Anniversary of the day of my birth

7 things about me:

My favorite flower: Dahlias
My favorite colors: green, purple, and black.
My favorite fruit: mango, strawberries, papaya (not too ripe).
My favorite beverage: coffee and champagne (but not together).
My favorite books: " A prayer for Owen Meany"by John Irving and "Down these mean streets" by Peri Thomas.
My favorite music: way too many to mention, depends on mood, time, and activity.
My favorite activity: hiking and lounging on the beach.

Alive and well

It's been 4 months since I last wrote in this blog. I promised I would write more often ... I lied. I didn't mean to lie it just sort of happened, Life sometimes gets in the way of blogging. Of course, you would think that after all this time I would have something profound, earth shattering, and important to say but I don't. Nope, nada, empty. Well, except for yet another bullet post and some pictures ...

• The above picture is the back of the U.S. Puerto Rico quarter. We are a United States Colony/territory and we got minted. So go check your pocket change and when you find the Puerto Rico quarter, think of moi.

• In October we had a huge explosion at the Gulf Oil refinery. Big massive explosion caused by human error. The explosion included a 3.8 earth tremor and a plume of smoke that could be seen for miles and lasted a week. (and yes Nor, I could see it from my house)

• In November I attended my brother's Catholic Confirmation. I am not a practicing Catholic, nor am I much of a believer, But Albert is and it was important to him so it was important to me. His girlfriend Dilmaris, was also confirmed that day. I am sometimes in awe that this handsome 17 year old young man is the same little frightened 2 year old boy I met for the first time at social services and as much angst as he sometimes causes me, the joy he brings is far greater.
• Our little island is besieged in turmoil. The economy sucks, the murder count is greater then several major and much bigger cities in the United States, and our Governor is a complete idiot who thinks that what's important in these trying times is privatization and statehood. Neither of which is wanted by the people of the island.

• The holiday season is upon us and let me tell you Puerto Ricans know how to party! And we will be partying 'till the cows come home or January 6th. which ever comes first.

Now my little huckleberries, that's all I got for now. I am still here, and I will be back. besos, Es

(Susan, am so doing my naked happy dance about your new house!)

Life stages

I have spent a little time looking at old pictures while waiting for my wounds to heal and since I have nothing to really blog about I thought I would give you a glimpse at how I developed into the gorgeous beauty queen you see above.

I was a bald baby, didn't grow hair until I was almost 2 or maybe 3.
(OK, I think that's a picture of my mother but I looked just like her when I was that age.)

Once I grew hair, grow it I did. My hair and I, we have always had a love/hate thing going.

I had a thing for milking cows, if I saw a cow, I milked it, OK, I was a little freaky that way. (well, in other ways too but that's another blog post) This was obviously before my love of pigs, which by the way, I never tried to milk.

My mother made that dress. It started my love of frilly flowery dresses. OK, truth is I thought that dress was hideous but my mom made it, so I wore it, once. Those white socks and pointy shoes complete that dashing ensemble. I would probably wear those pointy shoes today but not with white socks.

Army pants, green shiny belt, black tube top, long hair tied back, can you say "HAWT"? yeah, me neither.

I know, I know, What the fuck happened to my bangs? It also looks like something is wrong with one of my eyes. And how about that long hair curl on my shoulder? Once you stop focusing on all that, I was pretty cute, huh? Little did I know that the red bow in my hair would be a precursor to my current love of all hair adornment. (refer back to current picture, top of post)

So there you have it, a little bit of me. A sample of who I was then which led to the beauty that is me now. I have a few more pictures which I may or may not post. Depends on who begs and how many of you looked past the bangs and saw the cuteness.

Soon to return

Dearest Huckleberries,

I have been so neglectful of the asylum and the 3 or 4 million of you that stop in to visit. I haven't felt much like writing. When I do feel like writing it isn't anything pleasant because ya know my mood tends to be foul of late. And lets face it this blog has been a bit of a downer more times than not lately. So I have chosen to be silent rather then continue my downward spiral at the asylum.

My mood isn't much better but I do so love the asylum and have decided that writing is a joyous thing so am going to focus on a little writing, perhaps some remodeling, this place could use a little paint to freshen it up. Just to get me started back on the right track here are some totally useless things to share with you:

• In recent months I bought fresh blueberries and pomegranates. If you're thinking not a big deal, you would be wrong. It is a big deal when those items are imported to the island. I paid $7 for the the pint of blueberries and $17 for the 6 pomegranates. As with most food items that are imported to this island, you buy them when you see them because you may never see them again. You pay exaggerated prices because that's just the way it goes. So I bought them. The blueberries were used to make pancakes, YUM! Worth every penny. I had not eaten a pomegranate since moving here 4 years ago. I love them. They were the biggest ones I have ever seen and were simply scrumptious. Deliciously sweet, almost decadent and worth every incredibly overpriced cent. It made me happy.
• My house is in the process of getting a makeover, roofs were leaking and now have been sealed, painting is progressing at a snails pace due to the constant daily rain. But damn, it's starting to look fabulous.
• The holiday season is here, Bah fucking Humbug, yeah that's my attitude.
  
