Here's just a question that I would like to pose.  If you feel like sharing, please do.  I'm writing a story about two people who are linked in grief, kind of a macabre love story.  What I want to know is how men process grief.  I don't know many grieving men.  My brother-in-law finds solace in religion.  I do not.  But he's still wonderful, it's just what helps him and what he wants to do to help the world.  We all have our differences of opinion, don't we?  I remember when I posted the last post, there were many comments from women on my Facebook page, but none from men.  I've known men that have written beautiful songs about grieving, but I really want to know - are there male writers out there who have tackled this subject?  I know that it's difficult.  The loss of a parent, loved one, friend, or a spouse is very traumatizing.  Perhaps my issue is that I got a few minutes with a box in a room to yell at my husband after death, and I really don't have a cemetery plot to visit.  Does that help?  Does anything help?
Do men talk to their dead loved ones?  I know that my son used to talk to his father and call him the man in the moon.  In fact, he's quite angry now that he says he can't talk to his father anymore.  Is that because you grow up and as a man you have a switch that turns off any outward emotion?  I don't think that's healthy.  Here is a call to all evolved men.  Please answer it.  I think it will help you.  We are all here to help one another, you see.  Also, if you are a woman and feel that you need to get out your grief, by all means, please do so here.  If anyone understands it, and wants to help you, it is me.

Here's what few people know, unless of course, they've read 'Practical Mourning' on All Voices...I am a widow.  Because of that fact, I find it very hard to move on.  Is it because there's not a great caliber of men out there?  I do not think so, at least I hope not, for all the single women out there.  The reason that I find it so hard to move on is my husband, himself.  He acted Irish, but according to his mother was truly German.  That explains the temper!  He was the kind of person that would cover the entire wall with art from the spaghetti scene from Disney's "Lady and the Tramp", merely because I was gone for a four day wedding for a friend.  He was such a devoted husband that he insisted on attending my baby shower.  When I actually had the baby, he passed out, and four nurses surrounded him, asking if he was all right.  See, he was very, well-extremely good looking, and I had to remind the horny wenches that I was having a baby, damn it!  The truth is, while I could move on, I don't want to.  It took him four to five proposals to get me to agree to marry him and I TRULY loved him.  The fact that he's gone now is okay, I've made peace with it.  But I always hope that he has found peace somehow.  Either way, he's free from his addiction and free from pain. I move on with the wonderful memories that he's left me, and the fact that no one could ever take the place of the only person who could have talked me into an idea as ridiculous as marriage.  A promise for life, really, who know what life holds?  But wherever you are Sammy, I did love you.   There a few people that truly understand the beauty that can lie in tragedy, but I knew him in person. I was imperfect, but Sammy was a blessing and I am always grateful to have known, loved and married him.

I'm doing research on misogyny in religion and it's really becoming a passion for me.  It all started with my main character who is an outspoken atheist author in my new book.  So, as an author, I had to come up with what she would be writing about.  It's kind of an odd double life.  I feel as though she has the courage to tackle non-fiction in a way that I could only hope to do.  I am so grateful for my education at Augustana College at this point though.  I'm taking hours researching and trying to look into all of the angles because that's what I was taught to do.  Many of you know that I am agnostic, until there is proof, I cannot abide on faith alone.  It's done too much damage to our modern world.  However, I remember that some of the courses that I enjoyed the most in college were my religion courses.  It's a strict Lutheran college that demands that you take 2 religion courses.  Of course, I was always the devil's advocate.  I remember arguing that a person could seriously make so many connections between Bush's (Jr) presidency and his use of religion and Hitler's rise in Germany using religion.  They denied some of the sources that I wanted to use, but my professors enjoyed the fact that I read everything they gave me.  Had it not been for them I would never have studied Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a deeply religious man who was killed because he was involved in a plot to kill Hitler.  He had such a beautiful soul.  I remember reading his letters to his wife, Maria, while he was imprisoned and I just sighed.
The one thing that I love about research is that it takes you places you never thought you would go.  Whoever thought that I would agree with a Rabbi quoted on Jezebel.com who advocates that women and their dress, and the perception of male weakness is a falsehood.  Men should control their lustful thoughts, no one is "asking for it".
Also, I never knew that the theories of L. Ron Hubbard included one sentence in which women should not be allowed an active role in politics or business as that would be "detrimental to society".
I feel grateful that I now have the time to research these gender issues and would welcome any comments or suggestions on further readings on these topics.  Until then, I'm signing out to research!  ;)

