To The Woman In 14B…Thank You And I’m Sorry

I’m sorry I almost killed you.

It was never my intent.

Photo Credit: Peter Walton

As I sat watching passengers parading up the aisle, and worrying over who would occupy the seat between myself and the man in 14A, you stopped just short of our row and ever so politely asked me if I would mind letting you get to your seat. I practically jumped with joy out of 14C feeling like I had won the travel jackpot to rival all jackpots. You were of average weight and height, had impeccable manners, minimal perfume on, weren’t carrying a bag of Fritos, corn nuts, a tuna sandwich, or a screaming toddler to sit in your lap.

It’s not that I don’t like Fritos or Tuna though I’ve never had the two together. I do hate corn nuts, but I am a mother of two so I get the screaming toddler traveller…been there done that. It’s just while my husband sat in a different row with our two children, I planned on pulling out my brand new MacBook Air and pretending I was some important business woman traveling to a conference on the latest in smart phone technology or an experienced journalist on her way to catch the big story. What I wasn’t pretending to be was a doctor and keynote speaker at a Doctors Without Borders Conference. I had spent enough years playing doctor so to speak, though not with the boy next door so no worries mom.

Since the age of four, I walked around fashioning my plastic stethoscope around my neck. Fisher Price medical bag in hand, I told anyone and everyone that I wanted to be a doctor someday. It is all I ever spoke of, and all I ever imagined becoming when I grew up. It was my third year in college when my dad died. His death opened my eyes to the fact that I was on a path I didn’t really want to be on but stayed true to because I had never considered anything else. I had no Plan B. Kids, always have a Plan B. My dad’s death made me realize that life is too short to do something simply because it is expected of you, so I changed my career path and have never looked back.

That is until you Ma’am. When you started to complain of a headache, and asked if I had any Tylenol (I didn’t) we were still good. When you started to complain you were feeling dizzy, I was happy to ring the button for the flight attendant to bring you some water. I was even okay holding a wet cloth to your forehead when you said you were feeling faint. The problem started when you started to shake, closed your eyes, and became unresponsive.

As I stood in the aisle, amid the flurry of flight attendants and those who had answered the call for a doctor on board and ultimately in life, I knew without a doubt that my playing doctor all those years ago was just that. I suddenly had no need to pretend to be anything other than what I am today…a homeschooling mom of two, wife of one, blogger, and soon to be published author.

I am so glad you were feeling better by the time we landed. I meant you no harm, and if I could I would take back the thought that popped into my head as the plane lifted off…

“Man, do I need something exciting to happen so I have something to write about.”

From the bottom of my heart, thank you and I’m sorry.

Spotlight On The World

Words, when they come to life are an amazing thing. Whether their effect on us is through something we’ve read or by word of mouth, when words come to life they are amazing. When they linger with you for days, tumbling around in your heart and mind like the delicate cycle on your dryer, in constant motion gently nudging you to take a closer look, you must. I have had a string of words shared by a complete stranger floating and twisting around as though windblown for some time. They come close to being still and landing as though the wind died down, yet before I can grasp their full meaning, they again take flight.

photo credit: littlemisswordy

These are the words: God has given each of us a light. It is up to us to shine that light on others. If you only use your light as a spotlight, you are not using your light to its full potential. If the sun only shone on a small number of crops, all the other crops even those closest to the light would wither and die because they were not touched by the light. As uncomfortable as it may make you, as difficult as it may be, you must shine your light on others.

This week’s events have been disheartening in so many ways. I don’t often watch the news because it depresses me to see so much evil being reported. After the bombing at the Boston Marathon, I’ve been watching the news quite a bit. Just as I was about to retreat back into my bubble, having had enough of the horrific news reports, I heard about the explosions in West, Texas, a town just north of Waco where my son was born seven years ago.

Again, I become glued to the news and what do I see upon further inspection? I see those words come to life. I see spotlights in the midst of tragedy so great that not too long ago would have been something seen on a movie screen or written in a book you can’t put down…something we could imagine because to believe it could truly affect us in the real world was impossible. The longer I watch the news the more those spotlights expand, shining a light so great it reaches out and blankets all of those affected, breathing hope into those left behind to face our reality.

I wasn’t planning on writing about these tragedies, believing there was nothing I could contribute that hadn’t already been shared, believing I could not bring words to life that would offer comfort, believing there was nothing I could say to shed new light on the subject. Maybe there isn’t, but not sharing the words of this complete stranger would be the equivalent of turning my own spotlight off.

