Terri Blossoms

…there are Moments..

2011-05-09T14:15:00.001-04:00

Moments when I’m moving so fast to get to where I need to be, I forget where I came from.
Moments I think too fast, I lose my clarity.
Moments I get so caught up with the trivial in work, home, finances and only concentrate on what I think I need to have, where I think I should be, what I know I deserve, that I forget what I have, where I’m at, and the blessing of health, life and love I’m bestowed each and every day.

And suddenly, with perfect precision; it happens…
That unexpected, yet right on time Moment.
That moment that stops me short in my tracks and knocks the wind out from the deepest core of my gut. Like a hand digging miles into my soul, and clenching all that it is, tightly…

And at that moment, I am silenced to tears, as no words can perfectly describe the divine force from head to toe that engulfs me. It’s the strangest, rarest, most euphoric moment, and then… suddenly, as if some sort of invisible strings reined from the heavens above yanks me, left to right, right to left, shaking any displaced sense I have left, just right, so as to put it back in its intended place.

And then almost abruptly, it stops...

And in that moment of recovery I’m overwhelmed w/ the deepest, most humbled sense of gratitude, servitude and sense of indebtedness. As every fiber in me is overcome with emotion, I’m moved to my knees and sob. And the sobbing becomes my deliverance; a reaffirmation of faith, of love, and in a way my plea for forgiveness for so selfishly underestimating Your grace. And through the river of tears that fall so naturally, I cry out to You the sincerest, most profound “Thank You”…

Thank You for showing me the purest, most unconditional love I have ever felt.
Thank You for believing in me even when I have not.
Thank You for your footprints when I have none.
But above all...
Thank You for the second chance I sometimes forget I was given.

"Celebrating" in the wake of Osama's death? Why Yes, I AM!

2011-05-02T15:33:00.022-04:00

...to say those individuals who are “celebrating” in the streets are an embarrassment to Americans as they are only celebrating murder is (in my personal opinion) unfair and narrow minded. When you have personally felt what it's like to lose an innocent family member or loved one at the hands of Al Quada; an ounce of jubilee, a fist pump to the air and a HELL YEA at the death of its leader is absolutely acceptable! The reactions we are seeing across the county are not about “celebrating” the death of an evil man, but rather we stand united celebrating for the first time in over a decade the tiny bit of relief from the sense of impotence and vulnerability, victim-hood and feeling defenseless we've felt since the attack on September 11th. We’re human, and I think we deserve that right to feel a minuscule sense of justice and redemption sans judgment.

To celebrate death and murder is absolutely unconscionable; therefore it should go w/o saying that an ode to murder is NOT what has sparked the seemingly “celebratory” emotions we’re seeing across the country. The majority of those people who have united in the streets, specifically Ground Zero last night (including myself) were there to unite in solace, some in silence, some joined hands together, some with candles, some held photos of loved ones, some in tears, and yes, some chanting peacefully their pride for their country. I can only speak for myself, but after hearing the news, it only made sense to go straight to the place that was once a tomb for the many victims killed on 9/11. Having had a piece of our family ripped from us at the hands of this monster; I felt compelled to stand there in his honor and clinch my fist tightly raised in the air and belt out, “we got that SOB, Christopher!” And I dare anyone to tell me to my face I'm wrong for that! The rest of the crowd there with me was just as justified in their own defining moment. The crowd was absolutely electric, filled with jumbled emotions from people who were overcome by the very same intensity and zeal. All having crawled out of bed, still in their pajamas, with no purpose other than to stand united to take the time to remember those innocent lives lost.

With that said; I’m disturbed by all the “Shame on you’s” and finger pointers criticizing any reaction that is somewhat jubilant. C’mon now! We’re HUMAN! The act of murder in no way is justified, but you can’t fault anyone for feeling a sense of relief to know this man is no longer breathing! And how dare any of you stand there and pass judgment! Anyone with half a brain knows his death symbolizes far more than simply "celebrating" murder. This was a man who headed up one of those most vicious Anti-American terrorist squadrons in the world. Who lead and inspired countless brutal attacks not just against the US but around the globe killing hundreds of thousands of innocent ppl. With that said; bite your tongues and allow those people who have dealt w/ a loss finally have their individual defined moment of celebration any which way they please, if even for a moment! And if that means chanting proudly, jumping up and down, toasting with shots, or falling to their knees in tears and in prayer- may they do it in PEACE w/o being criticized or judged for it!

So the next time I'm asked if I'm "Celebrating" in the wake of Osama's death? I have no problem responding with, "Why Yes, I AM!.. I'm celebrating the hope for peace, the opportunity to to feel a bit of justice and redemption and the belief in our goverment and military to do their best to keep our country safe!"

I'm ready...

2011-02-05T15:59:00.000-05:00

No Matter What...

2011-01-15T11:56:00.000-05:00

I joined the Navy when I was 17.

It was July of 1998. I had just graduated from good ol’ Notre Dame for girls in Chicago. My mother and soon to be ex stepfather had flown into town to make my graduation, the very next morning they shuffled me off to Portland, Oregon to spend the summer with them. I wasn’t too happy about this, specifically because I knew their relationship was somewhat over... despite their attempts to disguise the obvious, I knew. Emilio was his name. He had been my stepfather since I was 8 yrs old. Over the years I learned to love him. It wasn’t easy in the beginning. At first I passively despised him for overstepping into my mother daughter world. A world I felt safe in. He was taking my hugs, and my kisses, and my lunch sandwiches.. and my time.. and my attention. He wore cheap cologne and had an itchy mustache. He drank cheap wine and his accent got thicker as he got drunker. He had 3 children from a previous marriage.. all three of which wanted nothing to do with him... something about having deserted his wife and accidentally deserting them in the process. I think my mother fell more in love with the idea of becoming an instant family more so than the idea of actually loving him. They fought often, they fought loud and long, usually at night when I had been tucked away. When it got scary, I’d muster up the courage to interrupt them.. I learned early on he had a soft spot for me, and from then on, when their arguments got too loud, or lasted too long, I was ok with interrupting because I knew once they’d see me awake, they’d break. The soft spot he had for me was probably created around new hopes of being a better father this time around. Though he never told me this, my mother in many ways did. “We’d like for you to call Emilio dad.” I refused. And though kicking and screaming was never in my childhood nature, if it was, I would have. But hurting someone’s feelings wasn’t either, so on my own I decided to do the next best thing... I researched (as best I could at 9 yrs old) how to say DAD or Father in various languages... funny thing is I remember being frustrated that many of the translations sounded too similar to Dad or Father. Finally I settled for Vati. It was Daddy in German. It would do. I remember making him a card, and in the card I explained he would be my “Vati” hence forward. He accepted. And from that day on he was no longer Emilio, he was Vati.

Flash forward to the summer of 1998. Though I had (perhaps over ambitiously) submitted applications to some of the top universities in the Midwest, I’d yet to hear from any. The anxieties doubled up with the awkwardness in the air now being back under the roof with mom and Vati had begun to take its toll. It appeared Vati had managed to work Mom to her limit; the fights had exhausted her, her suspicions of his infidelity were consuming her and his chain smoking and drinking had only gotten worse. They thought my visit would alleviate some of the stress on their marriage, and though it was somewhat of a distraction to them... it only deflected the stress onto me, feeling as if I had to fix whatever it was that was broken for them. Vati would often retreat to the garage... and on one particular afternoon he called me over. He was polishing his tools so I sat with him and helped. He told me he loved me. He told me no matter what happened between mom and him, he’d always love me. NO MATTER WHAT. He was my father and that was that. He had tears in his eyes with a helpless expression.. as if he wanted validation from me, he wanted me to agree with him. I did. I told him he’d always be like a father to me.. and no matter what happened, I’d be there. NO MATTER WHAT.
That summer their marriage ended. That summer I joined the Navy.

Exactly a day after I joined the navy I got my first acceptance letter in the mail.. and in the wks to follow, 2 more acceptance letters from my top picks arrived. Needless to say I didn’t end up in the Navy. A week before my ship out date my mother convinced me not to do it... and because I was still a minor she was able to override my signature and the Navy released me of my contract.

I left Oregon and moved back to the Midwest to start my freshman year of college.

My mother left Oregon to start a new chapter in Europe.

Vati’s desire to be a better father left him.. because soon after our departures, he moved a new woman in with him and the next time I called, she answered and said he didn’t want to speak to me. I insisted that was absurd and to put him on the phone immediately, that his daughter Maria Teresa was on the phone. Suddenly I heard my Vati's voice... and I was confident he’d put her in her place for being so rude and yank the phone from her to speak to me. Instead she repeated what he directed her to say and in Spanish she spat out, “he has no daughter named Maria Teresa.. please don’t ever call again.” I didn’t. And he never called me. Ever. Again. He was my first broken heart.