• Tuesday (Dec. 9th) would have been my parents 53rd wedding anniversary, breaks my heart, fills it with sorrow. Fuck!
• I have a couple memes to do, have been reading your blogs. (promise to start commenting again this week, well maybe) You huckleberries are a creative bunch and greatly amusing.
• Poi is an interesting character from my neighborhood. I have watched him walk up and down our road for the past 4 years. He is always followed by at least 4 dogs. He is disheveled, very dirty looking and hasn't had a haircut for at least the 4 years that I have watched him. He basically ignores everyone, just wanders around, picking things out of trash cans, followed by his trusty pack of dogs. For 4 years I have gone out of my way to greet him, "hello, good morning, Hi, how are you?, good afternoon". At first he ignored me, then he started sticking his tongue out at me, then a couple weeks ago he said hi back. (Progress, after just 4 years) Now he sometimes blows me kisses or waves first. Last week I found out his story. Poi was once married and had a 5 year old son. He also had his own business. About 6 years ago his little son was killed by a passing car. It left Poi and his wife broken, so broken that they each fell apart. their marriage ended, he lost his business, turned to alcohol and slowly became the "man he is today". He no longer has a family, or a home. He isn't always coherent. He relies on people in our neighborhood to feed him, lives where ever he finds cover, always protected by his dogs. He exist a broken crazy man who now takes the time to wave at me. I wonder where my breaking point is. Do we all have one? That place that is so painful and ugly that we break. Kinda makes me want to stop whining about how much this year sucks the juice of pond scum. Kinda but not yet.
• Speaking of whining, this year really fucking sucks, ton's.
• Despite my obvious misery I am still absolutely in awe of the beauty that is this island. The night sky filled with so many stars it becomes a challenge to find specific constellations because I am so distracted by all the twinkling. The incredible burst of color at almost every sunrise and sometimes sunset. The lush vegetation, the island air. Puerto Rico truly is "la isla del encanto".
• I use to be able to flip back and forth between English and Spanish with ease. Completely fluent in both, translations were a breeze. I can't do that lately. My pronunciation in either language is seriously lacking. I get stuck trying to think of a particular word in either language. I sometimes start off in English and end up in Spanish and don't notice until the clerk gives me that blank "I have no clue what you are talking about" look. It's a little crazy.
  
• Tony, there was a Ramito festival in Caguas this weekend. I didn't go but I would have gone in a heart beat had you been in town.
• I am still at war with my loud neighbors and still have a pigeon problem.
• My brother has a new girlfriend, she sings in the church choir, young love, arrgghh.
• I once again for the gazillion time this year must thank you for the concern. Your short notes, comments and texts have been warmly received even if I haven't acknowledged them. Truth be known every month there seems to be another reason why life sucks, why I am sad and miserable. Every month that goes by I have a better understanding about why some people "break". Every month I am still here grasping at the small things, hoping they are enough to get me through another day. Every Month I realize I still have enough strength and humor to get through one more day. Every month I wonder how helpful sleeping pills or anti-depressants might be. But every so often I think "this too shall pass" and I'll be OK. And life does go on ... only it's different than the life I once loved. But I'll grow to love this one too, only differently. So there you have my last "misery" rant, well maybe not my last. I will be back, with a lot less whining, well maybe not a lot less whining but a better attitude, well maybe not that either but I will be back soon. Promise.

Besos, Es
(feed the turtles, it's my attempt at something joyful)

Arbolito

Bah humbug. I am not too fond of the Christmas holiday season. I am convinced it has lost all it's magic and true meaning but that's a whole other kettle of fish. As a child it was a different story. Christmas was magical and full of love and family. Gifts were never a big deal. We were poor so gifts were very simple and cheap and mostly home made. It was a good year when under the tree on Christmas morning I found candy or something to read. Growing up the holiday was all about the traditions, the culture, family and the Christmas tree. Oh, our Christmas tree, now there was a sight to be hold. Today the only thing that still excites me about this bah humbug holiday is the Christmas tree. I love looking at Christmas trees, and I've always loved having one. The twinkle of the lights, the ornaments, the always personal tree topper. I love Christmas trees.