Weekend in Condado, Puerto Rico

Condado is an ocean front, pedestrian oriented community just east of the historic district of Old San Juan in Puerto Rico. We had the pleasure of spending a weekend there recently. I love being able to enjoy the beach, then take a walk to the many shops, restaurants and museums on Ashford Avenue.  Here are a few of the shots I captured during our stay.

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For more information, head over to Condado Insider, the official guide to entertainment, shopping, hotels, restaurants, real estate, and services in Condado.

Weekly Photo Challenge: Color

photo credit: littlemisswordy

Boqueron is a Beach Village located in the town of Cabo Rojo, Puerto Rico. According to local folklore, after the Puerto Rican pirate Roberto Cofresí shared some of his treasure with his family and friends, he would hide what was left over in a cave located in “Barrio Pedernales” which is just south of Boqueron Bay. Throughout the years no one has found any treasure in the cave.

I didn’t find the hidden treasure, but this colorful gem stood out in a sea of yachts and fancy boats. It was an unexpected feast for the eyes amid the standard white vessels. Not a bad way to live life in general! Brighten someone’s day by being the unexpected color in the midst of their otherwise color muted day.

Weekly Photo Challenge: Color

Check out more entries below!

ianrodger.com

turtlestravel.com

vatelechuza.com

4otomo.wordpress.com

bluebrightly.wordpress.com

Raised in a Cuban Starbucks

photo credit: littlemisswordy

Through the years, she has slowly begun each morning with a cup of coffee to start her day. She holds the warm cup with both hands for some time, never rushing the first sip…the sip that promises a stream of memories only the actual scent in the air can rival. She closes her eyes, the cup warming her hands, and lets the memories warm her heart. Back in her childhood home, standing in the doorway of her galley kitchen, she sees her mom before the stove waiting on the familiar appliance that is iconic of a Cuban kitchen. It is the cafetera, and it does so much more than make coffee. She recalls many days when not long after the coffee started to brew, the sound of the doorbell would announce a family member or neighbor drawn by the familiar aroma. As always, they were welcomed into the kitchen for a dainty vessel of strong, black, liquid that never lasted as long as the laughs and conversation around the kitchen table. They always came. They always gathered in the kitchen. They told stories of the tiny island that seemed an insurmountable distance from them, of local parks where men played dominoes while smoking cigars, their cup of Cuban coffee never far from reach. And, they always covered a range of topics from parenting, to current events, to politics both American and Cuban of course. Some stopped in on their way to work, while others arrived after a long day. No matter when they came, no matter what troubled them, nothing seemed out of reach when discussed over some Cuban coffee.

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She was just a child, usually observing from a distance, nose in a book, only taking in the newest arrival with a quick upward glance between pages. She could brew a pot at the age of eight before she was even old enough to drink the stuff. Her parents sometimes allowed a tiny bit at the bottom of a tall mug of milk. It was those times when she felt grown up and worldly, like the very sipping of the coffee would give her the wisdom the grownups possessed. This wisdom they shared as they counseled each other through job changes, financial crises, and even marital troubles. Tiny cups atop matching saucers were witness to their hopes and their dreams, as they stirred in sugar with tiny spoons that would later come to rest just so on the edge of the saucer. She was raised to welcome a guest in their home with joy, and to offer coffee even before offering a comfy seat. A smile would play at the corner of her mouth as they entered the kitchen. They may have come for the coffee but they would leave with a sense of purpose and a warm heart.

Back in her grown up kitchen as she faces her day each morning, cup of Cuban coffee in hand, she inhales the sweet aroma and reflects on the many generations of family that through the years have started their day in similar fashion. She takes her first sip, and as the warm liquid slides down her throat she knows nothing is out of her reach.

Weekly Writing Challenge: Iconic

Do you have a family tradition that immediately takes you back to another place and time?

Stretch Armstrong Does The Limbo!