That year I learned "NO MATTER WHAT" can be broken... and I learned how it felt to be on the receiving end.

The next lesson I learned was this... for some; unconditional love has conditions, can be selfish and heartbreaking. But it’s up to you to make your No Matter What’s matter.. and through that experience I made it a point to make sure those people who have earned my “No Matter What”.. know it’s unconditionally NO MATTER WHAT.

...and her name shall be (crickets)

2010-10-27T16:21:00.004-04:00

Rambles, rambles, rambles. I’ve come to accept I’m a mental rambler and have embraced the fact my brain simply did not come with an “off” switch. I have the craziest thoughts, imagine the most far fetched hypothetical’s, and can absolutely entertain myself for hours in my own head. A bit off, perhaps, though I’m slightly entertained by the idea that I may have a crush on myself (raised eyebrow); therefore I consider the 1 party conversation in my head healthy QT. With that said, the current mental ramble is as follows:
So when I’m affected by something, like really, utterly affected.. I have this habit of closing my eyes, taking a deep breath and cementing into my memory what I’m feeling at that very moment. Albeit overwhelmingly euphoric joy, heart wrenching disappointment, or even butterfly-kissed love… the fact of the matter is, I retreat to this obsession of wanting to remember exactly what it felt like, from fear of never feeling it again. What I’ve come to realize is that the sometimes too brutally honest memory of mine has been one hell of a companion through some of my most difficult days when every detail of life seems out of sorts. Simply close my eyes, take a deep breath and let my memory take me away. I’m transported to various times in my life that had the most impact, and so vividly I can FEEL those emotions flood my veins delivering up a refreshed sense of self. It’s like a reminder from an old friend that you love to hate b/c she’s always right, grounding you with perspective you may have forgotten you had, and in her best Logan Sq, gum snapping voice, with an index finger poking around toward the sky, as she holds up a digital slideshow of major Fuck ups you got past, she belts out: Shoot.. Girl you got this girl, just keep it moving, You’ve been there, lived it, got through it, and you’re strong enough to do it again… and again.. and again. Ok, so my memory is a bit ghetto-fab. I digress. I’m convinced I should give “my Memory” a cute (but undeniably stripper'ish) nickname, toast to her from time to time, send her flowers for the times she knocked some needed sense into me … aaaaand I can’t help but to laugh IN loud at the thought of going for drinks with her every now and then… hmmm, although after a few shots there definitely would be some “Conio mujer! Why’d you have to go and bring that up” conversation pieces nothing short of an epic buzz kill. Ha! La memoria, que cosa!

...Latina Magic.

2010-10-22T13:15:00.003-04:00

Most recently, while working on a new production for work, I interviewed several amazing, talented, and successful Latina women. One question remained constant… “How does being Latina affect your everyday life?” Strangely.. a few of them (not all) stumbled over their answers, paused for lengthy amounts of time, or simply flat out said.. it doesn’t. There was no wrong or right answer to my question, but it still puzzled me in a way I had yet to fully understand. Initially, when I included the question to my list, and w/o putting much thought to it, I simply assumed (without a doubt) there was magic in being Latina… and each and every one of us should be able to pin point at the least one magical moment in our day.. where.. tu sabes, that Latina magic just happens (whatever Latina magic may be). Yet, conversely, most the women interviewed somehow were stumped when asked how it personally affected them daily.

So last night, laying in bed during a bout of insomnia; both sleep deprived and delirious with a thousand thoughts running rampant, I remembered the question. Truthfully, I wasn’t searching for deep enlightenment; rather it simply seemed like the right mental exercise to put me to sleep. So I asked myself… “How does being Latina affect your everyday life?” Almost instantly it was like an out of body experience, imagining myself in third person… as I shadowed a normal day in the life of MT. I woke up… took a shower, prepared my clothes, did my hair, ate break----- PAUSE. Go back… I diiiid my hair. HELLO GIRLFRIEND! Being Latina means having the most uncooperative hair .. eeee-ver. We don’t just roll outta bed with Lady Lovely Locks, let alone have the option to air-dry. So there goes (give or take) 30-45 min trying to blow dry the maldita kink out of our hair.. Continue… pack my work bag, sashay to the car (yes, I sashay), pull out the parking lot, jam to the radio, find parking…. PAUSE. Jam to the radio- now that’s Latina magic. I had to smile to myself b/c there haaaaad to be some Latina magic in turning the music full blast at 830am, singing at the top of our lungs to some Victor or even better, on some days.. the outdated Daddy Yankee & Don Omar mash up on heavy rotation in my CD player .. (no judgments). Continue.. get to work, park the car, look at the time.. I’m 15 minutes late. otra Latina moment! Always late… lol. Anyway, I probably dozed off at that point but I woke up this morning with a smile, because I realized the problem with the women I interviewed was that they were digging too deep when the answers were right there in front of them. Being Latina in essence is a fusion of all the tiny, little, insignificant details to our day that we often overlook, and yet make us so uniquely (and insanely) ourselves. Loud mouthed, hips sashaying, hand gestures as we speak, can’t put the purse on the floor (ever), do the sign of the cross as we roll up on a high way on our way home.. but first we gotta buy the compra, to make the rice we eat w/ almost every meal and then complain about our chicos.. por su puesto… if that's not Latina magic, I don't know what is.

Hey big spender...

2010-09-01T12:17:00.000-04:00

...spend a little time with ME!
One of the classics!

We were raised on musicals, motown, dolly parton, film classics and a whole lot of singing. Sweet Charity was one of my mom's favorites. She’d play it on the TV and begin to dance around the house... chest shimmying as if Motown was born in her breast. She'd bellow out the words with a polished temptress flare. She was a natural performer, whereas I had clumsy feet, a sour voice and no inherent stage presence. So I'd watch... I'd clap and ask for more.. and she always obliged...full of energy, smiles and a whole lotta chest and hip action.

She made being a kid fun.

August..

2010-08-13T13:30:00.002-04:00

There’s something about the end of the summer that brings me back to a place reminiscent of my childhood. Overwhelmed by anxiety masked by excitement of knowing the new school year was just around the corner. In my case, it meant a new school seeing as I never went to the same school from the previous grade, ever. August was a pivotal (and scary) month in my life… for as long as I can remember. Would I make new friends? Would they like me? Would I fit in? Would there be cute boys? Would I look too ethnic in the all white school? Was the haircut my mom gave me painfully obviously home-cut? Were my clothes too shabby? Would they notice the payless brand shoes or my non-designer ensemble? Would they notice my generic pens and school supplies? Will I talk too much? Will I talk too little? What if they don’t like what I have to say? I’d convince myself the best solution was not to say anything at all. Just keep to myself, stay focused, and wait to be spoken to. Mom always said confidence was attractive, so despite not truly being it, I pretended. And eventually, friends happened. After spending year after year practicing this theory, I became a pro at blocking out the stares, blocking out the whispers and just going on with my business as if I belonged at any given school, on any given late August day in any given state I happened to be in for that school year. The insecurity of possibly not being liked, fueled my charade of appearing unfazed.. when in truth, I was dying to blurt out.. “Anyone want to be my friend?”

Fast forward to the present; 29 and validated, new city, new home, and yet seemingly focused and unfazed… I still have that insecure child inside me at times wanting to blurt out, “hey you.. you want to be my friend?”

...Just a thought.

2010-07-03T14:10:00.001-04:00

..those who have the most impact on you are your family.
And those who can hurt you most are your family.

..random

2010-05-27T10:51:00.017-04:00

((Pulsating)) ...her nerve.
((Itching))...her tolerance.

Her bones ache from the pressure pain of complacency.
Spectacular… she once chased spectacular.
Now she’s out of breath, out of shape, and out of luck.

-Ma’am this is your stop

-Excuse me?

-You told me to let you know when your stop was up, this is yours

Frazzled. Unfocused. She stands and clumsily gathers her belongings. Her purse with the broken buckle; exhausted and faded like the very self she’s begun to resent, disobeys her clutch, slipping through her hands. All of its contents roll around the buses filthy floor. Unnaturally, she stands frozen, eyes locked on the purse. She’s envious of how it was able to free itself from her grip. A tight.. suffocating.. grip.

-Hurry up lady, your holding us up

The voice startles her and instantly she jolts down, bumping and squeezing through passengers. With multiple sweeping motions of her hands, she gathers as much as she can, as quickly as she can, leaving the tips of her fingers a filthy black left by the scum of feet having scurried through that same path.

29 reasons you're amazing, ALL 29 years of my life..