Growing up in Brooklyn, getting the tree was the highlight of my year. We almost never got a tree before Christmas eve. They were much cheaper if you waited until the very last minute to buy one. Of course this also meant that what was left in the tree lot was a sad version of a "Charlie Brown tree". Getting a tree was a family affair, we always walked together to the same tree lot on Linden Boulevard. We spent so much time lingering among the little lifeless skinny trees left that by the time we decided we were all shivering. Should we get that scrawny little one or this scrawny little one? The absolute cheapest tree they had, that's the one we got. It was always the ugliest, scrawniest, most pathetic tree on the lot. But to me, it was beautiful and full of magic. We would carry our tree all the way home, singing Christmas carol's all the way.

Where to put the tree once we got it home was never an issue, anywhere in the living that was close to a plug. We didn't need to make room for it as there wasn't anything in the living except a couple kitchen chairs, a black and white TV and a stereo. That stereo was our prize possession. Music has always played in my life. My parents would play typical Puerto Rican music, aguinaldos (folk type carols), plenas (also folkloric music influenced by African and Spanish music), some Ramito, Chuito de Bayamon, and mixed in was a little "white christmas", "We three Kings"and "Jingle bells".

Our decorations were handmade, mostly stuff we had made in school, a construction paper multi-colored chain and sometimes some angel hair. Angel hair made you itch if you touched it for too long but when illuminated by the twinkling lights, it was mesmerizing. The tree topper was an angel my mom had bought, it had a plastic head, with blond hair, and mesh wings, and lights in it's little plastic hands and it cost $1.00. I still have that angel, the lights don't work, it's blond hair is mostly missing, and the mesh has holes, but I still have it.

Our tree was lit every single night and all day long on weekends. We ate dinner sitting near it, in fact if I was home I could always be found near it. We kept it until January 8th. (January 6th was 3 kings day and the 7th my birthday) By January 8th, it was lopsided and had little to no needles. It was a sad day when we said goodbye to it.

As the pretend adult I now am, Christmas trees still excite me. My Christmas tree is a work of art. It is big and tall, expensive and fake. ( I live in the tropics my little huckleberries, a real tree would be dead in minutes.) Every single light and ornament placed in just the perfect spot. Almost every ornament has a reason or meaning for being part of my tree. I spend hours making it look perfect. (of course "perfect" is a relative term). The top still holds an angel, a pretty porcelain one, with delicate features. My childhood angel now retired due to it's fragile condition.

Every time I walk by a Christmas tree, every time I stop to look at one, I am reminded of my family. I can hear us singing, and laughing. I remember that "Charlie Brown tree" of my childhood and marvel at the magic it brought to my house every single Christmas. The magic tree that once it came into our home wasn't scrawny and sad but tall and full and beautiful. The magic tree that shared our love and was an honored guest. I am EsLocura and I love Christmas trees. (I wonder if there's a help group for that).

One year ago today

Sweet cracker sandwich, "Eslocura's Asylum" is one year old today! Pretty fucking amazing if you ask me or any of the hundreds few people who read this blog. So what has the past blogging year been like you ask? Well let me tell ya ...

It all started out about me, and it's still all about me. I have shared all sorts of stuff, written about my heartache, my insomnia, stupid people, animals/pets, Puerto Rico, family, friends, fruit, and my childhood. I have done a whole bunch of memes. I have cursed a whole fucking bunch, and been proud of it. I have met my goal of not censoring myself as various friends and family became readers. (this I am even more proud of then the fucking swearing thing). I've touched upon many topics and I've written some filler stuff while my "muse" took a vacation. Blogging has been a fun adventure, a place to vent and be creative.

The best part of blogging: all of you. All the little huckleberries who take the time to read the "Asylum", who leave such encouraging, witty and smart comments. Thank you! Thanks for adding some sanity, thanks for adding more craziness, thanks for making me laugh. Thank you to my family and friends, who keep reading and coming back for more. Thank you to my fellow bloggers. Each one of you has in some way become part of the Asylum. I am very grateful. (now is a good time to lift your champagne glass) Here's to "EsLocura's Asylum", all hail the possibilities of the next twelve months!

Pajamas

I just got this lovely award from Hearts. This is what she says about me:

"Eslocura at Eslocura's Asylum would wear baby doll pajamas in wine silk with matching ashtray for that ubiquitous cigar."

Now you have to admit that's pretty funny. Heart is like that, very funny. (when she isn't on her death bed, and frankly, even then she cracks me up).
So lets talk about pajamas, shall we? I don't wear pajamas to bed, I'm a sleep naked kinda girl. But I love pajamas. I wear them around the house, out on the farm, while cooking, reading, listening to music, showering, (OK not when I am showering, just checking to see if you were paying attention.) I have had meetings in my pajamas and many deep philosophical conversations. I also have been known to use pajamas as a lead in for other "extra curricular activity". (wink wink nudge nudge, know what I mean) I wear boxer shorts and t shirts, silky sexy pj's, I have even worn flannel pajamas with feet. I do wear baby doll pajamas and yes, of course I have ashtrays to match. Duh, where else would I flick that ubiquitous ash? (ubiquitous, say it with me ... ubiquitous, it's a groovy word).

