Where have I been?

I have been reading blogs when I can, but not posting very much, (OK, I haven't posted at all), but I'm here now to let you know I am muy cansada, and busy because :

• I am trying to film my naked happy dance for posterity.
• I am spending all my free time testing new hair products.
• I fell, scraped my knee and am wallowing.
• I have a serious case of d.t.'s due to the lack of bp's.
• I'm dealing with some family illness/issues.
• my cat ate yet another lizard.
• I am greatly saddened by Owen Wilson's mental health issues, and let's not even talk about Lindsey or Britney.
• the heat, humidity and rain have caused me to constantly rant "I'm melting, I'm melting" and frankly that takes up huge portions of my day.
• I'm farming, cooking and taking care of business.
• The new padded cell is way too cozy.
• I've run away and joined the circus. (on my upward climb to cirque du soleil).
• I'm plotting, plotting lot's of stuff.

What do you think I've been doing? Where have I been?

Let there be light

The power is back and so am I. Hurricane Dean missed Puerto Rico but in it's path it left heavy, torrential rain and strong winds. I am happy to report there was no damage to anything I hold dear. BUT ... I had no fucking power or running water for 3 days. Our water comes from a well, which requires an electrical pump to deliver natural spring water to my house, no electricity, no water.

I am not complaining because it sure as hell was better then having the hurricane hit us head on. But alas, no power sucks. No water, sucks ever bigger. I amused myself by reading (3 books in 3 days), listening to my iPod (until it died), playing board/card games (I won$5.45), enjoying the serenity of candle light (which is easy when you are drunk relaxed) and of course drinking plenty of wine bottled water to ward off dehydration.

I am anxiously awaiting the return of running water tonight. I plan on taking a long hot shower, my first in 3 days. Not that I smell all that bad right now, I did wash up daily. But turning on the shower and stepping into that gentle warm stream will beat the hell out of having to lather and rinse while holding and pouring cold water on myself from gallon jugs of bottled water. (which I might add, required some pretty impressive contortionist type movements on my part)

As soon as the power was back, I did a little naked happy dance (because if you are going to do a happy dance it really should be done naked, other wise you run the risk of looking stupid). After the dance, I checked my blog and my email. My most sincere thanks to all of you who commented, emailed and sent good thoughts my way. I feel all warm and fuzzy from the love. (there is a slight chance the "fuzzy" might be from the lack of showering but I'm almost certain it's the love).

There is light, there is love and damn it, soon there will be water, all is good here on my little piece of the planet.

Eye of the storm

Hurricane Dean is making it's way through the Caribbean. Puerto Rico is on tropical storm watch. Every television and radio station is telling us to get ready with all the necessary things. By 8 PM tonight hurricane Dean should be a category 4 hurricane when it passes south of Puerto Rico. We are expecting heavy rain and strong winds. There is a slight possibility that Dean's path will shift and hit my little island but that's just a "slight" possibility at this point. For now I am going to secure my home and surrounding property, go buy batteries, water, a few bags of ice, some non- perishable stuff (like chips and wine). Most importantly I'm making sure my cell phone and iPod are charged. So my little huckleberries if I am MIA for a few days, it will be due to loss of power or too much wine.

Small Spaces

I have never had a fear of small spaces. I always rather enjoyed them. Something about the closeness of walls, the cocoon, the knowing exactly what surrounds me, it brings me peace. Perhaps it's that old adage about the security of the womb that applies to my affection for small places. Perhaps it's just the control I feel when I can easily identify my surroundings. Perhaps it's just being crazy.

When I lived in Brooklyn, we lived in a one bedroom apartment. The bedroom was large enough to be two bedrooms. There was a small semi wall division that gave the illusion of 2 bedrooms but really, it was one big bedroom with a half wall, shared by the entire family. It was an old apartment with a long hallway between the living room and where the bedrooms were. Halfway down the hall was the bathroom and at the end of the hall, right before the living room was a closet. This closet measured approximately 8.5 feet long by 3.5 feet wide. How do I know this? Because that is where I lived for years. Because that closet was big enough for one twin size bed, one night stand and nothing more.