2010-05-09T00:46:00.004-04:00

*a million seemed more fitting, but I thought I'd keep you on your toes ;)

1. You do the “bump” better than any mother out there
2. You make a killer TUNA & INSTANT RICE ;)
3. You have a million dollar smile (that which you passed down to me :D)
4. You can record “tin soldier” and make it a Billboard top 40
5. You have the sharpest nails known to any mom (trust me, I have scars in my nostrils from your picking my mocos as a kid
6. You taught me the tricks to working out- saran wrap around the belly, and holding the chee-chees while you jump up and down
7. You know how to make me nauseous better than anyone else (your driving)
8. You have no pelos on your lengua, especially when I need to lose a few lbs and you tell me, “your arms look fat in that top”.
9. You make cherry coke COOL
10. You give the greatest massages, they hurt, but they’re great.
11. Your improvised French braids rock, even though they were always crooked, you still pulled them off!
12. Your POLISH color coordnation… i.e.; you never knew how to match my outfits as a kid but you tried. Lol.
13. You give the best mushroom top haircuts
14. You knew how to keep me in line, even if it meant a flying pan across the room.
15. You taught me to always have options… with men of course.
16. You taught me to stand up for myself, even if it meant driving me to a remote Galician beach with my bully to fight bare knuckles. You rocked for that! But even better telling her, “Only one of you is leaving the beach, and I can guarantee it’ll be my daughter” ooh MOM.
17. You take the cake for the scariest witch laugh!
18. You take the award for scarring me for life after taking me to see TEXAS CHAINSAW MASACRE when I was like… five. Lol. ‘Til this day I can’t even tolerate horror film previews.
19. You know how to make a house a HOME and taught me the importance of scrubbing the floors, bathrooms and walls ‘til our fingers bleed. Your motto, “HALF ASS CLEANING IS UNACCEPTABLE!”
20. You can whistle in three different languages
21. You taught me the right way to drink tea- with my pinky extended while holding the cup.
22. You taught me how to use big words before I learned to tie my shoe :D “Affirmative”
23. You beat the math wiz out of me.. well, specifically how to divide.
24. You made “Terri Sin Tetas” a household name
25. You have the power to tell stories, write stories and sing stories better than any mother out there!
26. You have the best back hand slap, twist and pinch and chancleta whip in all of England!
27. You make bread, chorizo and cheese sound like a meal of champions!
28. You gave me the best siblings in the world! Siblings I’d beg you (kicking and screaming) not to haul away when you’d pack them in the car and say you were dropping them off at the orphanage.
29. You got my back NO MATTER WHAT… you’re there for me NO MATTER WHAT, you believe in me NO MATTER WHAT and you love me UNCONDITIONALLY, NO MATTER WHAT!

Happy Mami's day Mother. I love you!

...the old... into the new

2010-04-16T16:01:00.002-04:00

..sometimes when I feel disconnected w/ myself, I read old blog entries. I was going through a blog from 2007-2008, and I had this immediate need to put some of the old entries onto this blog.. It's like making a scrap book of photos in chronological order, all of which are of you - from infancy, to the teen years, to a young adult.. and suddenly finding a photo from a pivotal point in your life that MUST be in this book, but it has to fit chronologically. Some of the blogs I've written just need to be here. So that the pieces fit.

Life's a process.. and well.. those very somtimes, when I feel a bit disconnected with myself, I like to read that very process to remind me how I got to where I'm at..

Caution…gravity defying, crotch muscles at work!

2010-03-01T13:57:00.005-05:00

Have you seen some of these competitions?? Whoa. Strip the raunchy stripper stigma and you actually have a solid sport here. Insert vertical dancing virtuosa and a pole… and you have yourself one hell of a show- ankle grips, thigh spins, pole climb to the top with a knuckle-biting slam (turned split) at the bottom.

I say Olympics 2012! Why not. And I’m not alone, there’s an actual petition circulating w/ a few hundred K signatures.

..and if the argument is technique (or lack thereof), one word: curling. Really? pssff

If we’re talking compromising the Integrity of the Olympics.. 5 words: Ladies Canadian hockey team celebration while still on the ice. Cheers to you too girlfriends! (burp)

Final thought: Team vertical pole!!
..Revolutionizing the sport of crotch spins one pole at a time.
:)

London, I go-go.

2010-01-28T16:40:00.001-05:00

I need to wake up thousands of miles away from noisy neighbors, grumpy bosses, and the mouse who decided to take his winter vacation in my apartment.

I need to live off of bread and cheese, but really, I wouldn’t care.. because I’d be overseas, and that… that makes all the difference.
...a world of nothing but oui oiu’s, and exotic teas…

oh, and I’d be totally ok with the European and British currency devouring my American good-for-nothing dollars, toooootally ok with it, because I’d have cobblestone tickling my toes and whimsical sightseeing where anything.. (and everything) goes.

did I mention my passport has blue balls?

Happy Anniversary...

2010-01-15T13:34:00.015-05:00

You know when you hear stories of people who claim they’ve been abducted… they go into these detailed accounts about waking up to oversized, reptilian-like green people, poking and prodding over them as they lay on an examination table.

Well..
right this second…
that’s kinda the way I feel.
Like those people telling their story. Except I don’t live in a trailer park and my abductor was far more calculating.

My abduction date was January 15th 2008.
It was abrupt, and it was painful. It was calculating and it was sometimes cruel.

The last thing I remember was laying on a butchers block about to be cut open.. “I need you to count backwards for me starting from 10”…

10…9…8… …………fade to black.

I eventually got away.
It was no easy feat, but I got away nonetheless.
Not too long after, I chose to start a new life; a new beginning with a brand new slate. But something strange happened… over time, I somehow became the poster child for Stockholm syndrome at its best… developing an odd sense of appreciation and what soon developed into love for my abductor. I’ve come to realize that my abduction not only saved my life, but changed its course forever.

Today commemorates 2 years from the day I was "abducted".

Without sounding like too much of a sissy.. I gotta admit; it’s quite an overwhelmingly blessed feeling. (Excuse me while this playful wink to the heavens interrupts our moment). See, God knew what he was doing. All this time, he knew. Though abrupt, and painful… though calculating and even cruel at times… it was all necessary. Through tragedy came triumph.

And in the end...

I was put on the path I was meant to walk.
I am where I'm meant to be.

Happy Anniversary C.

1989...

2009-12-18T21:28:00.004-05:00

A small gesture:
It was fall of 1989. I was 8 years old.
We had just moved to Miami, and were living off of Brickell- just blocks from Bayside. I had started 3rd grade at a nearby Catholic school. I was unfamiliar with the city, the school, …our new apartment. I remember my uniform vividly; it was a dark blue and baby blue checkered one-piece dress, with a baby blue blouse that went underneath. I remember the white socks that folded over with lacy ruffles on them… paired with black glossy shoes with a strap that went over the hood of my foot. My bangs were unevenly cut, yet my mother curled them in which made them frizzy and poufy. The advantage I had was my big toothy smile that I’d yet to grow into; I learned quick that its charm was distracting enough to not notice the hair blunder. It baffled me to hear things like, “what a pretty little girl with a pretty little smile.” I hated my smile and I didn’t think I was pretty. As a result, I struggled through the first few weeks at my new school. I remember waking up every morning to Mom’s good humor. She was always in a good mood in the mornings. I tried to be, but even til this day have yet to master my mornings. She was always an early riser and believed the morning was the most valuable time of the day to get the most done. She whistled while she cooked, and if she wasn’t whistling, she’d hum. I tell ya, if she competed in a whistling or humming contest for the best in harmonizing, she’d win hands down. She was fascinating to me. She usually sent me off with one of two breakfast varieties…oatmeal with toast, or a batido with whatever she could blend together.. most often a banana, milk and honey. When it came to cooking, she’d try her hardest.. but her hardest just didn’t cooperate. But I did. And tried my best to convince her that her cooking was terrific. With that being said, I looked forward to the mornings we were running late w/ no time for breakfast, and though she never sent me off empty handed, I could at least toss it the moment I was out of sight. When I had extra time before the bus came, I’d sit on the floor in front of the TV, Indian style, to watch Denver the last dinosaur. I loved Denver. Then the yellow bus would honk and mom would walk me to the bus. Once at school, we’d line up according to our classroom in alphabetical order on the grass just outside the school. I stood behind Joanne Perez. She was a round bellied Cuban girl who carried accessible glue in her backpack. Every morning like clockwork she’d squirt the glue on her palm and rub her hands together until it was dry enough to peel back. She’d ask me new questions every day, as she’d peel away the glue. She couldn’t process how a girl named Maria Teresa couldn’t speak Spanish. She struggled speaking in English, as did most the children in my new school. They had a language of their own, and most times than none, I felt out of place. Though fitting in seemed tough, adjusting to the new life at home was sometimes tougher. Yet, as soon as I got close to the apartment and knowing my mom was inside, everything felt alright again.
Weeks had passed and it was now close to Christmas time. I remember getting off the bus in front of our apartment… it was one of those days where being 8 years old just seemed like a punishment, and making friends just seemed impossible. As if it were yesterday, I remember walking up the stairs to our second floor apartment and my eyes brightening at what I saw. On the front door of our apartment was a big Santa face. It was made of construction paper… red marker for Santa’s cheery cheeks, cotton for Santa’s beard and hat.. glitter for the “ho, ho, ho” that sang outta santa’s perched mouth. WOW, I remember thinking! It was the most simplest of gestures from my mother to make our home festive, but even more special because I knew she made it especially for me, and only me. I remember my eyes welling up and the pretty little smile that I didn’t think was so pretty was wide and full. This small gesture was reassurance and that was all I needed. Though such a small gesture, it was still enough to feel how deep her love was. Our relationship has strived on those simple gestures, that secret understanding that only she and I get. And though at times we may argue, and bicker, and sometimes even cry.. it’s simply because in this whole entire world, she and I are the only ones who UNDERSAND that secret acknowledgment to all we’ve been through together.
…. I’d never trade a moment of any of what we’ve experienced together for anything in the world!
I love you Mom. And though we can’t be together this Christmas, for you I’ve made a Santa that will be placed on my front door with a tremendous amount of Love to shine your way. This is my reassurance to you, that even in the toughest of times, everything will be ok because no matter the distance, we will ALWAYS have each other.

