Tres Generaciones

In memory of my grandmother and in honor of my mother on this Mothers’ Day, I am re-posting this. I miss my grandmother everyday, especially today. I am mindful everyday, especially today, of how thankful I am for my mother for all her love, guidance and support throughout my life. Happy Mothers Day to all the mothers and  to all who act in mothering, nurturing ways.

My mother, my grandmother and I.

My mother, my grandmother and I.

This is a picture of my grandmother, my mother and I. My grandmother is 97 years-old and as you can tell from the spark in her eye, she is a firecracker. Lately, she is causing us some worry because she insists on living on her own.  She is independent, stubborn, resourceful and very loving. She has created many happy memories for me and her other 9 grandchildren. I think a lot of what my mother learned about being a mother, she learned from my grandmother.

This is my mother before she married my dad. My mom is the one who looks like she is 12 years-old and too young to be in Vegas with her girlfriends. She has always looked younger than her years.  When I was growing up I don’t think my mom ever weighed more than 110 pounds soaking wet.

In her late 20′s my mom met and married my dad. They started their family right away, with 3 kids  born 17 months apart. I don’t know how she did it. She says there was a time when my older brother, my younger sister and I were in diapers at the same time!  Eight years after my sister was born my dad said he wanted another boy. My mother agreed and 9 months later my younger brother was born. I don’t know how she did that! (Well, I do know how they did that, I just don’t like to think about it.)

When I was growing up my mother was in constant motion. Like many women of her day, she was a stay-at-home mom.  She made it look effortless. On our birthdays she organized parties for us and would invite the entire neighborhood.

We didn’t have bounce houses, clowns or magicians. We had my mom who would organize the games.

She was a soccer mom before there were soccer moms.

My mother didn’t just support my brother’s in their sports, she also supported me and my acting ambitions.  Here she is at one of my play productions, standing by while I sign autographs.

My mom wore many hats, including a barber hat.

Here she is in her laundress hat.

She rarely complained about her many household tasks, except when it came to do laundry. I didn’t understand why she disliked doing laundry for a family of 6. Now that I have my own family and my own endless pile of laundry, I understand.  But, at least I have a clothes dryer. Our family didn’t buy a clothes dryer until I was almost 13 years-old!

Something else happened when I was around 13 years-old, I suddenly knew everything there was to know about life.  Even though I still didn’t know how to do my own laundry, cook my own meals, or even pack my own school lunch, I knew more than anyone in my family, including my mother. Especially my mother. I would never stay home and raise children. I would work in show business, I would become a writer, or maybe even a lawyer. Thanks in part to my mom’s love and support,  I have had a turn doing all those things.  But wouldn’t you know it? I have also become a mom. Like my mom, I have two boys and two girls. Life has played a joke on me.  But my mom isn’t laughing. She is still here, supporting me, loving me and taking care of our family.  It’s something she learned from my grandmother, and something I hope I have learned from both of them. So, to my grandmother, and my mother…thank you and Happy Mother’s Day!

Dreaming of Italy

It’s hard to believe it’s been almost two years since I created my list of 50 Things to do Before my 50th Birthday. With my 50th birthday less than two months away, and a lot of my list unfinished, I have been thinking that my list is more of a Wish List than a To Do list. But, to be fair, even though I have not yet completed many of the projects on that list, I am proud of those things I have been able to attempt, some which I began to think I could never do.

Number 22 on my list–Travel to Italy– was something I began to feel certain was more of a dream than a possibility. Traveling to Italy is something I have wanted to do for the last 28 years. When I was 22 I saved my waitress tips and wages until I had earned enough to travel through Europe for six weeks. I was young and adventurous so sleeping on trains made possible for me to criss-cross the continent and wake up in a new country every couple of days. I traveled on $30 per day, making meals out of bread and cheese, and I economized, squeezing in as much as I could see on my limited budget. My first visit to Italy was brief but memorable and it left me waiting for a day when I could to return. Like most tourists, I dropped my coins in the Trevi Fountain and vowed to come back one day to soak up the wonderful culture, and dine on something beyond bread and cheese.

If I had I really considered what my trip to Italy without kids would cost my husband Juan and I in time, money and effort, I might never have made such a public proclomation to return to Italy. I guess I’d forgotten how expensive and all-consuming it is to raise three teens and an 8 year-old. Suddenly, it’s two months before my 50th birthday and Olivia is about to graduate from high school and embark on her dream to attend college. Nico and Erica are freshman in high school and are busier than ever. Diego’s schedule is packed full with baseball, choir and the school play. Yikes. What was I thinking? With college tuition on the horizon and the usual onslaught of end of school year events, Italy was looking more like a pipe dream. Juan and I discussed it and decided that travel to Italy would have to wait until, well who knew when?