I needed my space. I longed for it. I had spoken to my parents about my need for privacy and since moving was not an option, I suggested using the closet as my new bedroom. They laughed, giggled and after many weeks of my relentless pleas for the closet, they gave in.

One afternoon after school, I moved my twin size bed, (mattress, box spring, no frame) and a little nightstand into the closet. The bed fit surrounded/touching the walls on 3 sides, at the foot of the bed was my nightstand and in front of the night stand was enough space for walking into the closet and climbing in/out of the foot of the bed. My source of light was a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling with a pull string. Thus began my love of small spaces.

Family and friends thought it was odd. Some people thought it was cruelty on my parents behalf. I thought it was heaven. I spent every chance I had in the closet. I did homework in there, read for hours, ate snacks and wrote in my journals. When I stood on the bed and pulled the string on the bulb before bed, there was pitch black, darkness. I'd lay in bed surrounded by my thoughts, fantasies and enveloped by a lack of light that would have frightened most children.

After high school, I moved to Massachusetts and came out of the closet, literally. All my adult life I have lived in big spaces. Large homes, light and airy. My current home is always filled with sunlight and cool tropical breezes. Doors and windows are open all day and all night. I love the freshness of keeping things open, the beauty of seeing the shadows and prisms caused by the sunlight. But on days when the world seems to beat me down and I feel melancholy, my thoughts drift back to the closet. Memories of a small dark space, where the loudest sound was my own breathing, where the only pressure came from my own thoughts and fantasies, where my love of writing filled the pages of countless journals.

I sometimes long for the closet and although I never regret "coming out of the closet", I sometimes long for the small dark space where a little girl escaped the realities of poverty, racism and violence. The closet where she dreamed of the countless adventures filled with beauty, that her life had yet encountered.

Farewell

Services for the lizard will be held Wednesday. In lieu of flowers, please send catnip.

Asylum tour

Sleep - those little slices of death, how I loathe them. ~Edgar Allen Poe

Mr. Sandman and I have never had a good relationship. Sleep and I have never been very good friends. For as long as I can remember a good nights sleep is a rare occurrence. I am a restless sleeper. I have very vivid dreams. Nightmares are frequent and insomnia plagues me more often then should be allowed. I have a reoccurring nightmare of a man lurking in the shadows, I never see his face and there is never any contact but the ominous feeling of doom is always prevalent. That feeling of uneasiness and lingering memory sometimes follows me throughout the day. Last night I had that nightmare, this morning I feel tired and aloof. I can relate this nightmare to something that happened when I was 7.

We lived in Brooklyn on Vernon Street, in a tenement building that was 6 stories high and had 4 apartments on each floor. There were no elevators, you walked up the stairs. Behind the first landing of the stairs was a dark alcove. It was sort of a dark corner behind the stairs, against a back wall, there were no apartments near that corner. A long hallway lead from the entrance to our building to the back where the stairs were located. We lived on the fourth floor.

I remember it was warm and sunny, I had been outside playing. At some point I decided to go home and have water. I walked inside and headed to the stairs. I heard a small noise, it sounded like an animal, perhaps a puppy. I slowly peeked around the banister to the dark corner behind the stairs and in a flash, but what now in my minds eye appears to have happened in slow motion, a man grabbed me. I remember my feet in the air, his breath on my neck his hand over my mouth and still to this day I swear I can sometimes remember the sound of his whisper. "don't scream, I'll kill you". As I type this, I feel anxious, strange how a memory of so long ago can still cause an obvious physical reaction.