As a mom, I spend so much time looking for things that my children have misplaced. Of course, during my search, I also spend a lot of time lecturing them on how they wouldn’t constantly lose things if they would just put things where they belong. I keep hoping and praying the day when they place things where they belong will arrive soon, and my days of searching the house top to bottom will come to an end. Funny thing is, we recently had the opportunity to spend the weekend with some friends of ours. They are both adults, empty nesters actually, so they’ve raised their kids and probably spent countless hours searching for missing items too. Well, at least one of them I’m sure did. The other I’m not so sure about after we spent a good thirty to forty minutes searching the condo for his wallet. We were only there for the weekend, we didn’t bring a ton of stuff with us. We spent most of our days at the beach. It shouldn’t have been too difficult to find his wallet. I held back from giving my usual speech while four adults and two children split up, covering all rooms, including beach bags, kitchen cabinets, ice chests, and even the trash can. You never know right? Well, it wasn’t in the trash can. It was in his brief case. The entire time, his wallet sat in a place where you would think it belonged…inside his briefcase. However, precariously hovering over two compartments, it wasn’t completely in a pocket. Technically, it didn’t really belong there. He had checked his brief case a few times and hadn’t seen it. The wallet, being the same color as the bag, blended into the inside fabric. Upon first glance, it wasn’t noticeable. Upon further inspection, it really stood out.

In my current stage of life, I am that wallet hovering between two places in my life. Our family has been “temporarily” living in Puerto Rico for almost five years. We live in a furnished place surrounded by other people’s stuff. It’s a nice place. The weather is divine. We’ve made lifelong friends. Do we belong here? It doesn’t completely feel like it. During the holidays, we head back to our house in Texas. It’s a nice place. There, we are surrounded by our stuff and lifelong friends too. Do we belong there? It doesn’t completely feel like it. It has nothing to do with things, friends, or location. We are always happy to arrive at either place. We are always happy to catch up with our friends once again. At first glance, much like the wallet, we look like we belong.

As she unnaturally contorted her body under the limbo stick, Rhonda was secretly thankful for her power breakfast of four dry martinis with a side of toast. source

The truth is we live in a state of limbo…not the fun kind, where you dance under a stick, usually at an event where the alcohol has been flowing freely. Our limbo is the kind where we are pulled in two separate directions, more like the old Stretch Armstrong I was always stealing from my brother when I was a kid. Sorry Stretch! These days I feel your pain!

I’m afraid that’s going to leave a mark. source

The thing about limbo is you have to keep hovering, maintaining that balance because you don’t have the luxury of leaning too far in either direction. So, you go with the flow, enjoy your time in both states, and hope you don’t stretch out so much that you are never the same again.

Is there an aspect of your life that is currently in limbo?

“One Ring To Rule Them All”

The digital clock on the nightstand read 3:43 am, as I awoke from a deep sleep to the sound of what could only be bad news. Phones ringing in the middle of the night don’t often carry with them the promise of anything good on the other end, especially when your spouse works the night shift. Still, I hesitated to answer it as I looked around the room as though looking through an old window covered in a thick, grimy film. Three rings, then four rings. On the fifth ring, my arm stretched out in a wooden motion as though someone was holding the marionette strings that were forcing my body to perform the actions my mind was trying so hard to resist. I picked up the receiver, and before I could say a single word was inundated with an avalanche of words tumbling out in a voice I was more familiar with than the very palm that held the phone. I inhaled deeply, filling my lungs with air, slowly lifting the weight that seconds earlier was crushing my chest. My relief at hearing his voice didn’t allow me to focus on his words. In his endless string of hurried phrases strung together with pauses to catch his own breath, I could only make out a few words. Wedding. Flood. Ring. Elevator. Almost died. That last one caused me to bolt out of bed, my feet oblivious to the icy tiles they landed upon as they paced the tiny bedroom that was our first as bride and groom. The room that held pillow talks long into the night of memories, dreams, and all the whispers that forever join two people together now closed in on me as I pieced together the story of how my husband almost drowned for fear of losing the very symbol of the love this tiny room had seen in our first years of marriage.

He worked the night shift at the hospital, and had headed down to the basement for a snack to keep him awake, as the sounds of hours of thunderstorms and falling rain had begun to lull him to sleep. As the ding announcing the elevator’s arrival sounded, the doors opened only a couple of inches, but enough for a steady stream of water to gush through and begin to fill the elevator. No matter how often or how forcefully he pounded the elevator buttons, the doors wouldn’t budge and the water kept rising. He worked his hands into the slight opening and with what could only have been the force of an adrenaline rush, pried open the doors enough to slip through into the flooded basement and find the nearest staircase. A few hours later, he realized his wedding ring was no longer on his finger. For most, panic would have set in as the elevator flooded. As he describes it, the moment he realized his ring was missing was when the real panic set in for him. He headed back down to the basement, and waded his way through the water for what seemed like an eternity, searching desperately for a small piece of gold that meant the world to him. As emotions threatened to overcome him, in the small corner of the elevator he saw a glimmer of hope and something else as he reached down and pulled his wedding ring to the surface.

