Our first trip to the Big Apple was in the early 80’s. As soon as we exited the taxi, there in broad daylight was a dead body in front of the entrance to our hotel. The police had just arrived and were investigating the matter. Before the man’s body was completely covered with a white sheet, I could not take my eyes off deceased person. To the New Yorkers, this was just another day and business as usual; no one seemed to really be overly concerned. This left a hard impression on me and it was difficult to shake off.

Mike and I settled in our room and could not wait to explore the sights. Not 10 minutes in our walk did we witness a crime. An attractive, well- dressed black woman grabbed a handbag from an innocent bystander and ran away with the purse in tow. Mike just looked at me and we both changed our direction. It was not that we did not want to get involved, it was that we were afraid. It did not take long to pick up the spirit of the detached New Yorkers.

We walked for miles until we finally reached Bloomingdale’s . This store is the original iconic heart of shopping in Manhattan, and all I  wanted was to be carrying a small, medium or large brown bag from Bloomingdale’s. Mike gave me a time to shop and told me to meet him at trendy restaurant called “Yellowfinger.” He pointed to the eatery, but I was too caught up in the overwhelming sights and sounds of my newly  discovered best friend Bloomingdale’s, so I was not paying attention. I wanted to experience every inch of Bloomingdale’s. I was about ready to try on some clothes when an older sophisticated sales clerk looked at me and said, “Honey, do you want to get mugged?”  “No,” I quickly answered. Then she took my handbag and gave me a tutorial on how to carry my purse. “Keep it in front of you at all times and whatever you do, not look up.” I still carry my handbag like this today.

It was time for me to meet Mike, but I came out another door on another avenue. No cell phones yet, so I reverted to panic. There are way too many exits to Bloomingdales and I was lost. I did not serve the Lord the with such fervor, so prayer was not even an afterthought. I did what came natural, cried and got really upset with Mike. After about an hour I finally made it to Yellowfingers. Poor Mike was so worried about my whereabouts, but I still have him and earful. I suffered from PMS back then (premenstrual symdome) but Mike referred to it as (pissed-off-at-Mike syndrome).

It was in 1985 when we took Mikos and Sonja to New York for the first time. It was summertime. Mikos was about to enter junior high and Sonja was 9 years-old. Mikos was going through braces and in the stage of too cool to be seen with his parents.  I made an appointment for him to have his braces tightened the day before the trip. For the first few days it was as if I had intentionally asked the orthodontist to make the braces extra tight, and  Mikos held me accountable because he could not eat due the brackets being too constricting. I’d look at him and  just roll my eyes; through most of his adolescence that was my reaction, my voice being mostly in a screaming mode during these formative year but this helped with Mikos be becoming a fine young man.

I heard of this boutique  “Belle France” on the chic side of town that I wanted to visit. The front door were kept locked so you needed to be buzzed in. This was a stuffy store with sales people trained in snobbery. We walked in and my eyes gravitated toward the sale rack. Mike was helping me pick out  dresses, then I picked a dress with a white collar that was two sizes too small. Why? I still don’t know, perhaps I was trying to impress my husband. I had a handful of dresses to try on, the dressing room was an ample size, and the full-length antique mirror added to the charm of the store, so I was happy.  I tried on the white collared dress and something went terribly wrong. I got stuck. I was hyperventilating and did my best to free my arms, but the dress was more like a straitjacket. My arms were contricted and any move would cause the dress to rip.  In the meantime the sales lady kept asking me to come out; Mike too was adding to this already stressful situation. I could not breathe and thought this was a terrible and embarrassing way to die. When I opened my eyes the white collar was all I could see, and  I felt as if it was strangling me. This struggle had lasted several minutes when I finally called for Sonja to come into the dressing room. At first she laughed at the sight, but I explained that I could not breathe. In Sonja’s words, ” Mommy this happens to my Barbie Dolls all the time; you just need to put your arms straight up and I will pull it off.” Out of the mouth of babes, what wisdom, she was right and I was freed from the white-collared dress.  By the time I was done,  I looked more like I had a wrestling match, because my hair was a mess and my face was flushed red. I developed a phobia for any white-collared clothing, and I get claustrophobic in dressing rooms. I did purchase a dress that day, but not one with a white collar.