Perhaps this is no surprise, but I absolutely suck at romantic relationships.  I think it's that feeling of putting all your weight on a branch and getting ready to fall.  That's probably why they call is falling in love.  Who knows?
So here goes, this new guy that I am kind of seeing is really just a friend so far.  He is leaving for his homeland in 2 months.  There is war there and he will be there for a month, and then will hopefully come back.  Part of me is horrific and self-protective, the common sense part, and just saying, "okay we'll make sure he comes back and then emotionally commit".  Part of me wants to dive right in and fall.  We both work really weird and crazy schedules and it's hard to see one another anyway.  But something about him makes it easy to discuss anything.  You really don't find that in normal, every day life.
Can you tell I'm riding the fence?
Guess I'll always be Voluntarily Solitary at this rate, right?  But why should self protection be a bad thing?  If a person really wants to be with you, they should be into protecting your feelings too, right?  I'm much better at thought that goes through a logical progression than all of these feelings.  Is anybody with me on this?

I was in bed after the alarm rang this morning, just trying to wake up to be capable of making coffee.  That was when I heard this great howling coming from outside.  Our cat often sneaks out when my son's friends come to visit at night, so I thought, no problem I will just let him in.
I went to the front door, no cat.  At the back door, there was no cat.  When I went back to the front door again, there was this even louder desperate howl.  I looked all over the yard, but couldn't find him.  That's when I realized that he was above me.  Yes, ladies and gentleman, my cat was on the roof.
I tried to get him to come down and jump into my arms, but he was shaking and terrified.  In retrospect, I would have been trembling too, had our positions been reversed.  So then, ever the logical person, I got a chair and tried to climb onto it, and from my height on the porch I could reach him, but only one leg and he kept backing up in fear of losing control.
I woke my son Bobby up, who is much taller than me.  He tried to help me, but just couldn't get him down either and he was trying to get some sleep before work.  I tried my other son, George.  He woke up, was kind enough to stand precariously on a chair, while I grabbed Beni's favorite yoga mat and put it out to get him.  (He loves yoga)).  Anyway, this odd situation worked and my cat, the climber is home.
After a rude awakening like that, is it possible to have a normal day???

It's crazy how much a person relies on and loves their Mom, isn't it?  You call her when your spaghetti sauce sucks to find out why.  You call her if the kid has a fever because she always knew what to do.  You call her just to hear her voice, even if it makes you cry because it's only gonna be available for a short time.
I guess my real problem is that my Mom was this free spirit that took us to Hindu churches, that studied Wicca, that was an amazing painter and artist and that lived in a Westfalia Vdub for a year and a half, surfing up and down the California coast.  She was all these things that I always admired and respected.  She had her lows, but it's because she threw herself heartily into life.
Now, she has decided to die.  Dialysis isn't a viable option for her because of her various other health conditions, and so she is slowly getting more toxins in her blood day by day.  They say two to six months, which started a couple of months ago.
Sometimes, she's up for a chat.  Sometimes she's exhausted with the nausea, headaches, and diarrhea that come with this condition.  But she really enjoyed the idea that I would visit her one last time.  It seemed stupid to wait until she was gone.  Why?  I couldn't help but to see her and to talk about her plans now.  She always has plans you see.  She intends to be cremated so that she can forever surf the waves.  I intend to take her ashes to New Jersey because that's where she was born and it's where I've always felt the most alive, on the boardwalk.  We donned our suits and turned heads together, her and I, back in the day.  We played games and we ate ginormous pieces of pizza that only real Italians from New Jersey can produce.  She taught me the love of mobster movies, "wait, here's the horse head scene!", she would shriek in excitement.  The one thing that I think my Mom has taught me most was how to really, truly live.  Each breath, each weekend was an adventure.  She could make shopping fun.  She's just that kind of chic.  I have no doubt that she will ride the waves.  It's what she was always born to do.

    Thank you Tom.

