¡Feliz Navidad!

Today is the day we commemorate the birth of our Savior, Jesus Christ.  In remembering the everlasting and greatest gift to humanity from God, we celebrate by giving gifts to all the persons in our lives that we love and cherish.  The best gift of all is love, the love we share and manifest throughout the whole year in so many different ways.  Just to name a few of those ways that have lifted my spirit or made me feel good I came up with this short list:

·        smiles that brighten an otherwise cloudy day;

·        unexpected phone calls just to say hello;

·        spontaneous hugs or kisses;

·        hilarious emails that make me laugh out loud;

·        getting together with friends to talk, have coffee or tea and cookies and cake;

·        having quiet time and reminiscing about the many, many wonderful moments I have had with my family and friends in the past.

Christmas is very special to me in many ways.  I especially love to remember my childhood and all the happy times I had with my parents, siblings and family that include the special foods, going to church for the Christmas pageant, and the anticipation of receiving gifts, always hoping to get that one special item we had requested. For me the best was the Christmas tree with its sparkling lights and ornaments that filled the living room with magic, pine scent and excitement. 

My sister Abby and I share the same feelings about Christmas, especially the tree.  We think this began for us as sisters during a Christmas holiday that my mother left us, four children, at my grandmother’s house during two weeks while she went off to Puerto Rico with her sister, Elba.  Abby was only a year and a half and I was almost eleven.  I think Abby felt abandoned (the first few days she cried a lot) and my natural protective instinct took over; I became her surrogate mother.  Even though we had adult supervision by our grandmother and Aunt Carmen, I took care of Abby all the time.  I made sure she ate and that she was happy.  The memory that often comes to mind is how every night I sat in grandma’s rocking chair in front of the Christmas tree with Abby on my lap and sang holiday songs till she fell asleep.  Unknowingly to us as children, we were forging a strong lifetime bond of love between sisters.

There are many other moments that fill my heart and that I hope to never forget. For a few years in our family we were only three children, each one of us two years apart in age.  Those early Christmases are real to me too and I revel in them from time to time.  The following poem is a walk down memory lane when it was only my sister Lily (deceased), my brother Joseph and me; Abby and John came into the family later.

Life is Good

Sometimes I need to reconnect with my childhood.

It’s a longing that magically conjures images,

images that make me feel all warm & peaceful inside.

I close my eyes and there we are,

my sister, my brother, & me,

in our secret hallway closet playing house.

The tea sets, mini pots & pans, dolls and

blankets are all around us.

The minutes & hours tick on,

but we don’t care.

I don’t want to open my eyes,

life was so simple back then.

I close my eyes again and there we are,

my sister, my brother, & me,

in the sun filled backyard,

under the garden hose that Mom tied

to the clothesline.

We squeal & jump up & down

as the cool water sprays

our hot & sweaty little bodies.

I wish I didn’t have to open my eyes,

life was so sweet back then.

Sometimes I don’t need to close my eyes.

When I sit in front of my own Christmas tree,

alone, in a dark and hushed house,

I am mesmerized by the sparkling lights and

soothing aroma of pine that permeates the air,

I remember the Christmases of long ago,

I even taste the anticipation,

the excitement of Christmas morning.

I hear the squeals of delight for

the dollhouse, the Lionel train, the flirty eyes doll;

everything we wished for was there!

Life was so blissful back then.

It seems I cannot let go of those moments;

or is it that I don’t want to let go?

All I know is that there are times,

in the midst of my life so hurried,

when I need to go back for an instant

to recapture and relive

the simple, sweet, & blissful times,

for the child that reveled in them is alive &

yearns to be reminded that life is still good.

I hope this special time of the year brings back good memories to all of you.  I know that some are suffering greatly this Christmas because of unexpected losses and my heart goes out to them. However, I too have gone through great losses in my life and I can truly say that over time, even though the scars remain, the wounds have healed and I can laugh and enjoy life.  I believe we need to keep that inner child alive no matter our chronological age.  I know that and this Christmas I gifted my inner child.  Merry Christmas!!!

                                                                                                                      

Tragedy Strikes Again

Disbelief. Evil. Senseless. Rage. Pain. Anguish. Heartache.  Sorrow.

Grief. Compassion. Empathy. Prayer. Supplication.

            These are a few of the words that describe my thoughts and emotions as I sat in front of the television watching and listening to the horrific events in Newtown, CT.  I know this same wave of emotions swept the nation.  Even today, it seems like a nightmare and yet it is the stark and abysmal reality of what our nation has collectively undergone.  If we, in our distant homes, feel the pain and helplessness, imagine what the parents and families of those massacred are feeling and will continue to experience for a long, long time.  I can only pray that their hearts be consoled in whatever way is meaningful to them and that they have the strength to go forward through the dark valley they are now treading until the day comes when they can regain some sense and direction in their lives.  It will never be the same, but they will be able to go on.

            This inconceivable catastrophe brought a poem to mind that I shared many times with my literature students.  It is by Mary Connell and was published in her poetry book titled Help Is On The Way (1986).  I ask that you allow these words to penetrate your hearts; hold on to them in a meaningful way, especially the last two stanzas.

            Final Sightings

            That which commences must end, alas.

            It is implicit in the first time that there should be a final one.