I love you.

....My antidote.

2009-10-22T11:00:00.000-04:00

Upon Reflection....

I’d like to thank you for your unwelcoming presence… for stubbornly penetrating my life… for attempting to crush my sprit and all the dreams that went along with it. I thank you for not succumbing to my strength… for challenging me, for ridiculing me, for testing me. I thank you for being uglier than anything I had ever faced up until that point… I thank you for the courage you reminded me I had… for fueling my strength and every oz of energy I had left within me. I thank you for choking, for failing, for falling. I thank you for REBIRTHING ME.....

And is it twisted that yet I value having made your acquaintance? That even now… I would never give up the impact you made on me… ever…?
You. The hideous thing you are. The monster that you were. ...I’ve grown to love you not for what you are, or what you were… but rather the person you extracted from within me. And even despite your sickening hand and foul aspirations… I still found good in the devilish grip you took on my life. And through that… I conquered you. I defeated you. I rose above you. And even now- exactly one year later… I’m still sitting in the company of life’s good humor… CHALLENGE still being the theme. I’ve kept it moving; all the while with a smile. Despite the curve balls.. the obstacles.. the let downs… I’m ok. And that’s a powerful OK. Strangely (and unintentionally on your part I’m sure) you have become my encouragement… A motivational chapter; with still so much to be written.
And for all of that… I am thankful. To you, the ugly spineless beast you are and the poison in my life you were. To you… dear Cancer… I am thankful.

I stumbled on this entry dated January 15 of this year... perhaps subconsciously it was a deliberate accident for me to read it today. Case in point is that it still stands true... and in fact, re-reading it felt even more powerful than having written it, and even then it rattled my core. Shit happens.. Life happens… it’s what you do with it, NOT what it does to you.

...speaking of death...

2009-10-19T14:38:00.000-04:00

Today I got an email about a friend of a friend who was killed this past wkend. Though I didn’t know her personally, her story is quite tragic. She and her boyfriend were held up at gunpoint just outside Madrid, shot to death for his wallet… she had no purse with her, he had less than 10 Euros on him.

Lately it seems like a constant revolving door of senseless deaths. From the young Chicago teen beaten to death for being at the wrong place at the wrong time, to the young man here in NY just this past wkend killed by a group of hoodlums all because he was openly gay… and even more senseless, the story that sent shockwaves around the country a few months back about the women killed while in their aerobics class by a complete stranger simply b/c he despised women since he couldn’t seem to hook one. Each of these deaths bear two stories; one being the detailed story of a life which instantly becomes overshadowed by the story of a death. How grim is it that despite all you've strained to achieve in a lifetime, ultimately the way you die commands more attention than the way you lived, loved and achieved. You can work your entire life to follow a certain path, a certain string of goals, a modest pursuit of happiness and suddenly all of that can be destroyed by someone else's compulsion.

Ya know, we don't realize how individualized some of us try to lead our lives—to be independent, to be successful via our own ambitions, to take on the mind frame that the world is ours pending just the right amount of incentive… and as much as we think we have our lives strategically forecasted, organized, planned- the bottom line is we are not alone and the world is never ours…. Because just as quick as we choose to pursue a life of green pastures, some jaded person can easily choose to crush that dream. It's as simple as that. We don't own our lives; we share it… sad part is some people just don't care to share.

There are no outstanding differences when we compare ourselves to any one of these victims… other than being at the right place at the right time as opposed to the deadliest place at the deadliest time. Morbid perhaps; but there's no guarantee my "place" is always going to be right. No victim wakes up with even a slightest inkling they’re ill-fated. Makes you wonder about the times we’ve slept in on accident, missed a train/bus or fell into some deterrent which proved critical to our own survival. We often question WHY (at that moment) a situation had to happen to us, be it a wrong turn, a car accident, or some frivolous obstacle which ultimately pales in comparison to what "coulda" happened- 'cause as we know… it could always be worse. So perhaps those minor inconveniences were deterrents from above to keep the place we're at "right"... for now at least. "We are always where we're meant to be"- and if I'm totally off on this, it's still a comforting thought.

Times like this, the conscience-knocking goes into overdrive; we're stopping short thinking damn, that coulda been me. So we're spitting out cliché one-liners like "tomorrow isn't promised", hugging more and mending that on-again/off-again relationship. But how deep is the impact really? Does it really resonate to the point that we make lasting changes in our lives? Granted, we're human… and part of the process of grieving is eventually moving on…. But what do we take from it? We're always going to have some vice to counter, some harbored resentment to dissolve…. So does that mean tragedy is the primary component and driving force for quarterly soul searching and change?.... I think more times than we realize, it is.

...she's beautifully complicated

2009-10-15T16:05:00.003-04:00

I’m so over the traditional (and skewed) notion of what a mother should be. And though (generally speaking) this stereotype has taken a beating over the last few decades, fact is; Latinos don’t ever “generally speak”.. they’re quick in judgment and high in expectations (no pun on the stereotype there, truth is truth). Latina mothers are expected to be homemaking, domesticated, sofrito-from-scratch making then freezing, stain removing virtuosos. And as a bonus: should have supersonic instinctive whacking capabilities (aka chancleta upside the head). Single mothers are frowned upon, and GOD forbid she has more than one child from more than one father (gasp)… ‘cause then… that would make her a PUTA.

Yet… My mother was NOT traditional nor conventional. She was single. She had more than one child’s father. Yes, she had boyfriends. Yes, she burned minute rice and often times had no clue what her 5 yr plan was… but you know what, she was a fighter. We may have not owned fancy things, or drove fancy cars, or even had the latest branded clothing… yet, until I was old enough to be affected by the media telling me what I “should” have… I thought I was pretty damn lucky. She was resourceful and determined. My mother did it all… juggling 2-3 jobs at a time; she was a teller, a secretary, a waitress and had a hand full of other gigs I can’t remember… but nonetheless, she did it, and she did it without ever complaining.

And on the side, she wrote. She wrote her heart out… often and wholeheartedly.

The words “I can’t” have never been a part of my mothers vocab and I almost have to stop and lovingly laugh to myself because she is such a go-getter almost to a fault. She sets her mind to something, and there is NO stopping her. She’s stubbornly passionate, and I love that about her. Reflecting back to my childhood, it was far from normal. Though in retrospect, I’m not sure if she ever knew what it was she was looking for, but one thing she knew was that she’d never remain idle, she’d never skip out on risks, and she believed with full fervor in leaps of faith.
She sought out to explore the world, …to maximize her dreams through her raw talent as a writer. Writing was her passion and though it wasn’t paying the bills she didn’t lose faith in it.. and as a result, growing up I lived with a suitcase by my side. I was her lil sidekick, trying my best to be that driving force to help tackle hurdles.. looking for that ONE opportunity where she'd finally get that chance to do what she loved on a steady basis and also generate an income. As she continued to freelance, we continued to move. By the time I was through 8th grade I had been to nearly 20 schools spanning all across the country from Portland, Oregon to Miami and even overseas living in Spain for a few years. It was never glamorous, and we def scraped by, so long as we got by. Some people criticized her for the instability she was instilling in me, yet it only made her strength as a mother more solid. Without meaning to, she became my best friend. Now don’t get me wrong, she didn’t lack in the supersonic whacking capabilities, trust me… yet her love was so deep, and her sacrifices were so selfless, it made me that much closer to her. And though I was young the criticism still managed to trickle down to my ears.. and for that I refused to prove people right. She spoke to my siblings and I often, always said the right things, always believed in us.. and showed us a tremendous amount of love.. and that kept me straight. I guess school was my outlet. It came easy... and I excelled. Years later, 28 schools later.. and a laundry list of countries we bounced in and out of under my belt... I can def say it was an experience of a lifetime, and I ate a whole lotta humble pie…

Through the years she’s hosted radio shows, been interviewed on talk shows, written for magazines, newspapers.. been published in academic publications… but finally, this year, her first book was published- a collective work of her poetry and personal experiences, a huge accomplishment that I am extremely proud of… and just this week she was featured in a local London magazine (London now being her home for the last 9 years).