I was working on my book, and as most of you know, it's about a little girl with AIDS and the urban family that comes to help her.  It reminded me of a moment that I had in my life that I really wanted to share with everyone because it's just uplifting.
I'm not a fan of politicians, I never have been.  So when we found out that Tom Daschle was going to be making an appearance at the AIDS house I worked at, I thought it was probably a photo opportunity or something.  We become so callous, don't we?  I guess it's because we don't often see humanity and government working together.
Anyway, my very best friend was a die hard Democrat from birth to death and he had been so excited that Tom Daschle was coming to visit.  It's unfortunate that AIDS seems to guess when your body needs health the most, and then it finds a new illness to confine you.  My poor friend was confined to his bed, and as the motorcade of special security pulled up with Tom in tow, I shook my head in sadness.
There were no photographers, there were only special security people like the ones you see in the movies.  But the man who came out was a lively man, Tom had a big smile and a handshake for everyone.  He listened to the residents that were well enough to talk to him.  He asked important questions about funding and what could be done to help the house with its goals.
At one point, I just had a gut instinct, so I said "Mr. Daschle, can I ask you for a favor?"
"Sure."  he said.
"My good friend is just a complete die hard fan of yours and of Democrats in general, but he's very ill.  Can you just poke your head in his room and say 'hi'?."
Tom Daschle wordlessly went to his room, and not only shook his hand, but sat on his bed and had a conversation.  My friend had tears of joy in his eyes.  So did the rest of us.
Perhaps Tom got run out by a bunch of conservative voters in our ridiculous state, but Tom Daschle amazed me with his humanity that day.
I don't know where you are to thank you, Tom, but I hope that you see this.  My friend has since died, but I know that in that moment, he truly lived.

So, today I walked nervously through the sunshine in my dress to meet my boss for coffee.  I had no idea what was up.  In all fairness, my boss is a basically decent guy.  But the coffee house is one in which an old flame works at.  To add to this, I quit my job and am in my last week of a month long notice.  So I walked quickly trying to figure out what it would be that he would want to say.  Was it an exit interview?  Was it so bad that we couldn't talk about it at the office?  Was I in some kind of trouble?  This was important because I still want to stay with the company to do freelance interpreting as well as the freelance writing that I do.  So it was a tense walk.
I arrived to find a welcoming atmosphere, it always is there, and a hug from the old flame.  After that I realized that my boss was behind him, awkward, but okay.  Anyway, he bought me coffee and a macaroon, like I said-he's a nice boss.  I settled in, nibbling nervously, and waiting for whatever lay ahead.
To my surprise, it was freedom.  I had worked most of my month and he would only need me one more full eight hour day.  I have been spending the last few weeks working 40-45 hours and then coming home and writing to submit my book to my agent for publication AS SOON AS POSSIBLE.  So this 48 hour stretch of time to write is like a gift. The hug from my dear friend was like sunshine.  The macaroon was one of the most divine morsels I've had the pleasure to eat.  And my boss's respect for me and my deadline was overwhelming.  It's not common that businessmen understand the need for freedom, and the need to get something done that is just for your own personal satisfaction.  I don't know if my book will sell a copy or a million.  I do know that it is a personal goal to get it done to raise awareness for people with AIDS in a way that incorporates a fun loving group of characters.  I hope that it works.
But today, as I walked back to try to finish things up at the office, I felt a sense of satisfaction and understanding from another human being that I have not felt in a long time.  Some of us need to demand our freedom, stretch our wings and see if we can fly.  Here I go!

Sometimes it's easy to get mired down by every day life.  But it's more difficult to see the good things that have happened to you and appreciate them.  Family, friends, work - all can let you down sometimes.  But only you can let life let you down.  I've always thought of life as one of those plastic clowns with the curved bottoms that you can punch and they spring back up.  There's no doubt about it, life can get challenging at times, but those times are just begging you to spring up and handle them.
It's also unimportant to be the most liked person in the world, because many of those people that are so popular rarely hold onto their own beliefs.  They are so busy pleasing others that they lose themselves.  Perhaps it's best to see life as a continual process of being the best YOU that you can be.  If you let others down, sure that can make you sad.  If you let yourself down, that can cripple you for life.  It's an ongoing mental decay that you see in many older people that never truly learned how to live.  The older people that I like are the opinionated ones, because they have the courage to be themselves.  We don't always agree, but we each try to state our opinions in a respectful way, because we will differ.  Understanding those differences and moving on with your life in your own way is the key.  Not trying to understand differences and being dogmatic is what usually leads to wars.  Verbal wars, physical wars and world wars; all cause damages that cannot be repaired.
Be the main character in your own novel, take possession and never let go.  It truly is your life.  No dress rehearsals allowed, you are center stage.  Get over the stage fright, over an mishaps and enjoy the occasional applause.

So, I got this publishing deal.  I'm a little scared.  I find myself reaching out for others, trying to find the expertise they have that I do not.  But the reality is that this is the second deal that I've been offered.  I've been published many times, some of which I'll share below, (beware, you may giggle).  I started writing when I was 12 and it was a serious endeavor.  It was a daily washing of my soul that helped me to remain sane, in touch with humanity, and somewhat happy.  Now, I watch my son write, and I feel such a huge amount of joy.  He will know that mental release that is like no other.