Did you know that pajamas were introduced in England as lounging attire in the 17th century, making the scene around the 1880's in the western world as sleeping attire for men and the word pajama was originally spelled pyjama? (You can thank me later for that little bit of trivia.)

Thank you "Heart" for the award, I do appreciate it, you are the "cat's pyjamas".

NaBloPoMo (less 6 days)

My last post was on November 8th. If you do the math, that's about 6 days ago. I screwed up my NaBloPoMo commitment by 6 days. I am sorry, normally I am much more responsible but sometimes life just gets in the way of blogging. For the 2-3 of you that read my last post, my parting words were something about picking tangerines and grapefruits. That's where I left off ... this is where it continues.

Last I remember it was Thursday, November 8th. It was a bright, sunny, lovely morning. Perfect day for picking citrus. I put on my farm clothes and headed to the finca. (finca=farm) I think I had already filled a large sack with grapefruits, and another with tangerines and was working my way towards the lemons, when I saw the first flash of light. This is where things get a little cloudy. It was as if a large oval shape shiny flying object had landed on my farm. I couldn't move, I wanted to move, perhaps even scream, but I couldn't. It was as if someone or perhaps something had control of my body.

I can't remember most of the last 6 days but I can share with you the few bits and pieces that seem to be a part of where I may have been for the last 6 days (instead of fulfilling my duty to NaBloPoMo). I remember little green men, I think they had foreign accents, although I don't recall seeing their lips move. I remember a hallway of shame photographs of people I somehow thought I knew. I could swear (although the memory is a bit foggy) that I saw I picture of Dagromm in his bunny suit. Then I spotted a group photo of the quad, I can't tell you what Q was doing in the photo because the sheer thought makes me ill. There was a photo of Susan, this of course was basked in sunlight, and although I have never actually met her, the person in the picture was proudly displaying her wares so who else could it be but Susan, right?

The little green men led me through the hallway and into a conference room. I think the chupacabra was there, as was the Pillsbury dough boy( I seem to recall a look of angst on his little dough face, what is it with aliens and anal probes?), the Michelin tire man, that big marshmallow guy from the ghostbuster movie, a wookie and Sigourney Weaver. Everyone was in various "probing positions". Again my memory seems to fail me somewhat here. I do recall reaching for my switchblade, because duh ... I am Puerto Rican, I never leave home without it. Then before I knew it I woke up today in my bed surrounded by sacks of fruit. go figure ...

The good news is I am back, the bad news is I can't figure out how to get all this marshmallow out of my hair.

In comments, how goes it with you? miss me? ever been abducted by little green men?

Food Ramblings

Let's talk about food. I love good food. Some people may even claim that I am a bit of a food snob. And perhaps they are right, but I like to think I am just more opinionated about food then some people. I have been lucky enough to have lived in some awesome food cities, namely New York and Boston and of course Puerto Rico.

I will try almost any kind of food once, twice if I am unsure. I love most vegetables and almost all fruits. I don't care for red meat much but I can eat fish everyday. I've taken a few cooking classes. I've learned to make Sushi, Sicilian specialties, and vegetarian meals. I am not so good at making deserts except for a killer New York style cheesecake.

I do think that fresh ingredients are always best. I do think there is a big difference between expensive olive oil and cheap olive oil. I feel the same way about balsamic vinegar. I do think the more "natural" the better. I am not a fan of processed foods, or fast food.

I am not able to get somethings here but luckily friends and family are always willing to ship things to me. My cousin Tony supplies me with Italian cold cuts, and my cousin Olga has made sure I don't run out of Orzo and acini de pepe. (for my chicken soup)

I love bread and I am rather fond of crackers so all those diets that claim I should not have bread can kiss my butt. I don't care for anything peanut butter flavored but I do like peanut butter. I love jelly bellies. I love cheap chocolate bars (twix bars are my favorite) but I don't like chocolate deserts. I love flan and creme brulee.

I enjoy going to nice restaurants and ordering appetizers. I love pizza. I love salads. (along with a nice glass of wine, red, I don't care much for white.) I've eaten alligator, rattlesnake and crickets. I've tired parts of animals that should be thrown away. (sometimes that "when in Rome" thing doesn't work in your favor)

I love rice and potatoes. I don't like turnips or parsnips. I love a good Barbecue, grilling is another of my cooking skills. I can also fillet fish like a pro. I am allergic to scallops but eat all other shellfish. I love octopus and squid especially grilled or in a salad. Roast Pork ala Puerto Rican is to die for.

I love eggs Benedict, and real maple syrup, but not together. I once ate my way through New Orleans and drank bloody Mary's served with a plethora of garnishes. I don't buy any fruit in supermarkets except for apples because nothing tastes as good as what I grow, sadly I don't grow apples.