…all I know is if I could have half the strength she has, I’d take it in a heartbeat and that through her and because of her… I can attribute my drive, my constant optimism and bright eyed momentum. She makes me one proud daughter and I look forward to the treats she has up her sleeve in the years to come ‘cause she definitely doesn’t plan on slowing down any time soon.

The simplest way I can sum up such a beautifully complicated woman... is that she’s the most amazing mother I could have ever been blessed with and I would never change a thing about her.

YEAR 29... Hit list (a work in progress)

2009-10-14T13:55:00.004-04:00

29th born day is just around the corner, the ta'do list is as follows...

-Sky dive round 2
-learn at least 10 new recipes
-advocate BLESS you's when ppl sneeze. soo rude otherwise.
-Learn to understand a different religion/culture
-Celebrate my half birthday - May 19th ;)
-Sing ..in shower/car/while jumpin on bed ...more often
-Learn how to skip rocks and dessert
-Be at champ in poker.... strip? ha.
-Domesticated Goddess ETA March 1st. Transition smoothly. :)
-try not to send ppl to vm
-get published
-take an improv class
-Master G&MT handshake
-Remember how to spell entrepreneur w/o google or dictionary.com
-Make up words and convince ppl they're legit
-inspire
-get inspired
-Dance alone... clothed... around the house
-Dance alone... naked..... around the house
-Dance as much as possible
-Work on my vices... one.... by..... one
-Learn as many knock knock jokes as my memory can withstand
-Acquire new tastes
-Send a message in a bottle
-Learn a new language
-Sell my place ... buy a new place
-Plant a tree
-minimize the "not for nuthin'........." 's
-Record my grandmother's stories
-overcome my fear of scary previews. We’ll work on the actual films next yr.
-More "when I was your age" lectures from mom w/o getting bored : )
-More visits w/ the God kids
-More letters to GOD
-More faith in people
-More museums
-Less clubs/bars... and even lounges
-Less alcohol
-Less 4 letter words when I'm driving
-Less "so quick to accept and forgive"
-Learn a new word/day
-Color with crayons
-Plan my Halloween costume more than 2 days in advance this yr
-Write my dreams in a journal
-Write my thoughts in a journal
-Write a play
-play more board games... scrabble!
-Smile more
-learn how to whistle
-Research a new Latin American country a day
-Research a new non Latin American country a day
-Learn someone’s story
-Hug daily
-laugh now, pee later
-Write letters to those I love
-Re-read the bible
-Give someone a sweet Surprise as often as possible
-Send each of my girlfriends flowers
-Kiss a dolphin... ya figure I've kissed toads why not a dolphin
-get a pet.... perhaps a box turtle?
-Respond to facebook notes
-Go skiing for first time
-Get a bowling score above a 33
-Laugh until my side hurts as often as possible
-Learn to lick my elbow
-Experience zero gravity thru a parabolic flight
-Commission a piece of art
-Learn all the lyrics to as many one hit wonders as possible
-Run a ½ Marathon
-Visit min of 3 foreign countries per quarter
-Hit a U.S. outta-state destination once/month
-Get wheels in motion for non for profit
-Volunteer at a soup kitchen
-Mentor a pre-teen/teen
-Learn how to drive stick
-Have Anderson Cooper over for dinner
-Complete the Santiago Pilgrimage in northern Spain w/ mom

..on another note..

2009-10-06T11:22:00.001-04:00

Happiness doesn't just happen. You don’t wake up one day and say, shit, I’m one happy SOB w/o having worked toward it. ...your happiness is defined by your ability to pursue it. You can flirt with happiness, court happiness, spoil happiness… and one day… happiness will reciprocate. And that’s the morning you wake up and are actually validated in being that happy SOB

.....sigh.

2009-10-06T11:12:00.002-04:00

.....needs some inspiration, wants to feel compelled, rattle my core!

Falling into a cycle of the mundane is my biggest fear. Gotta shake it!

... a moment.

2009-09-27T23:24:00.000-04:00

...there's something magical about the littlest of things that remind you just how alive you are.

... Forgetting your umbrella yet not minding the light drizzle lacing your face... the distant sound and innocence of a childs laughter... the wind blowing into your curtains through your bedroom window- dancing from the corner of your eye as you lay... the pitter patter from his heart as you lay your head on his chest.

Life is such a magical journey... and with every breath I take, I inhale the magic.

...Back to the basics

2009-09-10T19:06:00.009-04:00

...I put my big girl pant'ees on and decided to swing what's left of my writers ego on over to a forum that would push me to write. So why not create a blog- I figure, if anything is gonna snap me out of my sorry excuse for a dry spell is a little self induced (or the attempt of) self proclaimed literary verbal vomit.

My disclaimer is as follows: my blog will never be consistent, won’t always have a light bulb moment (so if you’re looking for enlightenment read a f*ken fortune cookie), and on the topic of f*ken fortune cookies; it’s no secret I incorporate four letter words (sometimes five) into my profound (humor me) articulate (sometimes) written delivery, so if you get offended easily, bite me. This blog isn’t for you. It’s for me. Not trying to be an asshole, but when I get to writing, I kinda, sorta, muster up my creative juices from my girl power core, so the asshole tendencies kinda, sorta, transfer over almost too easily.

I digress.

My start line begins with Monica… the muse of all muses. From here on out… all is fair-fictional-game. Fictional being the operative word in a not so fictional story.

Monica

I always heard the saying, "slap the taste out your mouth," but I never realized how real it was until he did it to me. I’m on all fours on the cold cemented street like a defeated ragdoll after being thrown to the ground, trying to regain my balance. I’m still dazed from the impact of my fall and out of breath from my attempt to run. Foolish of me to have thought he’d let me run. Mascara is running down my cheeks, my chest pumping for oxygen. I jerk my right arm out, palm filthy and bloody from the attempt to break my fall, extended partially as a shield, but also in retreat. My left hand covers my head from the blow I’m expecting to come straight down onto me- all the while simultaneously wondering, “How the hell did I get to this point- ME, Monica Mendoza, down on my knees in front of a man… not by choice but by force.” He’s pumping his clenched fist in the air as he stands over me, his voice high pitched and cracking through the tears as he yells down at me what a foolish bitch I am for upsetting him, asking why I had to get him this mad, he didn’t want to get this mad. His words sound more like hissing and each time he spews his anger, saliva seems to strategically make its way through my shielded arms and slaps me in the face.

.... road block.

1, 2, 3.. keep going MT.

SMILE- I'm on camera

2008-10-24T16:08:00.000-04:00

They say you haven't lived a full life unless you've (at some point in time) been a video-ho. Yes, I said a video-ho.
And before I'm asked who the distinguished "they" is, I'd like to say it's absolutely irrelevant… the philosophy is brilliant in this instance and works to my advantage granting me leeway in my response for the latest of "why's" in my world of social inquiry.

My point is this… sometimes it's necessary to flash-forward 10 years and laugh at yourself (all thanks to YOUTUBE). So allow me to disclaim- it was strategic and purposeful. I meant to orchestrate a good laugh for my future self, as I've done since having been sent this clip.

Ok, real deal. I was 17, had a great friend who was a radio DJ who happened to invite a few of us to sit and watch on the sidelines as they filmed a video. We were literally sitting on chairs chatting it up, when one of the artists came up to our group and asked if my cousin and I would be up for shooting a quick scene….after assuring us it would be quick and easy, we said sure. He asked I get into the front passenger seat with him and just roll up to a crowd, exit the car and walk by his side during the scene… sounded easy enough. So I did it. It was less than 10 min of shooting and we left not too long after we shot it. It was pretty effortless, the guys were all respectful and it was something, as a 17 yr old, I was able to have a good laugh about with girlfriends later in the day. Funny part of it all is that I NEVER seen the video. Ever. I didn't even know the name of the video. Lol…. so it was damn funny to get a few laughs when a good friend sends me a note about how she was up late watching MTV and the video came on, and there I am… in, as she put "Discovery's finest" haha. Good one fucker. Lol.

