Finally, Home Sweet Home.

Boy, am I happy to be on land and to sleep in my own bed! I departed Vienna, Austria on Monday at 7:40 am, headed to London where I had a six hour lay-over. I had tried to reroute my trip through Brussels, Belgium instead of London to have time with in-country friends, but the cost to change that leg of my trip was outrageous. Just not possible or feasible for me at this time and I knew I could keep myself busy at Heathrow Airport with my Kindle and with people watching.

However, six hours are six hours and they dragged on and finally, I headed to JFK Airport, the longest leg of the trip. I actually dreaded that flight as I don't usually find sleep when I'm flying, it has always eluded me. But, I'm happy to say that as the passengers got settled in their assigned seats, I had two empty seats, one on either side of me! That has never happened! The guy across from me had four empty seats in his row and I could tell we were both dreaming of stretching out. I might be able to sleep, I thought!

The guy and I eyed the stragglers who entered the plane minutes before take-off and I was praying that they wouldn't be sitting next to me. At that moment, more than any other time, I wanted that door to close! Close, dammit! Ha ha~! Passengers around me eyed empty seats, wondering how fast they could stand up and claim a seat or two once the doors closed and the pilot asked the flight attendants to take their seats. When we heard the doors close, the guy and I exchanged high five's like we'd just made a slam dunk! Yes! Sleep was possible! He immediately stretched out across the five seats and I gathered the three blankets and pillows, ready for a movie on my choice of three screens! Life is good!

I watched one movie and actually fell asleep during the second film, only to be woken by the flight attendant asking me if I wanted a beverage. Nooooo! I sat up, politely asked for a Bloody Mary, heavy on the vodka, hoping it would lull me back to sleep. Nothing doing. I rewinded the movie (isn't that an awesome feature?!) and watched until the end and then, dinner was served.  And, what a wonderful dinner it was--curried chicken on basmati rice. I was able to catch a few winks and before I knew it, we were landing in JFK. I took the red eye to Washington, DC and boy, were my eyes red!!

British Airways, I love you.

All in all, I had a wonderful time with my friend K in Austria, Romania and Hungary. I miss her already. I had a great flight back to the DC area where my friend D and her boyfriend picked me up at the airport. I spent two relaxing days with them, spoke to my gorgeous children and caught up with the daughter of my oldest and dearest friend N who passed away while I was gone. I missed her by a day and also missed her Muslim funeral on Monday as I was flying home. She will be sorely missed.

My friend N never regained her speech nor mobility after her stroke. I believe I grieved for her during the year she spent in the nursing home or it just hasn't hit me yet. I miss our morning phone calls and I'm reminded of the many trips we took together in my 20's onto my 50's. A long friendship that I will always treasure.

N kept a photo album of all our trips and I asked her daughter if I could possibly have that album. N always managed to get the best photos of our trips and it will give me a lot of comfort. Her daughter graciously said yes and for that I am very thankful.

Rest in eternal peace, N. You will never be forgotten.

Peace and love,
Ellie

That's Life - Asi Es La Vida

You see this Spanish-style house with the light blue shutters? I used to own it. The house sits between two vineyards in a small French village. It was sold after my divorce when I'd moved back to the US. I loved that house. We have many happy memories of that time in our lives.

There's a house in Puerto Rico with a tiled roof, very similar to this house. My grandparents used to own it. Neither house belong to me or my family any longer. Both houses were sold because life is life and it goes on whether we approve or like it one bit.

My maternal grandparents owned the house in Puerto Rico where I lived when I was a week old. That house was a constant in my life until my mother passed away in 1992 and my grandmother decided it was too much house for her after my grandfather passed away. I think she was running away from memories and the loss of two daughters, as well. I didn't blame her. You can't walk through the house without memories rushing in.

Family Christmas parties and parrandas, summer vacations from May to late August when my mom, sister and I would visit, and the year we lived with my grandparents, waiting for my father to return from Vietnam. The toilet where the iguana came out of and the chaos that ensued, graduation from high school when we lived in Puerto Rico for two years and returning to the island with my daughter when I was pregnant with my son. Another summer when my then-husband, my kids and I vacationed in PR when we lived overseas. So many memories. This house was my home - my refuge, my solace and my love.

So you see, this house isn't just a house to me. It is so much more than that. I'd wanted to buy my grandparent's house. While my then-husband and I considered the purchase, a family member bought it. I was bummed, but very glad that the house where I spent many happy times members would remain in the family. Her in-laws immediately moved in and lived there until she sold the house. I didn't know a thing about the sale until I visited Puerto Rico last December with my friend. I was dumb-struck and heartbroken when I'd found out it had been sold.

I parked the rental car across the street and immediately, I found it hard to speak. The white house was now painted a charcoal gray, not appropriate for a tropical climate. As soon as my friend D and I exited the car, I felt greeted by my departed grandparents, my mother, aunts and uncles and a cousin who died when he was 18. Memories of family photos taken in the front garden when I was little rushed in. I showed D the place where I cut the salamander's tail off to see if the myth was true about the tail remaining 'alive' afterward. The spot along the wrought-iron fence where a boy named Richard said he loved me just before my high school graduation and the enclosed porch, malquesina, where my daughter proudly showed her grandmother and great-grandmother her dancing skills while my son chased lizards in the back patio, under the huge mango tree.

