Feliz Día de Acción de Gracias



Apologies for being MIA, for I have been busy hosting my Big Fat Hungry Happy Alcoholic & Dysfunctional Puerto Rican Family all week, in preparation for the Thanksgiving Holiday!

I am cherishing every Gin & Tonic second of our time spent together and enjoying their company.

I am eternally grateful for my loved ones and the many blessings I have.

I am also especially grateful for all of you and the gracious friendship and compassion you bless me with, always.

Feliz Día de Acción de Gracias

What If He Says No?


photo credit: morguefiles

It was agonizingly frigid on this stormy December evening, twenty-six years ago.   The highway was deserted except for the sand trucks, snow plows and a handful of foolhardy drivers.

What is typically a two-hour trek, took three and a half hours of white knuckle driving while his father directed his every move from the passenger’s side.  His mother sat silently in the back seat trying desperately not to show the terror she was feeling.  They should have canceled and gone on another night but her son was in love and insistent on making this special night happen.  She was proud of the young man he had become and admired the respect he exhibited for his girlfriend’s cultural traditions and norms.  She did not know what caused her more angst, the treacherous drive or the mission they were about to undertake.

Meanwhile at her home, a twenty-five year old nervous woman sat restlessly waiting for her visitors to arrive.  She was worried about their drive in this storm but not worried enough to have canceled.  She had been waiting for this remarkable yet terrifying moment since she was a little girl.  She prayed that her father would go easy on the man she hoped to spend the rest of her life with.  As if having to wait for her father’s response was not bad enough, her grandfather had flown in from Puerto Rico for a visit and was to weigh in on this scheduled convocation.

He carefully parked the car in her driveway wondering if the unrelenting snow would block them in and make it impossible to go back home.  He was sweating now and felt his throat dry up.  He held on to his mother and helped her navigate the slippery steps to the front door.  He had rehearsed his speech over and over but could not remember one word of it at that moment.  What if he says no?

After hearing the sound of the door bell, her siblings and cousins who were visiting, assumed their positions in another room but still within ear shot of where the deliberations were to take place.

Once inside, she could not take her eyes off of him.  He looked so nervous and pale.  He must truly care for her.  After enduring years as the boyfriend who had to prove himself worthy of her, there he was with his parents in the midst of a blizzard, proclaiming his love for her and stating his intentions of marriage for her father and grandfather to consider.

He spoke, his voice cracking at times while describing in detail what he could offer his bride-to-be and why he deserved their blessing.  Then, as planned, his father spoke, collaborating his son’s story and assuring her family that he and his wife supported his son’s decision and plan.

Her grandfather, in spite of his labored speech as a result of a stroke he suffered many years before and a limited English vocabulary, spoke about the true meaning of marriage and what it entails.  He was a proud and stern man and took his elderly and wise role in the family very seriously.

At last, her father began speaking.  He described the difficulties that life brings and the importance of family and values.  He took his time.  This was his time and he would use is wisely.  He offered his guidance, counsel and experience before finally raising his glass and giving his new son his blessing.

Tears were shed, corks were popped and the celebration began.


Today, I wish my loving husband a Happy 25th Wedding Anniversary!





‘All’s Right With The World’- Now

My life is now complete.

I have waited for this very moment.

Nothing else matters.

Nothing can get me now.

I am safe.

I am whole.

I am one…

with my, COCK SOUP!


Thank you, my lovely friend Nancy Teixeira from myyearofsweat  

for sending me my winning and may I add, huge prize;

For filling my empty hole 

For saving me deeply

For throwing me a bone

For keeping me erect when I wanted to go limp

For thrusting me out of my funk

For being there during my hard times

For helping me ride it out

For encouraging me to juggle the many balls in my life

For making me realize that life does not always suck





*I can only hope that John from A Napper’s Companion is just as satisfied with his prize.

Sometimes, The Apple Does Far From The Tree



They say that I am a replica of my mother.  The hair, the eyes, the face and the mannerisms.  Being that she is an amazing and beautiful woman, I take that as a compliment.

In turn, my children have a pleasing combination of my husband and I.  Big brown eyes, olive skin,  kindness in their hearts and a healthy dose of stubbornness and drive.  We love them both to pieces.

But it was after a phone call that I received from my twenty year-old laid back son that I thought to myself,  Who is this young man?  “Mom”, he said softly,  “I don’t want you to freak out but…I bought a shotgun.”


My son?  

My son has a gun?  

My little sweet guy owns his own gun?

I have to admit that although it was not a complete shock to hear this from him, an avid fisherman and outdoorsman who has been begging me to let him hunt since he was younger, the thought of him owning a gun raised the hairs along the nape of my neck to record highs.

After attempting to remain calm and pretending that I was not horrified, I asked him to tell me more about his purchase.  He bought it from a friend who is a hunter.  “Don’t worry mom, my roommate has a locked gun case for his shotguns so I can keep it there.”  

I knew that his very nice roommate was a hunter and that he stored his guns locked up in their apartment, but I had already tucked that knowledge away in the very rear of my brain, convincing myself that it was not so.  Now, my son had his gun to add to their growing collection.  

I am going to let you tell your father about your purchase when he calls you this evening- was the last thing I said to him before hanging up.

This fine young man of mine grew up in one of the most liberal towns in the country.  A wonderful place to grow up in but a town where everything is questioned and where political correctness is spewed out of its resident’s mouths ad nauseam.   A town where the word blacktop was banned and replaced with, pavement.  A happy valley  filled with distinguished “experts” on every topic and where democracy, is sometimes a curse.

My husband and I (well, my husband mostly) taught him to gently dispose of insects found in our home by placing them outside and setting them free.  We taught him to deal with conflict using words instead of violence.  We even discouraged him when he pretended to shoot us with his little hand.



Save the whales!

Free the birds!

Think globally, act locally!

War is not the answer!

Be Green!

Teach Peace!


These were the bumper stickers he grew up reading on the way to religious education on Sunday afternoons.

At nearly 21 years of age, in addition to being a hunter, he has decided to study law enforcement and become a police officer.   Really?  How did this happen?  Who does he take after?  Where did this come from?  

Although  I know that hunting, when all rules and  protocols are followed, is a safe sport and that many people grow up having guns in their homes, it will take me some time to get used to the idea that this will be a part of our lives.

 I cannot help but wonder,  how and when my wonderful son decided to become his own person.  Someone who follows his passions and interests regardless of what others say.  Someone who is confident in the person he has become and who does not feel the need to follow in anyone’s footsteps.  A hardworking, responsible and compassionate young man I could not be more proud of.

It is times like these that I am reminded that sometimes, the apple does fall far from the tree – but it is a good apple, nevertheless.