Then, after a particularly stressful month involving all sorts of teen drama, coupled with a large dose of adolescent entitlement, I received an email blast from one of my favorite travel websites. Travelzoo was offering a reasonably priced package to Rome, Tuscany and Venice, complete with airfare, hotel and rental car. The trip itself was only 8 days but really that was about all I could spend away from work and home. It sounded wonderful, but not probable. I sent the email to Juan anyway. That night we looked at our budget, our calendars and decided we had to do it. The trip started out as my dream, but the more Juan and I talked about it the more it the more my dream became his wish too. We would be celebrating 10 years of marriage in June. Married life can be wonderful and challenging, and marriage in a blended family has more than its share of struggles. We really felt like we owed it to ourselves and ultimately to our family.

We went on-line and booked the package, along with the trip insurance that would refund the cost in the event of a medical emergency or death. It’s probably a good thing the insurance didn’t cover cancellation in case of unforeseen teenage angst, or 8 year-old son separation anxiety, because I might have needed to use it.

So, here I am on the plane to Rome. Juan and I have spent the last two days frantically trying to get ready for this trip. We want the trip to be unstructured to allow us some time to explore on our own, and most of all, slow down and soak up the Italian culture. It’s a good thing too, because we have had very little time to really plan where we are going and what we will see. We have a wish list but it’s just that, a wish list. I know we won’t do or see half of it, and that’s okay. I am mostly looking forward to reconnecting with my husband, celebrating nearly 50 years of my life and 10 years of marriage, and of course, eating some really good food, and drinking Italian wines.

I had to keep all my hopes for this trip in mind this last week as I coordinated with the other parents who will take care of Nico and Olivia and Erica, and as I did countless loads of laundry, shopped for groceries to keep Diego and our nanny fed while we are gone, created schedules, arranged childcare, carpools, wrote medical authorizations, jotted down endless lists, and even reviewed our Wills. At one point I was so stressed I joked that maybe we should fake a medical emergency so we could cancel our trip!

Last night Diego spent the night with his grandmother because we had to catch an early morning flight. He used his iTouch to call and FaceTime with us four times. He was trying to be brave but I could tell from the way he combed his hands through his hair and blinked his eyes, that he was already homesick and sad. He called us again early this morning, right before we boarded the first leg of our flight. He tried to hold back tears. I cut the call short for fear I would begin to regret this trip altogether, but before I hung up the phone I told him that I left a present for him at home. He seemed to brighten up at the idea of a surprise waiting for him.

I bought him a Dreamcatcher, and I wrote him a note. The Dreamcatcher is something he’s wanted since he saw his older brother’s hanging over his bed. In the note I wrote to Diego I explained that while his dad and I are gone, the Dreamcatcher would help him keep away bad dreams and we could see each other in his good dreams. We said good-bye and as I hung up the phone,  I was cheered by Diego’s smile and the thought of how happy he would be by the Dreamcatcher. Then, it suddenly occurred to me that giving him a Dreamcatcher as I travel to Italy is the perfect going away gift for me too.

A dream about to be realized.

A dream about to be realized.

Do you have any travel dreams you would like to see come true?

 

 

 

Experiencing Love in Holy Week

For the last two years on Good Friday, I published a post written after I attended the afternoon Good Friday services at my church. You can read that here. This year, I am unable to attend the afternoon services, but I will attend this evening’s Tenebrae Service. A lovely, candlelit service where we wait for the mystery of the resurrection.

Last night I attended another one of my favorite services of the year, Maundy Thursday. The Maundy Thursday service is the ritual foot washing, service among those congregants who wish to participate. The service reminds us of the caring and loving example that Jesus showed his disciples when he washed their feet. This foot washing service makes some people uncomfortable. I understand. I love this ritual but it took me a bit to become accustomed to it. Even the apostle Peter felt uncomfortable having Jesus wash his feet.

I sat in the pews with Juan and listened to the sermon in preparation of the foot washing, when I heard the rector say something which kind of startled me. He said, participation was greater than belief. He explained that one could be “religious” and believe in the mystery of the cross and the resurrection, but that was not greater than participation. He went on to say that Jesus gave us an example of participation when he washed his disciples feet, when he broke bread and served wine to the apostles during his Passover meal. Jesus gave us an example of participation when he did all of this on the last night he was alive, and when he told his followers to, “love one another as I loved you.”