I had tears in my eyes as the new owner's daughter gave me a tour of my grandparent's house. The floor tiles were the same, the remodeled bathroom was still yellow, and the kitchen where my grandmother lovingly prepared food hadn't changed. It will always be my family's house to me. My bedroom was non-recognizable, however. I got ready for my Junior and Senior Proms in that room, I cried there when my boyfriend died in a motorcycle accident, and when the room used to be my grandparent's room. There are stories of me as a toddler, ripping my grandfather's newspaper in shreds before he came home from the bank at noontime and of me as a teenager having a hissy fit that my grandmother was holding me hostage when my parents flew back to the US on business. She had a ring of keys to prove that she was in charge, much like a prison marm :)

I cried for my mother, my grandparents and the past as the tour came to an end. I had mixed emotions, I didn't know what to do with. I wanted to tell the new owner that she shouldn't have bought the house and at the same time, I was thankful that she'd been home and offered us a tour. I felt closer to my mother and my grandparents; there were around me, but I also felt like an interloper. I missed my mother so much at that moment and shook my head to compose myself as we headed to the cemented patio where a lush tropical garden had been.

"The mango tree is gone," I said to the new owner. She looked at me for a moment and said, "I didn't know you ever lived in this house."

Oh yes, I did. And, then some.

Some days, we're more nostalgic than others. Maybe it's all the cold meds I'm taking?

Peace and love,
E

Making Sense of a Senseless Act

Good morning,

Yesterday, I didn't turn on the television until late afternoon after being glued to CNN on Friday after I came back from running a few errands.  I was at the laundromat washing my couch slip cover and cushion covers when the woman next to me put her hands over her mouth and muffled, "Oh, my God."  Of course, the women closest to her, including me looked at her to see what was the matter and she pointed at the television set.  I remember the time was nearly eleven o'clock.  I made a mental note that I'd forgotten to add fabric softener to the industrial machine, but couldn't stay away from the television.  Not much was known at that point.

The three women and myself at the laundromat wrestled to process and fathom how a human being could take the lives of children, any one really, but especially children.  Through our brief conversations, we found out that we were all mothers and two were grandmothers. We had tears in our eyes and the eldest woman turned away, she couldn't watch anymore.  She reminded me of my grandmother and how she flew back to Puerto Rico when it was clear that my mother was dying in the hospital.  That stunned me, but I also understood what my grandmother was saying, she couldn't buy another daughter.  I was a mother, I understood, but would be lying if I said that I didn't want her with me during that horrible time.  I couldn't judge her.  I hadn't walked in her shoes.  Maybe the older woman at the laundromat had lost children and grandchildren, as well?

I gathered my laundry, said prayers on my drive home, and immediately turned on the television.  As the night progressed, I became annoyed and surprised that parents would allow their children, students at Sandy Hook to be interviewed instead of rushing home and circling the wagons in safety.  I caught my annoyance and reprimanded myself.  I didn't know the circumstances, the parent did what he or she thought was right. Not the time or place to judge, I thought.  She knows her child. Maybe her child needs to speak to process and heal?

Anderson Cooper was on and he said that the station had decided not to mention the shooter's name any more than necessary.  I agreed with that.  Then, the gun lobbyists and anti-gun folks came on the air, arguing back and forth.  President Obama spoke and spoke about "meaningful" changes that had to be made.  I agree with that.

After awhile, I decided to check Facebook and friends and family were posting status updates on gun control, Autism, sharing prayer requests and news links as more information became available.  I shared a prayer for the children, their families and for the staff of Sandy Hook.  I understood people's anger and frustration about guns getting into the wrong hands, but I felt that maybe it wasn't the time to argue about guns.  Twenty precious children and six staff of Sandy Hook had been gunned down.  But, then I thought...if not now, when?

Were we being disrespectful by talking about guns, mental illness, the shooter and his family and not focusing on the issue at hand - the death of innocent children and adults?  I could understand people's anger and frustration, I was angry and frustrated, as well.  How could this happen?

I believe most people want to do the right thing in difficult situations, but we can only express what we express because of our life's experiences.  Who's to say what's right, appropriate and sensitive?  We all process information and grieve in myriad ways.  Who's to say what's right and what's wrong in any given situation?  It's human nature to judge other's actions, thoughts and beliefs and I believe most people want to do the right thing.

"She shouldn't have said that!"  "Why did he do that?"  We try to make sense of other's actions and without all the facts, we'll probably miss the mark.  We may never know why that young man did what he did.  Some people blamed the press, his mother, others blamed our society, many blamed guns, a few said our President wasn't really crying, only looking for sympathy votes.  A few said they were appalled and outraged that people were posting updates on Facebook yet they themselves had just posted on Facebook.

We are all trying to make sense of a senseless act - in our own way.  With the life experiences we'd had.  We all filter life and what life throws us through our own lenses.  I finally posted something that has bothered me since 2010 - how children fall through the cracks in our schools in this country.  How bullying can affect some children.  How children can check out of residential treatment centers at 18 years of age in Maryland with severe behavioral, emotional, and mental issues.  I could put two and two together because I'd seen it; I worked in one such center.  I took it even further - what if these children couldn't afford the meds they really need and got a hold of a gun?  It made sense to me.

Another person could read my status update and think, "How could she post that?"  "How insensitive in light of what just happened!"  Well, if you've never worked in a residential treatment center, you might not have share my opinion.  It won't make sense to you.  I thought of parents with children with emotional issues, mental issues.  Their views would be completely different than my own.  Perhaps, a parent saved his family because he had a gun when an intruder entered their family home.  The world looks completely different from where we stand.

We're grieving those senseless and brutal deaths. The more information that comes forth, the more vivid my mental images are - of their last moments, their last breaths.  As a parent, it's unfathomable to me.  The parents and family's grief isn't anything I can ever know as I've never lost a child.

People immediately had negative comments about Emilie's father on the news last night speaking about his beautiful six year old daughter.  Who are they to judge?  We all grieve in many different ways.  He's doing what he feels he needs to do.  Full stop.

Is there a right and a wrong way to grieve and process information?  Not in my book.  We're all doing what we can in our own way with life has given us.

Peace and love,
Ellie