I'm done rambling for now, I've got chickens to feed, tangerines and grapefruit to pick, talk among yourselves ...

Family

I had reason today to see my father's brother and sisters. They once were a very large family, today there are only 5. They are all well into their 70's , for some 80 is around the corner. They all have many health issues, you might even say "fragile" health. As I stood around and watched them interact, two things stood out: love and laughter. They shared stories of their various aches and pains, and lamented the passing of family members. They reminisced about their childhood, and old friends. Above all they laughed and smiled and basked in the love of being together.

I am most times surprised at the closeness of such a large extended family as mine. I ponder how so many people, who are so vastly different from one another, united by a bloodline, have forged such lasting relationships. Our history started here on this island and through out the years many of us have returned, determined to continue where the last generation left off.

There are few aunts and uncles left but the cousins ... the cousins number in the gazillions (if you include both first and second cousins and all their kids). We, this generation are picking up the torch. We are all well versed in our culture and traditions. We can name most, if not all of our ancestors and what part of Puerto Rico they came from. We still cook and crave traditional Puerto Rican food, no matter what part of the world we find ourselves in. We revel in each other's triumphs and share in each other's sorrows. We are family.

My cousin Tony was here for a visit in October. He lives in Connecticut. He could have gone on a cruise with his wife Michelle and instead came to Puerto Rico with his 4 kids because he wanted them to "see" where he came from. He wanted them to experience their roots. (OK, maybe there were times during the trip when he wished he was cruising without the kids but still his heart was here.) He took them everywhere on the island. They went to all the sights, and they spent time with family. They checked out the pigs and livestock, they walked round the farm and picked fruit. Tony wanted to keep that connection to our culture alive in yet another generation.

My cousins reunion in Vegas is yet another example of our family ties. Some of the cousins had not seen each other in close to 30 years, yet from the moment we all arrived to the moment we said our good-byes, we were family. We talked endlessly about our lives and our culture. We filled each other in on family history. We spoke of the diversity of who we are, and the different paths some have chosen. We discussed (for hours) the craziness of belonging to this family.

Today, while I watched the last surviving aunts and uncles, I realized we had come full circle. From the aunts and uncles to Tony's visit to the cousins reunion, we loved and we laughed. Each generation doing their part to keep family and culture alive.

I am blessed and proud to be Boricua and carry this family name.

Utah

Recently, I went hiking at one of my most favorite places, Zion National Park in Utah. I love hiking. Nothing makes me feel more at peace then nature. Zion is absolutely beautiful. My favorite trail is Angel's landing, it's about a 5 mile hike, and has an elevation gain of 1520 feet. Here's a look at one of the things that makes me happy, my recent Zion adventure.

Me, Me, Me Part 4

This is the last of my interview questions, yeah, it is, really, last one. These questions come from Heather, it took her a while to send them and it took me a while to get to them but we are both here now, so grin and bear it.

1. John, Paul, Ringo or George? Why? (I'm thinking lifestyle and reputation, not just looks) I would have to say John because he appeared to live as he wished. I am all for having that ability to truly enjoy the freedom to be yourself. Even if it means naked pictures.
2. What was the last book you finished reading? What did you like/dislike about it? Did it make you think or was it purely for enjoyment? The last book I read was "Chango's Fire" by Ernesto Quinonez. ( I am currently reading: Collected Stories by Gabriel Garcia Marquez) "Chango's Fire" was a great read, and I enjoyed it for it's use of cultural references and it was well written. It was purely for enjoyment purposes but any good book always makes me think. I wondered about the writer, the development of characters and the lives they led. Get it, read it, you'll be glad you did.
3. Your neighbor has passed out in the driveway again, but this time he's in your driveway. Do you wake him up and tell him to move or write "loser" in magic marker on his forehead? I wouldn't write anything on him because I would fear the toxic smells emanating from his being. I would however grab a broom and attempt to sweep him all the way to his driveway.
4. You're having a booming year for avocados, after shipping a few dozen to me, what would you do with the rest? What do you make with the ones you keep for personal use? I would sell them for lot's of cash that I would then spend on new electronic toys and shoes, plenty of new shoes. The ones for personal use would find their way into my salads, I'd make guacamole and the really ripe ones make excellent hair conditioner. (just don't forget to rinse, otherwise people look at you funny).
5. As the Queen of Puerto Rico, you have been asked to a conference of world leaders. What would you like to say to them? Anything specific for anyone in particular? First I would be very grateful and polite. (Manners do count.) Then I would use my time to explain the meaning and use of "common sense". I would hope to be eloquent enough to speak for and represent the true thoughts and feelings of those that do not have an opportunity to "bitch slap" those in power. Lastly I would specifically address President Bush and ask him why he hasn't learned to speak English correctly?. English is my second language, and I speak it well. Then I would trip him and laugh as he fell. The end.