I sat in the pew, moved by the prayers, the hyms, the dimly lit church and I watched as others in around me got up from the pews to have their feet washed and wash each others feet. Juan leaned over and said, “I want to be like Peter. I don’t feel like getting my feet washed.” I smiled at him and nodded. I understood how Juan, and maybe Peter felt.

This year Holy Week arrived before I was ready. I didn’t have a chance to get a pedicure. My toe nail polish was a mess, my feet were callused. I really didn’t want to wash anyone else’s feet either. Then, I thought about the photo I had seen earlier in the day. The photo of Pope Francis washing a woman’s feet and kissing them. So humble. So loving. How must that woman have felt?

Pope washes feet of young detainees in Holy Thursday ritual - Getty Images

Pope washes feet of young detainees in Holy Thursday ritual – Getty Images

Juan and I left our pew and walked to the foot washing station. I knelt before another parishioner who was seated before a basin. I introduced myself to her and one of the acolytes brought me a jug of warm water and a clean towel. I knelt down before the woman and poured the water over her delicate feet. I rinsed them, using my hands. I thought about what it meant to participate in this religious ritual. What it meant to be a servant, and care for others the way Jesus demonstrated to us. When I was done I dried her feet and we switched places. The acolyte brought us clean water, a dry towel, and an empty basin. She washed my feet, gently, carefully. It seemed to take forever. All the while I was aware of how uncomfortable I felt. Sure, I get pedicures, but this was so different. I could tell by the care she took to wash my feet that she was doing this out of love.

Perhaps that’s why the particpation part of religion is so important. I could have sat in the pew and prayed, sang hyms and gazed at the beauty of my surroundings. I could have looked on as everyone else particpated in the foot washing. I might have stood by while everyone else experienced love and demonstrated love. But, I woud have missed out on fully experiencing the most important message of day and Jesus’ lesson to us all, “love one another.”

 

From My Couch to My First 5K

When I began my list of 50 Things To Do Before My 50th Birthday I (impulsively) added, number 33 “Run Participate in a Half-Marathon.” You’ll notice I said participate, not run.I’m a lawyer and a blogger, so I know I should choose my words carefully. I committed to participate because I didn’t know if I could ever be that kind of person who actually runs. I have never liked running, and I never understood those people who gushed when they talk about running and the runner’s high they get after breezing through an easy 2 or 3 mile jog. For me, running has always been a slog, something I had to do when my P.E. teacher punished us with laps around the track. So, you can imagine that it was a real leap for me to even think about participating in a half-marathon. But, my list of 50 Things to Do Before My 50th Birthday is about challenging myself to do things outside my comfort zone. Besides, if not now when I am nearing 50, then when will I ever run in a half-marathon?

I told my friend Julie about my public proclamation to participate in a half-marathon and because she knows me so well, she laughed out loud and said, “What do you mean participate? Are you going to pass out water in those little cups?” She was right. Merely participating is too wimpy, too non-committal. If I was going to do it, I really needed to do it, and soon. My 50th birthday was approaching. Just after the New Year, Juan and I were sitting on our couch, sipping coffee on a lazy weekend morning and I was browsing through my Instagram feed when I spied a photo posted by Catalina, a local blogger I follow. She had posted this:

The photo that inspired me. Thanks Catalina!

The photo that inspired me. Thanks Catalina!

It seemed Catalina was working her way to a 5K on a treadmill with an app, and she was posting her progress on line. That was my “Come to Jesus” moment. I knew I could not put this running thing off any longer. I asked Juan if he wanted to run with me and he agreed. We decided that we work our way up to a half-marathon and begin by running in the LA Big 5K, on the LA Marathon Weekend. We downloaded the Couch to 5K app on our smartphones and the next morning we began Week 1 of the 8 Week training program. We started out with four intervals of 2 minute jogs and 2 minute walks. That first morning I felt like I was going to pass out!

We kept at it and ran three times a week with this program, increasing our jogging time while decreasing our walking time and intervals. I gradually built up my endurance and soon we began running around the Rose Bowl with dozens of other joggers and fitness enthusiasts. I actually began to feel athletic. By week 8 I was running for 30 minutes straight and no longer felt like I was going to stroke out. Nevertheless, I still didn’t love running, and during the first 10 minutes of my runs, all I could think of was, “This hurts. I want to stop. Why can’t I breathe?” But after about 10 minutes my body would finally take over. Running became easier and almost meditative, even if I didn’t experience a runner’s high.