Dare To Dream

If you have seen a vision

that has filled you with desire

If you have tasted a dream

why can't it transpire?

When you close your eyes

and open your mind

let your thoughts flow

leave your worries behind

You're what you want to be 

a kite without a string

you can soar with the eagles

you can do everything

Do what you want 

don't let others slow you down

Don't let anything stop you

until your dream is found

This was written when I was 17, and I imagine it will be realized when my book gets published.

I have a friend who has rocking hair and blue jeans and just teaches me to be cool by the way that she smiles.  She's lived through war and hunger, she's known strength and resilience.  She is someone that I met through work that has taught me all of the wonderful things that a woman can be.  I am leaving my work soon, dedicating myself more to writing, perhaps interpreting and taking care of my son.  She made me the most beautiful bag, as a going away present.  What she doesn't know is that I use it to house my computer, which has all of my writing in it, and therefore my dreams.
I've used her bag, to walk back and forth from work - and I walk through a pretty questionable area.  People see the bag and automatically smile.  They know that it was made by a good spirit and that I carry it in peace.  (It broadcasts it with peace signs, see.)

But I guess the most happy thing about this truly rocking Bosnian bird of a friend is that I get to read her posts and thoughts in Facebook and find that we have such commonalities.  We are from completely different parts of the world, yet we both dig Sublime.  We both understand motherhood and the joys and pitfalls it entails.  I really feel that she is one of the most amazing people in the world.  But I know that if I state her name here, she'll kick my ass.  I am quite confident that she could.  And so I will just end this by saying that I'm so happy that you've flown into my life, Bosnian bird.  ;)

The Art of Redefining Yourself

Recently, I've had many changes in my life that have caused me to re-evaluate what my priorities are.  We all want to please everyone in our lives, but sometimes we don't realize that we are letting our own goals go by doing so.  We have one certainty in life, and that is that it doesn't last forever.  Therefore, it is important to do what you really want to do with your life while you are still here.  Many people that have had drastic health diseases have stated that they then realized what was truly important to them.  Why does it take such a drastic event?  Why do we wait so long or make excuses as to why we cannot reach our goals?  If you are waiting for something, anything, to be what you really want to be - you are deluding yourself.

So what do you do?  Re-evaluate.  Look at what it was that you wanted when you were a child. Does it match what you do now?  What did you study in college?  Are you fulfilling the goals you made there?  If you could tell anyone, this is what I do, do you feel pride in it?  These are tough questions to answer, and sometimes sacrifices need to be made to reach our goals.

This is why Dr. Seuss is my hero.   He was rejected 27 times.  Yet his persistence helped him to achieve his goals.  Emily Dickinson died never having been published, but surrounded by the work that she loved. 

Recently, a very good friend of mine had to redefine herself through no fault of her own.  She inspires me with her poetic eye and she actually got a job as a photographer.  This is her first paying gig doing something that she loves.

Life is short, make sure you love it.  After all, where would we be without a Dr. Seuss for our children?

Argentina, the land of passion.

Argentina is known for soccer, its architecture, its gauchos and its passionate people.  Whether they are arguing politics or who will win the next soccer match, they are enthused in their conversation.  Young people are very involved in politics and are well educated, thanks to a country that will give them a free education in any of its well known universities.
Although it is a young population, there is still diversity because many Europeans moved there after World War II, and so often more languages are spoken than just Spanish- the national language.  And even when they are out of the country fellow Spanish speakers can always tell an Argentinian accent by the way they say their "y's", its a more Portuguese J sound.

I came to know Argentina through my Aunt Marcela who lives there in La Plata, a mere hour from Buenos Aires, pictured above.  I came to love Argentina because of the culture.  People rarely watch TV, as most often, they are too busy debating.  Car accidents are taken care of by the drivers getting out of their vehicle and screaming at one another until they are tired, then they go home.  When their soccer team wins, it's like a holiday for Argentinians and you can hear car horns blaring throughout the city signifying their joy.

Argentinians are loud and mostly unapologetic for it.  But they also have a national pride that rivals most South American countries.  Both my father and my aunt were born in Bolivia, but to this day if we mention that we are Bolivian, my Aunt Marcela will give us a verbal assault for at least twenty minutes.

She's used to the city and her way of life and she loves Argentina more than Bolivia, because in Bolivia, social class is always an issue.  In Argentina, everyone is accepted, and everyone is up for arguments.  We would visit both countries when I was younger, and I always hated to leave Argentina.  From their drinkable yogurt to their passion for fried stakes, they are a beautifully cultured an diverse nation.