As I was being carried down the long hallway leading to the front door of the building, the man who lived in the apartment closest to the front door was leaving for work. I was friends with his daughter. When he saw me being carried off by someone not my father he said something, I don't recall what. He ran towards the man who attempted to push past him, with me still in his arms. In the scuffle/chaos that ensued, I was dropped on the floor and the man fled out the front door. I got up and ran as fast as I could to our apartment, followed the whole time by my neighbor. I am sure I made it to our fourth floor apartment in record time.

Two days later, the news carried reports of a 6 year abducted and killed. She lived in the building next door to mine. We use to play together. We were on rival double dutch teams. I don't recall how I reacted to the news but I remember my parents crying. I also remember that I never again walked in and out of that building alone. Shortly after, perhaps months later we moved to Euclid Avenue.

There is no doubt my nightmare of the man in the shadows is somehow related to that one day back on Vernon Street. Until last night I had not had this nightmare in a very long time, maybe even a couple years. I'm not sure what precipitated it's return. Perhaps just my recent bout with insomnia, perhaps stress, perhaps I spent way to much time before bed pondering the ways of the planet, or maybe it was just the bowl of ramen noodles I had before bed.

Knowledge is Power

Breast cancer is a topic I have first hand experience with. My sidebar has that pink button, placed there as a reminder that breast cancer can touch our lives at any time. "Why Mommy" over at Toddler Planet has been diagnosed with inflammatory breast cancer. Bet you never heard of it. Bet you thought breast cancer only happened with lumps. WRONG. Inflammatory breast cancer (IBC) Go and educate yourself here and here. It's fast and furious and sneaky. Go visit Why Mommy over at her site. With great courage she is kicking ass and sharing her journey. Show her some love, say a few prayers, let her know she isn't alone and above all share the knowledge because if while battling inflammatory breast cancer Why Mommy is blogging to share and educate, the least you can do is spread the word to everyone you know.

Simple pleasures and gratefulness

I have been trying to make nice with the universe lately. I haven't gone off on a rant, my swearing is minimal, and I've been thinking a lot about pleasure. It's been a difficult and emotional time the last few months. I have felt torn about my priorities and where my loyalties should be. I have repeatedly had to deal with familia stuff, and the fucking idiot rude neighbors next door among other things. So this week I am trying to spend a little time focusing on pleasure, things that I enjoy, things that make me happy. I'm trying to release the bile that sometimes makes me feel completely toxic. Ahh pleasure, things that please, the things that have helped to keep me a little bit sane, and helped wash away some of that iniquitous bullshit that at times makes me a not so happy person.

• The beach: I have laid in the sun, enjoyed the warmness of the Caribbean sea. Eaten seafood fritters and had several ice cold beers. Stepped on a dead sea urchin, got sand in some not so pleasant places but it was all good. Sun worshiping pleasure.
  
• The Finca: my farm, sometimes I whine about the work involved in keeping this place thriving but when we bring in our crops, prideful sweetness. From the bananas to the panas, to the avocados, the pineapples, the acerolas, delicious pleasure.
• Music: my iPod is my savior. I can flip from salsa to hip hop to the blues in moments. Prince's Planet Earth is presently bringing me pleasure.
• The beast of Bayamoncito: my cat, there is something seriously wrong with his circuits but damn he cracks me up. Pleasurable furriness.
• My cousins: Jose, for always coming to work when I need help. Aury, because she loves and hugs so unconditionally, Tony, he never fails to call. Daisy, Nancy and Olga because my childhood memories are filled with their joy and my adult life is blessed because we are family. Related pleasures.
  
• Las Comadres: Loli and Yolanda, not a day goes by when I don't have your words of love and support echo in my head. Friendship pleasures.
  
• T: Absolute goodness in one very far away package. Loving Pleasure.
• Blog readers/writers: you make me laugh, you encourage my writing, your talents are vast, the community impressive. Creative pleasures.

What brings you pleasure lately? What are you grateful for? What adds a little bit of sweetness to your bad day? Go ahead tell me, I need a little vicarious pleasure.