From Battery Park, we could see the beautiful Twin Towers proudly displaying their grandeur. Who would ever in a million years have thought that one day these beautiful skyscrapers would be so violently  taken down? I had forgotten about this photograph; it is sad to think that my grandchildren will never experience this breathtaking view.

We did all the tourist stuff like a carriage ride through Central Park, a boat ride to the Statue of Liberty and a purchase of a Cabbage Patch Doll for Sonja, and we also attended a Mets game. Washington D.C. was our next stop.

Philippians 1:6 And I am sure of this, that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ.

I’m still evolving; thank God for that!

I love cats!

Psych

For as long as I can remember a cat was always in my life. During my childhood days I remember one particular cat, Psych (short for psycho) was by far the most colorful. He was crazy and would attack us, causing us to bleed.

We once walked a few blocks to a near by baseball field to play. Psych followed us, it was an open field which afforded us no refuge,  and that cat chased us until he caught us and bit and scratched us. My sister Norma’s friend, Jackie was playing with us that day and she got the worse of it. This was Psych’s way of playing; at first it was all fun and games then an evil spirit entered the cat.

Jackie ended up at the doctor’s office and developed a deep fear of Psych. We loved Psych and continued to put up with his physical abuse. One night he was crying outside our bedroom window and we snuck him in. He silently attacked us and all we could do is cover our faces because we were forbidden to have him indoors. That night I learned to scream silently. Jo, Norma and I would take turns uncovering our heads to see where he was, as we were captive prisoners to a nine pound beast. In the morning while Psych was sleeping, we checked our wounds. I remember my arms were pretty scratched up, as were my sisters.

Toby

Toby was my son Mikos’ cat. Toby moved with us from Santa Barbara, to Whittier, to the Valley and finally to Orange where we make our home today. Mikos loved Toby.

We were planning a short weekend getaway to San Diego. As I turned into the driveway of our home I saw Toby.  Mookie caught my eye and I thought he run out of the way.  But for some reason he ran towards the car. I accidentally ran over his whiskers, I had no idea this happened until I saw Toby was in the bushes. He was shaking his head, and when he turned, half of his face was gone! I called Mike, screaming, ” I ran over Toby’s face!”  Mike rushed home, we both scrambled to find the cat before Mikos got home from school.

Mikos found his cat and we rushed him to the vet. We were told that Toby needed reconstructive surgery and that he would be on pain medication the rest of his life. The rest of his life ended that dreadful day.

Blanca

Blanca was our  next cat, but she got into the habit of urinating in shoes, which was most unpleasant. Once Mike was getting ready for a trip, when he got out the suitcase Blanca had peed on it.  I remember reading that baking soda would clean and take the stench out. What a huge mess I made. Mike’s black suitcase now had white powder all over it and it still smelled of cat urine.

Barney Bernard

Barney Bernard Ciriza was one of my favorite cats, but Mike had major issues with him because he was worse than Blanca. Barney Bernard sprayed everywhere, and was no longer allowed indoors. Mike and I were on our way to a party when I asked him to stop at the store because I needed to pick out a birthday card. When I got back into the car, Mike was shirtless. I did not know what to think, so I did not say anything. Then he asked me, “Do you know why I’m not wearing a shirt?” I answered, “No, not really.” Then he said, “Because the cat pissed on my shirt!” Needless to say, we were late for the party.

One Halloween night, some amateurs Satanist failed at an attempted animal sacrifice. Barney Barnard came home with his chest opened about four inches. The vet stitched him up and sent him home.

Barney Bernard died on the same day that Mikos graduated from college. Our friends from Colorado were in town and fed Barney Barnard tripas (Spanish for cow guts). He fell victim to a coyote, and I cannot help thinking that the smell from the tripas got my cat killed.I cried for days!

Mookie Mariano

Shortly after Barney Bernard’s death, Mike and I went to a pet store and came home with Mookie Mariano. Mookie loved us and always showered us with gifts. He brought home birds, rats and rabbits.