Tuesday - Tip day for Singles

Whether you are a single parent, or someone who is not, there are people that depend on you.  Whether it be people at work, members of the family or other important commitments to your community-single people are typically busy people.

This can be good and bad.  For example, sometimes when a person is over-committed, they can find themselves to be easily stressed.

Here are a few tips to take a couple moments for yourself:

1. Keep a Journal - Perhaps you don't feel that your life events are much entertainment for others, but they can be a great source of stress relief for yourself  In fact, many times I've looked at my own journal after a tough day and wondered what I had been so stressed about!
2. Music - Whether you like to jam out to punk or chill out with the classics, music has a calming effect that brings you back to yourself and what you love.  Sometimes, I will literally shut everyone out and just listen to high school tunes to laugh about the old times.  Whatever, it takes...
3. Exercise - Walking is the most comprehensive exercise and if it's done outdoors, nature can also have a calming effect on the soul.  But, some singles really like to hit the gym and get a good sweat going.  Whatever exercise you love, there is a reason that you enjoy it, and you should continue to do it for that reason alone.
4. Have lunch with a friend - I did this today, and sometimes it just helps you to process your thoughts when you talk about them with someone else.  You learn new things, because they know your interests and can recommend new books, movies, or ideas that you'd never considered.  

If there are tips that you would like to add, feel free to comment.  I'm always up for new ideas.  Signing out- Ms. Solitaire.

Bolivian Carnival Queens

My Cousin Vani - the model

The carnival is a special time in Bolivia.  It is when Santa Cruz shuts down for a week.  People have a water balloon day.  Everyone literally spends the day throwing water balloons at family, strangers, pets...no one is dry.  This is then followed by a paint balloon day in which the entire town is covered in different dark shades of rich fun.  As a child, I asked my mother what they do to the buildings that are covered in paint afterward.  She shrugged and said, oh they just repaint the entire city. 

My Aunt Ruthie walked from her house to her mother's and was completely purple.  It was quite lovely, she looked like someone out of a new age Broadway show.  Of course, the culmination is the crowning of the queen.  Being a woman in Bolivia is a tough business.  They never leave the house without make-up and a dress, usually accompanied by high heels.  Bolivian women are as strong as they are beautiful.  They accept compliments on their appearances gracefully, though they may have worked on these appearances for hours on end. 

But the truly amazing Bolivian woman is the carnival queen, (seen below),  who typically wears a sequined dress, matching heals and the most humongous head gear known to womanhood.  British women at the derby step aside, Las Vegas, you have nothing on us.  Most of these women are single because of the time it takes out of your life.  There are dress fittings, modelling shows, and public appearances.  I am proud to state that my cousin was a Carnival Queen. 

This is not my cousin, but she is an example of what I'm referring to.  With all that high head gear, who has time for a man?

The Original Ms. Solitaire
She had great legs and wore high heels well into her nineties.  She could pinch you with her toes hard enough to make you cry, I found this out the hard way because she slept with her eyes open.  As a child, I would always lean over her to ensure that she was still breathing.  That's when she'd pinch me with her toes and laugh so hard that tears rolled down her face.  She was the original Ms. Solitaire.
As part of the second famiy her husband chose to have, I'm sure that she was very disappointed by his early death.  She decided to leave her country to help care for my brother and I, her grandchildren.  She didn't know any English, which is just one example of her bravery.
She smoked a cigarette and occasionally drank one beer at night.  She drank honey and water in the morning, which she called her beauty treatment.  It worked.  She was tough, yet she never hurt me when combing through my long hair to get the tangles out.  She knew how to draw a bath with perfectly lukewarm water. 
She played solitaire, her favorite game.  I think it was symbolic of the way she lived her life.  She never remarried , she stuck to her ways and she was strong enough to be herself. 
My Grandmother, my Abuelita, the original Ms. Solitaire.

There are some of us that prefer the single solitary life.  I would like to dedicate my time to help support those of us who make this choice, willingly and happily.  We have no deficits.  We feel no losses.  We merely feel better on our own.  To all of you out there who share this opinion, I encourage you to spread the word that being voluntarily solitary is a choice that you've made for your life.  You have that right.  Be proud and enjoy your time doing the things that you really want to do.  We are all born alone, many of us die alone.  Some of us realize that it is a natural state.  We don't have to conform to the societal wish of marriage, two children, a dog and a mortgage.  For some of us, these things don't factor into our dreams at all.  Own your life, own your choice.  You have nothing to be ashamed of and a very interesting person to be proud of, yourself.