Life As I Know It

First published January 24 2008 Imperfections… we all pretend we don’t have them. And that the person who’s across us is full of them. Sadly our vision of what perfection is- is truly blurred. So why do we attempt so hard to cover our jagged edges? Why is it so easy to forgive and allow our own mistakes to be taken off the record but not those of others? And more importantly when did we cross the line to think that someone who makes mistakes couldn ’t possibly be human? I believe flaws are the edges of our being… with out them the puzzle, the person, wouldn ’t be complete. Our society is so out of touch. And us… those who should know better keep adding to the issue. But bury our mistakes and start fresh? That we cannot do because it is easier to judge that of what we know nothing about. Easier to mark something “defective”… than a work in progress.

First published November 12 2007 Every Thursday after service I visit a sister from my hall. She is 90 yrs old. At a glance she looks fragile, and old, sick and worn out. But she is no ordinary sister. She is one of the first Spanish speaking witnesses in the north Texas area. She has been here before any of us came around. She has stories that would amaze anyone. I visit her every Thursday, sometimes we talk, sometimes we drink orange juice, sometimes I just drop off the weekly bouquet of flowers I take her. And when she’s weak sometimes we just sit. Her sunken eyes peer up over her glasses once in a while… looking over she’ll grab my hand and say “ya no falta mucho”. “It wont be long” she says. And it won’t. See she’s sick. She has cancer and in the medical standpoint – has no hope. She’s dying. Slowly but surely. Last Thursday as I sat there talking to her daughter. She handed me over a brochure. The hospice brought it over, titled --- The process of death. And sure enough in it you...

First published August 23 2007 In any particular bad day I have habits to make myself better. One- I put on my grandmothers nightgown. Something about it just gives me peace. Its yellow, made of cotton, with white flowers. Nothing I would pick out a store to buy. But when I wear it I feel at ease. And last but not least. I make myself chamomile tea - the Mexican antidote to everything... or so I’ve been told. And when none of that seems to work... I baby-sit my niece. Don’t underestimate the power of a child. One look at their dimples and all your troubles seem to melt away. My niece has that effect on me. I cant escape her curls, dimples, and chubby cheeks. No matter how tired or out of mind i am. She brings me back to solid ground. She's crazy and a bit of overwhelming but nonetheless- my best medicine. When she was born i was facing a lot of difficulties in my life. I was a mess. Crying if anyone just touched me or looked my way. But my niece would come around and just holding h...

First published August 06 2007 Doubt begins like a thin line on a wall. Unnoticed, unseen, small. You think no damage can come from it. But once it runs all the way down it causes an inevitable split. A division that is too hard to put back together. Doubt stirred with lack of trust creates the worst kind of division in our hearts. Lies are just as dangerous wedging a gap between those saying them. And before you know it the things that seemed like a sure bet are the things that make the ground beneath you shake, What do you hold onto when it all starts crumbling down? What do you believe when the truth is blurred? Protect your heart with the tightest of grips, close your eyes and let it rain. After all better days are sure to come...

First published May 09 2007 As I sat there in the dining room, I watched my parents dancing in the living room. They were smiling and something about the way they held each other told you there was a lot of love between them. My dad twirling my mom and both complaining about their back issues. My dad teasing her about how they weren’t young anymore. They were laughing so hard my dad tripped and both came falling down on the couch. And they laughed and laughed. My dad leans in and kisses my mom on her forehead and she smiles and looks into his eyes. I sigh and realize that’s exactly what I want for my future. They’ve been married for about 30yrs now. Have 3 kids and one grandchild. My dad will turn 50 in February and my mom 48 in September. They’ve built a whole life with their love. They see me looking at this point and start over one more time the story about how they met. De donde vine yo… (Where I came from) By Miriam Far from the highway to the city of mines, past the hissing of th...

First published October 20 2006 It'll be a year tomorrow since my grandmother passed away... to me it feels like yesterday... Only a few people can come into this world and leave a legacy. She was no Gandhi , no Mother Teresa, her area of expertise had nothing to do with politics or medicine and she didn't win a Nobel prize for her accomplishments. Her area of expertise yet had much to do with these things along with so many others. She was the Judge and jury of her children, the Doctor for the scraped knees, the Chef for the busy household, and the building blocks of something great. And though she wasn't even a local hero and her name might not be recognized in a plaque-- the fruit of her hard labor can be seen in the faces of so many... She was my grandmother, the mother of my mother, and the foundation of our family. Some people remember their grandmother by one special moment, I remember everything about mine. Her love for " chuletas " (sirloin steak), her g...

First published April 22 2006 I remember the first time i ever went to the beach. I remember how i thought everything about galveston was beautiful. (i know galveston is horrible! but it was beautiful then). I played forever in that water, felt the sand beneath my toes. I wasnt even afraid that i didnt know how to swim because my dad was there and i knew i was safe. I layed on the sand, facing the ocean. In enough to let the water touch my earlobes, tickling them, the ocean telling its own story. Filled with tears and bottled messages. And my child mind couldnt help but think how long it took for someone to cry to fill the ocean up. And i wondered if this was where all tears ended up. I knew nothing of life then. I know too much of pain now. I dream of that day often, of a place where nothing is harder than it seems. I'd like to get away sometime soon, to the beach maybe. Or hide away somewhere where a single battle is lost, but not the whole war.... *sigh*

Actually published - April 17 2006 My grandmother was an avid watcher of Mexican soap operas. She truly believed that we (ourselves) were the authors of the telenovela (soap opera) in our life. And maybe its true, you know. Because i do agree that we write our own stories. I guess its just up to us to decide whether its a comedy or a tearjerker. But just like a soap opera, just when you think you know the ending, just when things seem to be fitting into place, there's new revelations, new twist, that change the whole story around. An event, a person that creates impact.