Gracias for stopping by, please come back manana, more fun to be had.

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.

Summer Time

This months new banner is of Playa Mar Chiquita in Manati, that little speck in the water on the left hand side is my cousin Tony. He grew up in Manati and during his visit last October, we went to Mar Chiquita, re-visiting his childhood memories. Summer time reminds me of beaches. Going to the beach as a kid was the highlight of my summer. We went to Rockaway Beach in Queens, New York. We got there early to get the best spot and were the last to leave. I spent hours watching the seagulls, who were on a constant vigil for food left unattended. Located across the street was Rockaway Playland. On rare occasions there was enough money to go to playland and ride the bumper cars or the carousel. Oh, those were sweet memories. Now I live on a tropical island, where beaches are many, all a little different, all beautiful. Today is Beach day at the Asylum: Welcome to my world.

Crash Boat Beach, Aguadilla








Pinones Beach, Carolina











Cerro Gordo Beach, Vega Alta










Palmas Del Mar, Humacao
















Rincon Beach, Rincon




Don't forget your sunscreen.

Who Am I?

I was talking to my cat, when it dawned on me, I'm sitting out on the balcony, in the middle of the night talking to my cat. Which is just a step better than talking to yourself, but then again this is the asylum, and talking to yourself or the cat isn't that weird. When the cat wandered off, obviously bored with the one sided conversation, he glanced back at me, with that look of arrogance, typical to cats, seemly saying "who the hell are you?". I was left to ponder that question, sitting out on the balcony, in the middle of the night, smoking a good cigar, having a glass of wine.

I am a proud Boricua, who is also an American. I was born in Bayamon, Puerto Rico, and grew up in Brooklyn, NY. I have all the craziness of my Puerto Rican upbringing and all the savvy of a street wise New Yorker. I have the work ethic and loyalty of parents who struggled their whole lives in the land of opportunity. I have a heritage mixed with traits of African slaves, Taino Indians and the Spaniards who inhibited my island home.

I am a female, whose hair color can not always be found in nature. I have a body that I would gladly trade in for a newer model, if given the chance. I am a sucker for a lost cause, an advocate for those who suffer injustice, and extremely liberal. I love Fruity Cheerios and penny candy. I enjoy the finer things in life and luckily have been able to experience and enjoy many of them. I never forget being poor, feeling hungry, and the fear that was born from living in bad neighborhoods. I admire and appreciate nature's beauty, and most times find complete solace when surrounded by it.

I don't always understand how I fit in. I am educated, and bi- lingual. I struggle with worries about life and my future. I am a complex mixture of optimism and pessimism. A woman who has truly loved and been loved, unconditionally. I bear the scars of betrayal and heartbreak. I fight for my sanity, sometimes daily. I do not participate in any organized religion but was brought up Catholic. I turned away and closed my book on Catholicism many years ago.

My nurtured side has left me with a strong sense of self, yet nature/society have sometimes squashed me like a bug. I must have piping hot, strong black coffee, no sugar, every morning. Ripe plantains are a comfort food. I am not a fashion guru (nor have I played one on TV) but my style is my own. I don't share possessions or food well, but I donate to my favorite charities generously. I keep watch on a family history of heart disease, diabetes, high blood pressure, mental illness, cancer, alcoholism and drug addiction, I have yet to fall prey to any of them. I love music and my iPod reflects my culture, my ups, my downs, my memories and my diversity.

I tend to mask my emotions until I reach a boiling point. I am compassionate and at times self-less to an almost stomach turning degree. I don't memorize anything I can look up, or program into some device that will memorize information for me. I am sarcastic, have a nasty temper and consider asking for help a sign of weakness. I have a good sense of humor, enjoy silly banter and I hate talking about myself. Funny how the things I hate, sometimes liberate.

Who am I? I am a never ending work in progress.

Exposure

I read a lot of blogs. I try and hit all my favorites at least once a day. (I will be adding my favorites links in the near future, so you too can feel the bliss). Reading blogs is addictive. Some blogs are lifelines that keep me from extended stays in a padded cell here at the asylum. The common thread of late is sharing past experiences, confessions, reasons for blogging and the roles we play. Do all these things connect in our everyday lives or just in the blogosphere? Why do I blog? What do I share? After about 50 posts, is this what I expected? How much do I expose myself? Is there a blog me, and a "real world" me? Do the two ever meet up at the Embassy Suites for happy hour?

Blogging started out as a creative outlet to escape from my woes. It has turned into a creative outlet that inspires me, despite my woes. The blogosphere is my personal therapist, advisor and all around friend. The friend who listens and acts interested, even when I have nothing of importance to say. Sometimes it's cathartic to write about the evil ways of the universe, to recall childhood events, and to rant about things that offend me. Sometimes it's just crazy fun.