So since Michelle decided to share it w/ my entire office while I was out, I'm encouraged to extend those laughs to you. Consider it my charitable contribution of shits and giggles for the day; MT in all her glory. Fast forward to 2:42, and that would be a 17 yr old me w/ the 2-piece Capri/tube top get-up.

What a legacy I'll be leaving behind one day.

Here's to another great accomplishment to add to my book of many of a life well lived. Cheers!

Ink to paper...

2008-08-20T16:06:00.000-04:00

Ink to paper... haven't done it in a while. The real shit.... sitting down, no pressure... no backspace, no edits.... just candid, raw... REAL. Can't even say I'm doing it now... fingers to keyboard just don't measure up to the vulnerability of a good grip on a pen. Won't say I have writers block, more like writers avoidance. I'll tell you this much... my mental ticker has picked up the momentum of this city 'cause there's never a dull moment in the mind of MT. Yet.. I've been avoiding writing.. the real MT shit.. the "full disclosure, in touch with self, mental poetry, this is what I think about that thank you very much" type shit. Probably because so much has happened in the last 6 months... most of it good, great actually. And well, the rest... the rest I'm still filtering and is left for translation… but what I have filtered thus far is what is teaching me more about myself, even as I type this. I suppose typing is just safe.. 'cause with typing I can backspace.

And although I'm still not quite there with completely avoiding whatever it is I don't want to confront through writing (just yet), I have reveled in how time in fact ticks, days turn into months, and suddenly here I am; living in NYC for 6 months and with a lifetime still to go. What a delightful thought. I gingerly welcome the what's to come and the who's I've yet to meet. Emphasis on gingerly.

And well… Time. It's all relative. Ta'think; a year ago today I was making one of the biggest decisions of my life... a decision that was made for me before I could even get to it... Just 8 months ago I was laid up in a hospital bed about to go under, not knowing whether my life span was 50 years or 50 days... 6 months ago I was driving to a new life in NYC not knowing what to expect or even if I made the right choice.. but I was loving the empowerment I was gaining each mile at a time... and well, just 2 months ago I was very much in love with a man who fed me love so deep my soul got goose bumps with just the thought of him. Ha. Time. She must be a woman… she's unpredictable, dramatic when she wants to be, a tease when you want more of her… and oh what a sense of humor that b*tch has. ;)

And an FYI. This entry has no real direction. Just random thoughts…. Random thoughts to remind me I'm still alive and more myself than ever. Random… I love that word. It has a heart beat in itself…. The minute I become less random and more predictable- just shoot me, (But make it fast, quick, and painless) as I've succumb to the complacencies of the average person. I detest that word: Average. What an ugly word. Actually…the word ugly is ugly.. it just rolls off your tongue the wrong way… well, in this case, you'd have to read it out loud. I digress… randomly. I have this childlike sense of satisfaction in having written a blog about absolutely nothing of substance to anyone but myself… and yet it feels good. My antidote to keeping up with myself: write for myself. There's one revelation about myself that I'm exploring day in and day out… and that's the ability to accept it's OK to show emotion, be emotional, or write emotionally. Funny thing is, I stumbled upon my infamous hospital journal and I've realized, even then.. even in such a vulnerable state of recovery… I was still dealing with coming to grips with my emotions. I scribbled this little passage because I had realized I hadn't cried. Even then I couldn't cry. We have a strange relationship; me and tears. Working on it. Buuut…. Point is… it was kinda funny to read it now…. Like speaking to myself in the third person.. and quite comical to see, even at a low point, I still had a sense of humor… Ahhhaaaa. (index finger in your face)

One wk in NYC and I already have a crush….

2008-03-06T16:06:00.000-05:00

.. thankfully in the only one wk I've been here, I haven't had any startling realizations that I made a mistake. Quite the contrary I've been filled with this incredible sense of rejuvenation, life, power, significance… pure bliss. It's overpowering and almost infectious. Everything I've been conditioned to believe in respect to disgruntled New Yorkers has been overridden by this instant feeling of welcome and embrace. New Yorkers do smile, say excuse me, say Good Morning… and even better, they hold the elevator door for you! I'm smitten by this city. My heart goes pitter patter when I walk the streets…. I don't even mind the 6 blocks in the morning I walk to the train… the 2 trains I mount to get to Grand Central station and even the paranoia I feel in this massive station which my morbid tendencies begin to make my anxieties itch just thinking what a potential terrorist target it is… yet it's all worth it.. and as I walk the 5 extra blocks from the grand central to my job.. I'm reminded of just that. It's all worth it. It reminds me of one of my fondest childhood memories; arriving in Spain to live at the age of 11 with my mother. After settling in we took a walk down the cobble stone streets.. and suddenly she sang "say along with me, 'WE'RE IN SPAIN!!'" and there I was with my mother… shouting into the night "WE'RE IN SPAIN!". I walk the streets of NYC and I want to shout.. "I'm in NEW YORK CITY!!" I've never felt more alive. I must admit I'm slightly blushing, but one wk in this city and I already have a crush…. I have a crush on NYC!

She's moving to NYC... whaaaaat?

2008-02-20T16:04:00.000-05:00

We all have a story... and in this case, there are 4. Naturally you think... how can all 4 of them possible be making this HUGE move together? How can 4 individual people all seem so willing to pick up and start something new.. in a city so foreign to them. It's nuts... I get chills every time I think.. talk.. and even write about it. It's so nuts, it's genius! And it has felt so right since day 1. Most importantly I'm making this move with 3 women I've known since high school.... not trying to age myself but that's well passed the ten year mark. Women I've called my best friends when the words "best friends" were labels of endearment and not immaturity. We've toyed with the idea for some time... years even.... the first time Liz and I went to NYC was together..... and I remember so vividly walking arm in arm with her and saying... "Let's move here!!" Even then it felt right... but timing just wasn't. There were times Michelle and I playfully spoke for hours about making a move while we "could," while we were young, while we were able. Something fresh, something new... something to add to our book of accomplishments.... but so much was going on, timing just wasn't right. Finally the discussions started again late last year when Belissa suggested the move again... my eyes lit up as she spoke about possibly applying for a travel nursing program. I had just started a great new job....I worried about my condo... finances... and well... ultimately in my eyes.. the best excuse was that timing just wasn't right.

Then an amazing thing happened. CANCER happened. And suddenly things were so much clearer... and suddenly it wasn't about timing.. because timing wasn't the problem.. it was ME.. it was my fear of change, of struggle, of the unknown. Belissa had bought me a journal while I was in the hospital but I tossed it aside, so uninspired to write. Days turned into weeks of recovery and one day I woke up so empty... so unfulfilled... so disappointed in my self. I remembered how often I wrote... the real stuff- pen to paper. I picked up that pen and wrote in that journal for almost 3 hours.... one page turned to 10 and so forth. Those pages were my epiphany. And suddenly the timing was right. I instantly called Belissa and said, "Let's do it!!" .... and from there ... the story goes.... it all fell into place. My story became their story, and their story has become mine. From Belissa, to Liz, to Michelle....
The beauty in all this was that no one was coerced or forced to tag along... it's just been so effortless. It's been so right.

And it only gets better.... that same day I put out my resume and exactly one wk later we were in NYC interviewing... and 2 days after returning from NYC I was offered the most amazing job I could have ever hoped for. And well, the story of how we found our beautiful newly rehabbed 4 bedroom, 2 bathroom house is another testimony as to how this move is just meant to be... Call me idealistic, but I believe in fate, I believe in the power of will and above all I believe in the power of God...... I truly believe he's paved the way.... and we're just walking the path. It's crazy when death faces you dead in the eye how you snap out of your haziness real quick. I've never been so focused... so full of life. It's great... and I'm even more blessed to be embarking on this journey with 3 of the most amazing women I know... my sisters!

Our house is only 2 blocks from this breathtaking park... a hidden away gem.. and the view is what sold us... this is only a few steps from our new house..... how could we not feel at home. A view of the city that inspired us all.... our new home. NYC!

We leave the 27th (next wk.. eeeek) .. and will be celebrating our latest chapter this Saturday night. Party info below..

Don't say the "c" word...

2008-01-16T16:02:00.000-05:00

Cancer.....what a hideous word...

I didn't want to go too much into detail because I had hope and faith it wouldn't be the "c" word... that they'd open me up- and say, "surprise, its just a tumor... we removed it... you're all better"

When I got to the hospital.. and as i was wheeled into the Operating room.... I remember scooting on to the operating table... as the anaesthesia began to kick in... and my last words were " i feel like I'm on a butchers block" .... then it faded to black...