Finally, the day I trained for arrived. Last Sunday Juan and I woke up early and joined 3000 participants at Dodger Stadium for the LA Big 5K. We all gathered at the starting line and soon we were off! At least some of the runners in front were off. Those of us in the back moved en masse, walking more than running as we wound our way through the parking lot of Dodger Stadium. As I picked up my pace along the course I realized that this was not the easy, flat terrain I had trained on. There were some down slopes but my legs felt like most of the course was uphill. Juan hit his stride and broke away from me. I was in a pack of runner/walkers until the first big hill and then, even with my slow jog trudging uphill, I managed to break away. I finally found my groove and set my pace alongside another runner who looked like she was a bit older than me but had a consistent stride. I was tired and my thighs ached as I ran up one hill after another. I kept thinking about how far I had come training over the last 8 weeks and the thought of my success motivated me to keep running. When I finished the race I felt a tremendous sense of accomplishment and maybe even a little bit of a runner’s high. Whatever. I felt great!

Feeling fine after my first 5K.

Feeling fine after my first 5K.

I don’t plan to stop at a 5K. After all, I did say I wanted to do a half-marathon. At the rate I am going I know I won’t be in shape to run 13.1 miles by my 50th birthday but I will get there, one slow slog at a time. Then, I can check number 33 from my list and finally say that I particpated ran a half-marathon.

Here is a short video Juan put together of our first 5k:
 

 

An Afternoon With U.S. Supreme Court Justice Sotomayor

Last week I went to see United States Supreme Court justice Sonia Sotomayor speak at a local event. Fresh from swearing in Vice-President Joe Biden, Sotomayor has been on tour promoting the publication of her memoir, My Beloved World.  She was being interviewed by actor and political activist Eva Longoria. The duo made an unlikely match but as the interview began everyone in the 1800 seat sold-out theatre was drawn into an intimate conversation on the Justice’s thoughts on family, law and adversity.

The conversation ranged broadly among these topics, and Sotomayor was well versed to speak to all of them.  As the first ever Latina, and only the third woman to be appointed to the highest court in the country, she has overcome many challenges in her life, including losing her father to alcoholism when she was 9,  and contracting juvenile diabetes as a child, and being the first in her family to attend college. Throughout the interview I was stuck by how personable she was, even though she is a Supreme Court Justice. For someone like me–a Latina, the first one in my family to graduate from college, and a lawyer–it was inspiring to hear her insightful words, and learn from her experience.

When someone from the audience asked her what advice she could give to others about being a trailblazer, she responded, “Take other people with you.” She explained that occasionally she will invite her mother to accompany her to events but her mother sometimes refuses to go because she’s afraid she won’t fit in. She will tell her that’s fine, they’ll go anyway and not fit in together. I love that even a US Supreme Court Justice can feel a bit like a fish out of water, just like so many of us. I think it’s especially true for those of us living in two cultures.

Sotomayor also spoke candidly about her relationship with her mother, and how she sometimes felt abandoned by a mother who had to raised her daughter as a single mother.  She spoke about the difficulty she had writing this memoir, but how it became a vehicle for her to repair the relationship with her mother and forgive her for her mother’s detachment.  I was so inspired to hear that even now, as a grown woman, a “wise Latina woman,” she is still every bit a daughter to her mother. She realized, as we all do, that our parents aren’t perfect but that she has come to appreciate how far her mother had to travel to get to be where she is and support her daughters’ rise to the bench.  It gave me hope that my children, who by now realize how imperfect I am, will come to know and appreciate my efforts to support them in their lives.

Sotomayor told of her experience in writing her memoir, and how she was able to learn more of her parents’ story.  She explained that through her  genealogy research she learned where her father came from, and she learned of the love story between her parents. She told us that writing her memoir caused her to listen to family stories from a 97 year-old uncle and encouraged us to listen to our own family members tell their stories, even if we’ve heard the stories before. Instead of tuning out. she encouraged us to listen, and ask, “Why?” We may be surprised by the answers. This was inspiring to me because one of my fondest memories I have is talking to my 97 year-old grandmother about her story before she died, and chronicling some of my family’s history on this blog.

Perhaps the most moving part of the afternoon’s conversation was not just in the words Sotomayor spoke, but the way her words were received. The audience was diverse. There were people of all ages, ethnicity, and professions.  My husband Juan was also there, and so was a dear friend of mine, who is also a Latina attorney. My friend is also diabetic and has been dealing with the challenges of this disease for nearly 25 years. As my friend listened to Sotomayor speak, she was moved to tears.  As a justice on Supreme Court, it would seem natural for Sotomayor to be removed and detached, but Sotomayor has such a warm presence, that she made my friend and I both feel like she could a family member. It was awesome and I was so glad to experience such a moving afternoon. I can’t wait to experience more of her story when I read her book.

Sotomayor

 

 

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