My topics all bare some aspect of me. Some with embellishment, other's not. I swear a lot, (as I do in the "real world") never worrying about the fact that friends and relatives read this blog and may find "fuck" offensive. I work at not letting "who" might be reading, change what I might be writing. It would defeat the whole "freedom to be me" thing. It's my blog, it's all about me. Read me and love me, I always say. (OK, I never say that but I do hope it's what you do.)

Are we one person at work, another at home, and yet another in the blogoshpere? Is that what we are suppose to do? You can't just show up to work naked or can you? Different roles, same person? We all have many roles to play but the essence of who we truly are permeates all of them. Here on this written page, it's my essence. My ups and downs, my world, my rant about life.

I never worry about what I might expose. (I enjoying being naked). I blog for the freedom to be me. For the freedom to write what I want, how I want, when I want. The roles I may have to play the rest of the time in the "real world" have only been enhanced by the "locura" that gets to completely reveal herself at the asylum ... always on her own terms.

Hair

I'm having a bad hair day. In fact, let's just call it a "bad hair month". Now before you start telling me about all the wonderful hair care products that are guaranteed to make my hair soft, luxurious, and manageable, let me tell you, I have invested what could be 1/3 of my vast fortune (if indeed I had a vast fortune) on hair products. All of the them promised me no frizz, manageable, soft and silky hair. None have kept their promise.

My hair has had many changes through out the years. It has been as long as Rapunzel's and as short as my boyfriend's. It has been a natural chestnut brown , various shades of purples and reds and the basic black. When it was very long, it was very straight. Once I had it cut, it became very curly and developed a life of it's own.

Living in the tropics has taken it's toll. The constant heat and the extreme humidity make it look frizzy and wild and out of control. I have tried every product on the market to stop the "frizz". All have failed me. Some days I try blow drying it straight, some days I just go with the frizz and wild.

I need a new style. Should I cut it? Dye it? What color? What style? Should I go with something totally new and different? How different? Bangs or no bangs? How about the part? In the middle or to the side? Which side? Oh, the joy's of being a girl.

I want something requiring little or no attention. Perhaps bald, is the way to go. As for color, am leaning towards "Malaysian cherry". I don't know what color " Malaysian cherry " is, but when I looked up hair color that one sounded sexy and appealing. My goal is to do something with my hair sometime next week. Got any ideas about my new look? What's you secret to non frizz hair? Any suggestions on style, and color? Got some hair horror stories to make me feel better?

Perhaps I Need Therapy

Things that freak me out:

1. Bugs that are faster than a speedy bullet and can jump tall buildings in a single bound.
2. Women who are a size 18 but dress in a size 4.
3. Menu items that include the innards of animals, some things just shouldn't be eaten.
4. Incessant negativity.
   
5. People that never swear. It's just fucking wrong.
6. Deep end of pools, I must touch bottom and have my head above water, always.
7. Biting into something and hearing a "crunch", when I know there should NOT be a crunch.
   
8. Being slimed, keep your viscous liquid matter to yourself.
9. Men that are useless, stupid and controlling.
10. Having matched sets of socks going into the dryer and an uneven set coming out.
11. Fake dairy products, all real dairy products go in the fridge not the cupboard shelf.
12. Cheap liquor, if I wanted to drink gasoline, I'd buy gasoline.
13. Gumby but not Pokey.
14. Babies that drool, wear diapers and can't speak coherently.
15. Rolling over onto the "wet" spot.
    
16. wintergreen or black licorice, what the hell kind of flavors are those?
17. Hens that chase you down until they peck you repeatedly, then cluck happily.

I'm too freaked out to go on. What freaks you out?

Apple Jelly

I grew up in Brooklyn, New York. In the 6Th grade I went to P.S. 218. My best friend at the time was Janet. Janet lived in a single family home in a nice middle class neighborhood. I lived in an apartment building in a very bad, low income neighborhood. Janet wasn't allowed to come to my house. I think her parents thought her Irish looks might stand out too much in my predominately black and Latin neighborhood. One day at school Janet invited me to her house to make apple jelly. APPLE JELLY! I couldn't stop laughing. In my neighborhood no one even went to the store to purchase jelly much less make it from scratch. We did have welfare peanut butter that came in huge industrial looking cans. But jelly wasn't a food group the welfare department deemed necessary. After I picked myself up from the floor, I told Janet I would ask my parents. I ran home (not out of fear as was usually the case but out of excitement) to tell my parents. It took 3 days for my parents to stop laughing. Then they asked all the important questions ... where did they get these apples? stolen? purchased? (they must have money) When I said they picked the apples, my parents laughed for another 2 days, they thought only itinerant farm workers did that. Anyhow, so I get the OK to go make apple jelly. It was a new experience and my folks were all for my experiencing new things that didn't involve drugs or gang related activities.