A wedding ring is only a material item, a piece of metal with more sentimental value than monetary value. However, for the two people who place that ring on each other’s finger in front of all their loved ones, it is so much more. It is a shout from the rooftops declaring their love for another. It is a vault of memories and special moments shared by just the two of them, that each carry close to their heart, reliving those moments with a quick glance at their hand. It is a constant reminder of the love shared by two human beings. It represents a lifetime commitment to share in the good with each other, to support each other in the toughest of times, and to add more love to this sometimes dismal world of ours. How could that ever be a bad thing? Why should that ever be denied to anyone just because they are gay? What right does our government have to deny this and so much more to a couple simply because they happen to be of the same sex? Why should they jump through rings to be allowed the same rights heterosexual couples are automatically given?

The ring isn’t necessary for two people to show their love for one another. It isn’t necessary to join two people in marriage. The ring itself doesn’t guarantee anything really except the promise of love. How can anyone believe they have the right to forbid a union based on love, when the very essence of love is something that can’t be controlled?

Weekly Writing Challenge: The State of the State

Get Your Head Out Of The Gutter!

All roads lead somewhere, but sometimes we keep taking the same road over and over again, head down, not really getting any where. I don’t mean your commute to work as sometimes that can’t be changed, and I don’t mean this only in the physical sense. How much are we not seeing because we are just going through the motions? Do we remain on that road out of habit, a sense of comfort, fear? What would happen if we change our direction just a bit, and tried heading down a different path? We’ll never know if we don’t try it. Whether it’s in our career, personal life, or spiritual walk, we will never know what’s in store for us if we don’t look around and take that first step down a different road. On that new road, we may find the reward to be greater than anything we could have ever imagined, or we may just confirm that the road we’ve been on is the right one for us. Either way, simply looking at things with a fresh perspective can be enlightening.

I’ve mentioned before that I’ve started running in the mornings, a huge challenge for someone who isn’t a morning person. I don’t like to talk when I run, mostly because I’m too busy trying to breathe, and I don’t really look around much. I spend my time looking down, trying to talk myself into the next mile, mentally pushing myself to make it across the bridge and back.

Most mornings, this is what I see.

photo credit: littlemisswordy

photo credit: littlemisswordy

photo credit: littlemisswordy

What I’ve been missing out on seeing is this.

photo credit: littlemisswordy

photo credit: littlemisswordy

photo credit: littlemisswordy

photo credit: littlemisswordy

The road I travel may have only shifted just a bit, but my perspective shifted a lot. My run hasn’t gotten any easier, I’m still trying to breathe, but the reward has definitely been enlightening!

Are you stuck on the same road, wishing for a change?

Are you being pushed in a new direction, but you’re too afraid to take that first step?

Is there a way to shift your direction a bit, change your perspective, and maybe reap the rewards?

What are you waiting for?

I Am Not Your Wife, Sister or Daughter. I Am A Person.

I Am Not Your Wife, Sister or Daughter. I Am A Person..

I’m saddened these points even need to be made, but this exceptionally written piece makes some crucial points worth sharing!

Daily Prompt: Menagerie

Photo taken on Samsung Galaxy Note II by littlemisswordy

Daily Prompt: Menagerie 

Do you have animals in your life? If yes, what do they mean to you? If no, why have you opted not to?

(Bonus points for adorable animal photos, and double bonus if they’re taken with your phone!)

According to Wikipedia: In Chinese philosophy, the concept of yin-yang (simplified Chinese: 阴阳; traditional Chinese: 陰陽; pinyin: yīnyáng), which is often called “yin and yang”, is used to describe how seemingly opposite or contrary forces are interconnected and interdependent in the natural world; and, how they give rise to each other as they interrelate to one another. Many natural dualities (such as female and male, dark and light, low and high, cold and hot, water and fire, life and death, and so on) are thought of as physical manifestations of the yin-yang concept. The concept lies at the origins of many branches of classical Chinese science and philosophy, as well as being a primary guideline of traditional Chinese medicine,^[1] and a central principle of different forms of Chinese martial arts and exercise, such as baguazhang,taijiquan (t’ai chi), and qigong (Chi Kung) and of I Ching.

Yin and yang are actually complementary, not opposing, forces, interacting to form a whole greater than either separate part; in effect, a dynamic system.

Max and Coco, doing their impression of  yin and yang above, have made our family complete. We are in effect, a dynamic system because of these two…a whole greater than any of our separate parts and we wouldn’t have it any other way!