When i woke up- there was so much commotion. All I kept asking over and over was, "was it cancer"...... but no one would respond….. no one would even aknowledge I was awake, that I was speaking. Finally, after tugging at everyone and thing that passed by me... and demanding in my faint recovering tone of a whisper some kind of answer... I got the answer i dreaded.. YES... it was cancer.

It was stage one of Mucinous Epithelial Ovarian Cancer aka Borderline ovarian cancer ..... they removed the tumor along with my appendix...
but the good news was.. they removed it ALL... all of it! So thorough that I will not be needing chemo, which was what i was most frightened about. You think of cancer, you think of negative consequences..... yet, this was one of the least aggressive of all cancers not to mention *thank you to my roomie, I caught in in time! Thank the Lord!!

I have no words to express how fortunate I feel.. how blessed I know I am.. and how much love I've received which has made these last 24 hours so much easier. the staff has been amazing and they all are so intrigued by all my flowers, balloons, get well cards, my collage of pictures the girls made....i think each nurse I've had in last day have all hugged me and comforted me in some way and have just been amazing.
My life changed in one wk, how nuts is that!
Im still really weak... very groggy. my mother just left to the airport to pick up my sister and niece faith Ashley and im so excited to see them.
I need to get some rest... but i wanted to at least put something out to thank everyone and let you all know i love you.

This bulletin may be all over the place but this morphine is no joke!

"So, how have you been?"

2008-01-11T16:02:00.000-05:00

...... it's funny when we get asked this, and on the spot- our natural instinct is to say... "Good, thanks for asking"... punto y final. But when is it OK to say.... NOT good, shits bad, wish it was better.... or even better....... why the hell is this happening?

We all go through difficult times. It's life. It's a chapter. Keep it moving. Learn from the bad and embrace the good... and if there is no good, FIND the good. Because if something is so bad- it should be easy to find something that can't be any worse. And that's what I've turned to. That "good".... and it's times like this when I realize how selfish I would be to even let something like this bring me down... when I have so much GOOD in my life.

Times like this......

"this"..... how do you define this moment I'm going through?
Another chapter..... and I sure as hell hope the book isn't over any time soon. Actually, I hope this chapter is only the beginning of a book with an amazing story to tell...with far more chapters left to be written.

Our Health....

How easily we take it for granted. It's alarming how something you think you have control of, suddenly no longer is in your hands. With out going into too much detail... ultimately our health is all we have ... it's not our income, our educations, the gorgeous man/woman on our arms.... because with out our HEALTH, none of that matters.... BE DILIGENT in choosing a physician.... I cannot stress this any more. During the last wk, I've met with the BEST OF THE BEST. And even the best of the best came up nothing short of negligence. Often time physicians dismiss symptoms or are too conservative in their examinations. I'm not advocating hypochondria, but if you don't demand efficiency, sadly, not all practitioners will heed mild abnormalities, esp if you're passive or too timid to express your concerns. Thankfully I have this sometimes annoying quality to demand the best of the best..... and in this current situation- I feel confident I've got the best working on my side.

So now what? ...

I don't know what's going to happen- and for someone who usually needs to be in control.. it scares the crap of out of me. This is all new to me... waiting by the phone for news... new results... updates...optimism ringing in my ear like a broken record- the pressure can be exasperatingly draining. And as much as you want to be strong for yourself, you find that the more "good" you have in your life... reflects the amount of strength you have to put out... for not only you but them, for it, for the bigger picture. Yet I'm riding the hell out of the momentum of this inner strength I've managed to muster up.... and it feels good to say it doesn't seem to be weening any time soon.

I don't want to go into too much detail about my specific situation, because ultimately... every test and prognosis can be proven incorrect until I'm actually opened up. With that said, my surgery is Tuesday at 7:30am and it will be four hours long (inhale) ... I'm counting down the days, hours, minutes.... trying to remember to breath so I can finally have closure in this chapter. Be it good news or more bad news.. it will still mean a new chapter is about to begin.. a new battle. But hey... that's what makes life more interesting and more beautiful. I've never loved life more.

Please....

If any of you take anything out of this...... PLEASE don't put your health on the back burner..... schedule your appointments with your physicians, gynecologists, urologists.. be thorough with your health... because if you lose that, you lose everything. And life is too beautiful to lose.

Please keep me in your positive thoughts and prayers. All of your love and support is appreciated and so valued! You all are the good that feeds my momentum of strength. Thank you.

Remember to always smile, always shine.

-Maria Teresa

... smiling through the tears, shining through the rain.

Unpredictably me

2007-09-22T15:54:00.000-04:00

I don’t want to be summed up into one category or one definitive interpretation of self, I don’t want to be the black or the white- or even the gray.
I want to be random.....
I want to soar high, higher than sight and mind, away from magnification or misinterpretation.
I want to bloom threads of knowledge, welcoming the revolving door of epiphanies...inconsistencies... abnormalities and interruptions. I want to grow, grow unpredictably... I want to surprise, amaze, disappoint, I want to fulfill... and once in a while, I don’t mind losing the rhythm in my stride to remind me that I`m still alive, breathing, that I am just as much human as you are.

Simply..

I hope to continue to be... unpredictably me.

My Tio Geno

2006-09-08T16:17:00.000-04:00

He hated when anyone called him that.... it was Gene.. or Eugenio... but I loved to see him stop short and look at me with that LOOK when I called him Tio Geno. Yet he always winked at me and let it ride 'cause it was me... his Tere. People often time reference others as the "x" I never had.... well I was def. fortunate to say he was the uncle I'm proud to have had. Hard working yet humble... with the greatest sense of humor- he always knew how to make me smile. Ya know, I come from a big family- HUGE family... my mother is one of nine... so cousins, aunts, uncles I had plenty of- not to mention I'm one of four children on my moms side (and one of 5 on my dads).... but he was one of those people that at every family function I anticipated seeing... any accomplishment, goal I had recently tackled, up or down.. he was one of the few who's opinion, validation, judgment truly mattered.

Most holidays we celebrate at a central location- the house my grandmother bought decades ago that was passed on and now belongs to my aunt... I think every family member has lived in that house at one pt or another, myself included... so it has that HOME feel..... when holidays came around I'd run into that house and of course it felt great to see everyone- house bustling with children running around, the aunts in the kitchen talking.. the guys watching whatever sport was on... but I always went straight for Tio Gene... unaware and subconsciously... I hadn't realized it until the next family function after his passing... somehow it slipped and there I was... looking for him, only this time he wasn't there. My heart ached .... because he was one of the few people in my life who I felt understood me but most of all understood my mother- his big sister. They were so close and I admired that relationship... and thank the Lord that unconditional through thick and thin love was passed down to me and my siblings.
When my mother and I moved overseas- we were gone for quite some time... almost four years. When I came back to the states my view on the world was so different from other kids my age- I had seen and experienced so much. I had been living in Spain just off the boarder of Portugal... went to school there, absorbed the culture and traditions that I seemed way older beyond my actual years... so when I retuned my uncle just loved to pick my brain... tease me and my castillian accent.. he'd smile at me... and tell me I was going to be something big... and I loved that he believed in me. He gave me my first job- that lasted almost 6 years. Good ol' Bigsby and Kruthers. Started there when I was just 14 as a side gig and worked there all through high school and my first years of college. He was a manager there and was known for his down to earth attitude but most of all his amazing sense of humor... he had an elite clientele and he always managed to call me over the intercom to come on over to his area when someone "famous" or someone he felt I'd be "shocked" to meet walked in... I met my share of awesome ppl all thanks to him, and he'd always introduce me as his favorite niece Terri.... he never failed to make me feel special... and no matter who it was... they always said the same thing... "Your uncle is a GOOD man".... and I knew it.

What I remember most were the rides home together on the train after work... somehow we no longer were uncle and niece... but he become my friend... I'd talk to him about my problems.. about school... my vision in life.. and he didn't just listen to me, he took the time to actual HEAR me... he'd give the best advice and I aimed to make him proud... I'll never forget when the tables began to turn and there he was.. my uncle, telling me HIS problems... and I would sit there... open hearted and HEAR him just as he did me.. those conversations never left the train... and never will.
I'll tell you one thing.. he adored his children.... absolutely loved them with every breath he took.