On that fateful Saturday, my dad walked with me to the "line", that imaginary line that separated our neighborhoods. In my mind I can still clearly see my dad on the "dark" side as I stepped into the "light". As I looked for Janet's house I was amazed at the sight of this hood. It was nothing like mine. Single family homes, lawns, it all looked surreal. At Janet's house I started screaming her name, after all this was the "doorbell" in my part of town. Her mom came to the door looking a bit frightened and asked if I was OK. I gleefully announced I was there to make apple jelly.

Imagine my surprise when I stepped into Janet's house, it was just like stepping through the looking glass. They had matching furniture and it wasn't covered in plastic. They didn't have huge ceramic animal figurines and no sign of a religious alter, para todos los santos, including but not limited to the virgin Mary, the biggest Jesus on the cross you could afford and a candle lit for every single relative to have died. They did have a rosary hanging by the door. (they were Irish after all). They each had their own bedroom and slept one to a bed! The whole house was shiny. Light and airy even. When they opened the fridge to get the apples, I gasped in shock and bewilderment. It was filled, filled with food! All sorts of food. And not one thing was stamped "department of family services, FDA approved". Janet and her brother could help themselves to whatever they wanted, anytime they wanted! This was opulence the likes of which I didn't know existed.

Now back to the apple jelly, We all joined in the kitchen, apparently apple jelly making was a family affair. My heart was pounding and I broke out in a sweat. They laid all the apples on the counter as I looked around the kitchen for any signs of rats, or roaches. (That is what we did at my house) I am convinced this is what an out of the body experience must feel like. The conversation consisted mostly of them asking me stuff about where I lived and my family. Janet's mom didn't work, mine worked in a factory, Janet's dad was a dentist, mine worked in a factory. Did I get scared at night when I heard gun shots? No, it's more scary when the police and ambulance arrive to take away the bodies. Did I have a yard? Nope, but there is an empty lot next door, it's sort of like a yard, if you can look past all the garbage. Did I have pets? Yes, a dog, a turtle, some fish, a few chickens, a goose, 2 rabbits and some pigeons, not all in the house, some we kept on the roof. We made the apple jelly while hearing my tales. While I was there I also had milk and cookies. I can still see Janet's mom face drop when I asked if she had cafe con leche and corn flakes instead, I liked that better. Picture my chagrin when she said kids shouldn't drink coffee. They were a nice family but odd.

I went home with 2 jars of apple jelly and 4 apples. I held that brown bag as tightly as I could as I ran all the way home. I had peanut butter and jelly for the first time. It was yummy even if we didn't have bread. We ate the apples as I shared every tiny detail of my adventure. All of us in the living room, sitting by candle light (our electricity had been shut off), keeping a lookout for roaches or rats and listening to the sounds of distant and not so distant sirens. All these years later I remember Janet. I wonder if she ever knew how wondrous an adventure apple jelly was for a kid like me.

Devoid of Sleep

For as long as I can remember my sleep patterns have been odd. I don't sleep well. Never have. I do have moments when I sleep through the night for a few weeks at a time. Alas it doesn't happen often. As a kid I didn't sleep for fear I would miss out on something. My mind was always filled with things to read, things to do, adventures to undertake. Sleep was such an annoyance. As time went on I realized I was one of those insomniacs, you know those people who don't sleep much for months on end and then become zombie like until they crash. Well today I crashed. I was heading in that direction all week. Feeling tired, looking a bit zombie like, getting a little edgy. No longer my fabulous, cool, ready to tackle the world self. I can always tell when I am heading for the "crash". Besides not looking my very best. I become obsessive. Yesterday I spent way too much time obsessing about my latest love affair with Rocket Dog shoes. That is sign number 1 of impending doom. You should never worry about a shoe obsession, shoes are good things. Sign number 2 is my very irritable reaction to everything I see or hear. Good Morning is heard as " your Rocket Dog shoes are ugly" to which I reply with a resounding "SO" ( I am sleep deprived, that is all I can come up with) Sign number 3 is the hallucinations. Now lucky for me, hallucinations are not always a bad thing sometimes I even welcome their arrival. But when I start to have conversations with the "free range" chickens, I know I am crashing soon. ( I always mention "free range" to keep the PETA people at bay) Today I crashed. I have slept all day. All day. I went to sleep about 5 am and woke up around 7PM. The Asylum woke me up a few times just to verify I was still among the living. I barely manged an audible "go away" before I feel right back to sleep. Of course it is now 9PM and I am wide awake. Rested and awake. Awake when I should be getting ready for sleep ... It's a vicious cycle.