            Maybe it will come to a close spectacularly

            on some Tuesday afternoon in a country like Norway,

            where everyone is wearing furs except yourself

            and the street lights are burning all day long.

            And perhaps it will last happen on an ordinary Saturday morning

 at home,

            while the percolator is muttering to itself

            and the Dallas Times Herald is lying in the rose bushes,

            its secrets guarded by thorns.

            But if it is of human origin, it will sometime stop.

            It will eventually happen for the last time,

            And likely no one will know when it happened

            that it stopped happening.

            A mother may someday remember that her son who is in the third grade

            used to sit on her lap, and does so no more.

            But she will not remember which time was the last time,

            This is probably merciful. It would not do, I think,

            for her to know he was seeking that comfort finally.

            She might tend not to release him – to hold him until

            he squirmed and kicked and screamed,

            breaking the Satsuma table lamp and bringing the neighbors

gasping in.

            So it is with every sweet occurrence

            That lends any sense or comfort to our lives.

            The ultimate gaze, the final phrase, is pretty hard to recognize.

            So kiss me every time you go, against returning so obscure.

            For, even though I think I know a certain thing, I can’t be sure.

            And joy of such dimensions makes a wise man insecure.

Nostalgia

                                   

As I watched the Banco Popular of Puerto Rico Christmas special this past weekend, I had an overwhelming feeling of nostalgia.  For about twenty years the historical and possibly largest bank of Puerto Rico has produced a Christmas program that presents the traditions of the island through song and dance.  Some years the show has been dedicated to outstanding composers, poets, or musicians; this year the theme was the island’s music recording industry from the 1940’s to the present. 

Music and dance have always been an integral part of the Puerto Rican people inherited from its early inhabitants, the Taino indigenous people, and through the integration of different groups that colonized the island, mostly the Spaniards and Africans.  Just like the people of Puerto Rico reflect a fusion of many cultures and races, the music and dances are testimonies to its rich cultural heritage.  This year’s presentation touched upon the different music genres that have been a part of the lives of Puerto Ricans over the years.  In addition to music and dance, spectacular scenes of different parts of the island were part of the show; from its sandy beaches and deep blue oceans to the lush green mountain sides, it brought back many memorable moments and of course, nostalgia.

As I reflected on the content of the program I also thought about my own life and how I was blessed to have gone to the island of Puerto Rico as a young woman and establish residence there for 42 years.  I learned so much about my heritage culture and was able to integrate that culture into my life in a more complete way than when I lived in Brooklyn, NY.  My life was enriched in many ways through Puerto Rico’s history, literature, music, theater, art, and most of all, through the beautiful people who live on the island.

I do not live there now because of decisions one makes in lieu of responsibility and moral obligation, yet I dream that there will come a time when I will be able to divide my life equally between Puerto Rico and continental USA. Dreams are essential in our lives, the day we stop dreaming we stop living.

Following is a poem that tells how I see myself in this complicated world of dreams and realities.

                      WHO ARE YOU?

You ask who I am; I say I am a woman,

Born in a city teeming with diversity,

to a Puerto Rican jíbara and a New York City guy.

I flourished between two worlds,

two cultures, and two languages.

At times I was integrated, dichotomized at others.

I learned to savor arroz con gandules, pasteles y lechón,

yet also relished turkey, stuffing, yams, and pumpkin pie.

I was taught to say, “Bendición, Mami,”

before going to sleep at night,

and in the morning, “See you later, Dad,”

as off to school I went.

Who am I?

I am a woman who remembers iridescent snow flakes falling,

The crunch beneath my boots, the wind stinging my face,

eyes smarting & crying.

Christmas trees sparkling,

glimmering ribbons, red & gold,

tinsel shimmering in dusky darkness;

the comfort of warm, pine scented homes.

Who am I?

 I am a woman who was reborn on a tropical island;

 the island of my heritage that slowly and

 almost imperceptibly made its way into my heart,

 permanently.

 The island where I blossomed,

 and dared to dream a different life,

 and then went on to experience it

 in depths and dimensions of joy and pain

 that I could not have imagined, ever.

 It is the island where my existence,

 past and present, crystallized.

  

 Who am I?

 I am a woman who loves the early morning

 mist of tropical winters,

 palms waving in a delicate breeze,

 blue-green ocean, swaying, seducing,

 cool, lazy evenings that lull,

 rain soaked grass and dripping ferns,

 the orchestrated songs of coquies in the night.

 Who am I?

 Sometimes I am distinctly Puerto Rican,

 other times undeniably American.

 Most times I feel unique; harmoniously interwoven.

 I revel in the differences and repose in the sameness.

 You can call me Nuyorican, Puertorriqueña, Latina or Americana,

 It really makes no difference,

 For when I look inside myself or in the mirror glance,

 I know who I am.

                                                Mildred Santiago

Jíbara – country girl

Arroz con gandules = rice and pigeon peas

Lechón asado  = roast pork

Pasteles  -  meat pies made with plantains and other roots; Christmas tradition.

Bendición Mami –  Bless me Mom (traditional custom that some still practice as a greeting when arriving at grandmother’s or mother’s home and at night before going to sleep).

Coquies (coquí)  – tiny tree frogs that sing loudly at night, especially when it rains.