack of shyness, and dealing with a ton of people worked well there. But, after a year of teaching and some heartache I realized it wasn’t for me.  I returned to the tundra of Syracuse – better the one you know than the one you don’t and went back to school for my master’s in information management – I was a computer nerd at heart.

I got a job in NYC as a computer programmer. The lonely job of a computer programmer; sitting in a cubicle all day in front of a computer while staring at four grey walls. Then heading home in the evening to an empty apartment – well my cat Midnight was there to greet me – and some Chinese takeout. I wasn’t happy in my job. It took some time and some major stumbles, including almost getting fired, but I finally landed at my current job. Managing Training and Support for our department.

All those years of being a part of such a large family have paid off. I have to deal with different personalities – some of them can be kid of brutal. Even on par with “Grandma’s mine!”, making the thick skin come in handy.  I have to work as part of a team, and learn how to share the spotlight with them.

Part of what I enjoy the most now is my vacation time, the time that I get to be 9 of 27 again. Now there’s another 30 or more counting my cousin’s kids and add the spouses and well…

You better learn how to talk faster and louder – with all the new competition that’s coming around!

Thank You!

ME Time

I realized that part of my procrastination had to do with lack of me time. Reading The Now Habit really opened me to that.

I find that over the last week its begun to sink in even more. I purchased a new zippy bells and whistles laptop which means I'm no longer using my work laptop for other stuff on my off time AND giving me the freedom to work on the many things that I'd been putting off for lack of having my personal work machine: Peter's web page, Wil's photo books, the blog.

Now here I am with no excuses and 1/3 of the way done with a new novel I'm reading -- as soon as I'm done with some web updates I'm off to go read in bed :-) and started on Wil's photo album again.

Next project is the baby videos to DVD, but one step at a time folks!

DONE!

I've finished the book! Lot's of great information that I can now take with me in the next steps of my journey.

The meditation aspect in the book is key.

Now I need to put it into practice.

On Non-Procrastination Items...moving forward

I'm almost done with the book and started focusing on using some of what I've learned to make the time for couponing-- goal is to bring down that monthly grocery bill! Work on the house budget and start studying for the CPLP.

One of the hard things is that I have a toddler around which requires momma now! I can't just do the 30 minute blocks of time that "The Now Habit" calls to do when he's awake. I just can't say, "sorry honey, momma's got 15 more minutes of uninterrupted work to complete". Even writing in my blog is a feat. Currently we have "The Grouch Song" playing on Pandora as he plays with his "bolts" and tried telling me that his four bolts were "five!" And now Dada's home and they play fight for blankie.

Well time to manage the house...does running around after a toddler count in the 30 minutes???