When we found out he had cerebral cancer it crushed the family... he was in the process of getting a divorce and it seemed like his life was falling from under him, yet he still maintained that great sense of humor and attitude. But I was pained knowing time was against us- it was a matter of months. I'd try not to break down in front of him but I wasn't always as strong as him- and when that did happen.. he sure did give the best hugs. Even after finding the tumor, he still demanded I come every week to give him his "salsa and merengue" lessons... I'd walk in and there he was .. waiting w/ a bottle of iced margarita and his boom box in tow... "Ay Tio!" I'd say... and he'd smile and off to the deck we'd go... shimmying and sashaying his way to becoming a better dancer.... We had the best times. I'll tell you one thing... knowing the "rest of your life" has suddenly boiled down to only a few months... he gave those months his ALL.
I think the hardest part were the final conversations... the many times he'd say... "I don't want to forget to tell you this..."

The cancer was taking over and he'd forget conversations.... his concept of present time was fading. I was only a couple of months away from finishing my masters program, yet he'd see me and say, "Hey! What are you doing in town... don't you have class tomorrow" - still assuming I was living in Dekalb working on my undergrad. I'd just go along with it.. but it melted my heart. He thought Clinton was still president and the divorce he was in the process of was something that was hard to understand. When I would come by I hoped he was having a "good day".. a day where I could see my Tio Gene through his eyes... on those days he was fully conscious of what was happening to him and all he wanted was to make the most of it. He'd give advice, tell his nieces and nephews to take care of each other.. to meet the best of our potential... give hugs and just try his hardest to smile as much as he could.

He passed away two years ago today. And I don't miss him or think of him any less. I still strive to make him proud... and to be "something big".
I pray he continues to Rest In Peace.

...a letter to my Faith Ashley

2006-03-18T16:20:00.001-05:00

I remember that day you blessed our world..
After having spent hours awaiting your arrival as I slept thru the night on the hard tiled floor in the maternity ward dealing with your mothers diabolic hysteria`s of labor...

...You came to us...

Eyes wide open like a flower blooming for the first time..
.. and as your mother and I held you she leaned over and whispered to me, "She`s our baby!" You were ours and no one else's! Your beauty struck us all.. and I was Instantaneously enamored by you.
That day we took you home was like Christmas in March.
As your mother rested -I kept you in my bed..
held your little hand and caressed your cheeks..
You closed your eyes to sleep and I lay with you- not moving the slightest from fear of waking you..
As the months passed I couldn't imagine loving you any less or any more..
Every day that passed made the experience of being your aunt more enjoyable.
How could I ever get tired of this?
Your eyes would brighten as you became familiar with me- and melted my heart..
I remember the day you called me Titi for the first time- my face was lit for days..
Those times your mother scolded you- you`d cry for me.. I loved it!
Though your mother wasn`t too fond ((smile))
I`d hold you and make everything in your world seem all better...
I`ve tried my hardest to protect you-
to protect you from any and all that may harm you..
though impossible- I`ve done my best..
As time has passed I`ve begun to realize that it is YOU who makes me stronger.. It is you who pushes me at those times I feel I`ve gone far enough
It is you who gives me that "want" to make a life for you that your mother nor I had... I adore your voice- and every thought out word you speak.

My Faith Ashley- Titi will always be here for you- to love you- to hold you- to kiss and hug you.. To remind you of your potential and to be your motivator as your mere existence has done for me.

...Seattle road trip.

2006-02-19T16:30:00.001-05:00

What to say? hmmm..
maybe i was a bit naive assuming i would arrive in Seattle, help my sister and niece pack up and relocate them back to chicago... We were gonna hit the highway on a 35 hr fun filled adventure .... and that would be it. So Ok, I get it... shit's gonna happen, its the inevitable... but c'mon!

Started out with a delayed flight that went from a 4 hour smooth sail to a 5 1/2 hour turbulent hell ride into Seattle. FINE, i fig'd that was the grunt of it......
ha. right.

I get to Seattle.. and bam, the biggest storm of the year lasts 2 days... gusts of wind shattered windows- and at the end of it, NO POWER. Roof next door got damn near yanked off... trees were down... no heat.
Ok, we took it and rolled with it... bought candles... kept on schedule and just cont'd to pack up the house... all the while still smiling. I was happy just to be with my baby...

Even Faith Ashley had the right attitude after we lost power in the dark... Air Guitar lol

So we finally we get on the road Saturday morning.

I had the route all MAPPED out... we were gonna go the northern route straight across the country... but nope, so many nay sayers discouraged us from taking that route since the weather was pretty harsh up north so the consensus suggestion was to take the southern route, I-80 straight across. Fine. I took it, and again, rolled with it. Made the route out on our map.. and headed out. As we exited Washington and entered Oregon, it was breathtaking...

But 14 hrs into trip the weather started getting worse... and visibility was worstening...

Next thing you know... we're dead smack in a BLIZZARD while in the mountains of Wyoming.. nooo visibility... the wind was terrifying. So once again, we get it. It's time to stop. But there was no sign of life nor an exit for almost a hundred miles...

see, I had the northern route mapped out and i was prepared for interruptions on that route... but this route - i had no clue what was around us... so at 2 a.m. glued to the steering wheel and my nerves shot, we finally find an exit wtih a decent hotel. And this could be a whole other story in its own.. but yea... next time.
So we wake up bright eyed and bushy tailed.. good energy, positive thinking ready to take on the ramaining stretch of Wyoming. Goal is to get out this ice box of a state. We were optimistic with what seemed like clear skies... great. We head out... but shortly into drive we realize it's one big mess. Roads are slick and not cleaned, the snow is dusty so every time a car or truck passes it leaves a white cloud and leaves us with no visibility.. fine, I'm driving careful... nervous as heck.. clenching the steering wheel trying to focus... we keep seeing accident after accident, semi's and cars flipped over... one semi went over a bridge.. it was horrible.. so we kept at it slow hoped to make it out... and 6 hours into drive (still in mountains) I'm behind a SUV who is behind a semi.. the SUV decides to switch lanes as we're curving- and when he does this the gust of wind and the white cloud shook our car... the steering wheel started to thrust.. and suddenly we were spinning out of control... SPINNING on the interstate... on the slick road... all i remember is hearing my sister scream... my niece say Tiiii Tiiiiii... its crazy how in such a brief moment so many thoughts can enter and escape your mind.. my niece.... my niece.. she has her seat belt on... the impact.. how hard are we gonna hit once we stop spinning... are we at a cliff?? is there a rail?? will we fall over?? is a oncoming car or SEMI gonna hit us as we're spinning?? are we gonna flip?? Pleeeeeease Lord... then BAM....... were in a ditch... i bang my head on the window.. but that's it. THAT'S IT.. i turn to the back, and there she is... bright eyed... not crying just looking at me... and her little voice belts out... Titi .... are YOU ok??? Am I OK??!! We were ALL ok. Faith luckily hadn't taken off her snow coat.. so she was tightly bundled into her car seat and stuck in between pillows and blankets she had been resting on.. so she luckily didn't move an inch... but there we were.. in the mountains.. with no sign of life as we sat in the car in the ditch in the snow which could easily be passed by if you didn't look hard enough. The soft snow luckily cushioned the crash... but then suddenly the fear sunk in.. my sister began to cry and there I was.. shaking.. my hands wouldn't stop shaking... then faith began to cry sensing our fear... I knew i had to stay calm.. but as i entered 911 on my ph i kept getting NO SIGNAL .. my sisters ph the same. Panic was itching to sink in.. but all i kept thinking was stay calm. So there we are.. furiously trying to dig our way out with whatever we could find to help us.... cups, our feet, our hands... but it was pointless. at this pt we had been in this ditch for almost an hour... we were cold.. wet... my body was beginning to break down... and we both accepted we just had to wait for someone to find us... FINALLY after a handful of asshole semi's passed us by... a young man in a pick up stops and offered to help... he successfully pulled us out.
But once we tried to drive the car we knew something was wrong... and here we were again, alone with no signal.. the man was in a hurry and took off.. and the car was leaking fluid and no heat was coming out.
End of story is we got car towed damn near 60 miles into the next town.. had car fixed while we rented a room and waited it out.. funny thing is the mechanic said there was no actual damage from the impact.. all the damage was from the young man who wrapped a rope around "something" and when he pulled us out he broke our radiator and a few other things... Ahh, so be it. So we got back on road as soon as it was ready.. and 16 hours later we arrived home- at 8 this morning... SAFE and SOUND.

Thank God the remaining stretch was peaceful...

The only scare was when I knocked out for a bit... and i suddenly woke up and when I look forward this is what I see....

My nerves were so shot, at first glance it appeared as if the semi was coming straight at us... lol, I must have screamed soo loud... but seconds later realized it was attached to the back of a semi... lol.

Needless to say it was a nightmare i don't ever want to repeat.. but we are safe.. together.. and I'm just happy to have my sister and niece here with me in my home... many lessons to be learned that's for sure. And im still an avid beliver that everything happens for a reason.
and well, noooo road trips for me for a WHILE!