Mookie was the smartest of all our cats and would only come into through the upstairs bathroom window. Once, late at night, he was crying outside the window, and in a daze I let him in. He brought in a huge rat. This really freaked us out. We moved out of our room so that Mike could set up traps. For three days the rodent would carefully eat around the traps. I posed a question to Mike, “What if the rat is pregnant?” That did it for Mike, and he went upstairs to take control of the situation. I heard slamming and banging for about 15 minutes. Finally, Mike proudly surfaced with his prize catch.

After 14 years, we had to put Mookie down because he developed an abscess and eating was too painful. After a visit with he vet, Mookie was given medication but due to the abscess, he refused to take the meds.

I will never forget the day I took Mookie to get euthanized. I was crying and said, “Mookie you were a great cat.” Mookie looked back and me and honestly he could talk I would have heard ,”Was?”

I learned a hard lesson, all of our cats from that day on were indoor pets.

For years we shared our home with two cats. Both of these creatures belonged to our daughter Sonja. How they both ended up here is no mystery. Maxine, the pesky one, was Sonja’s college cat and when she moved back home for a season, Maxine stayed with us. Maxine is at least 19 years old, and much to Mike’s chagrin she enjoys great health. She is not spiritual and will most likely spend the rest of time in purgatory when she finally dies.

Prudence, the other cat, is the cool cat. Unlike Maxine, she does not require tender loving care. I first met Prudence while Sonja and Russ were on their honeymoon; their cats needed to eat and guess who volunteered to go feed them!

Prudence slapped my face when we first met, I picked her up to cuddle, her and she went for round two. This feline was rescued from the alleys of Costa Mesa, California. She was a thug; having to fend for herself left her with emotional scars of not being loved.

Since our yellow lab Shardrach’s passing, Prudence has the run of the back yard and she loves to go out for a few minutes, and comes running back inside to use her litter box, so considerate of her. Sonja and Russ had two cats at the time and poor Cleo (the other cat) was getting her butt kicked by Prudence on a daily basis. So that is why Prudence moved in with us and now beats up Maxine.

Mike is not a fan of cats, and for that reason we have three cat boxes. We both share in the cleaning of the boxes. Even though it appears that cats are well groomed, they are messy, and leave fur and hair balls everywhere. They also jump on to the tables we eat off and barf on our clean bedding. Their most offensive act is leaving their business inches from the cat box.

There is no mention of Cats in the Bible, but they were created by God to give us life learning lessons; they teach us who’s the boss.

From the time our children Mikos and Sonja were in early grammar school, they were skiing. I have never liked this sport or any sport for that matter, so my experience with skiing was always a new adventure. Before Mike and I were married we went on a  skiing date. I wore jeans and borrowed a pair of my mother’s leather gloves to protect my hands. As I was a novice, this experience was a series of falls, wet jeans and freezing hands. This sports trauma never changed; year after year we skied, and year after year I was still a beginner.

We had this fully loaded blue van that we named Vanna. Vanna weathered many annual trips to Utah and Mammoth Lakes. Utah was our base for skiing. Deer Valley was our favorite and back in the 90’s the lift tickets cost was a whopping $35. We worked hard selling Christmas masa (raw corn flour for making tamales) from our tortilla factory, and used this money to supplement our ski trips.

We stayed in Salt Lake City and drove the half hour up the hill to ski. Skiing was like getting ready for work, Mike and Mikos loaded up all the ski gear while Sonja and I got ready.  Once we arrived, Mike handed  over my heavy skis. I would lift the K-2’s over my shoulder and they would always split apart. I was a hazard even before putting on my skis. As I kept forgetting how long skis were, people would dodge my approach when I turned.

Mike purchased the tickets, making sure that we fastened them to our jackets, and then he had to deal with me. I could never buckle my boots and this became part of Mike’s daily ski routine. The boots were so bulky and uncomfortable that when the last buckle around my ankle was secured, I wanted to scream. It took several attempts to get this right and Mike was always the one to do it. It was no wonder that he was in a solemn mood by the time he got on the lifts.

The chair lifts were another hazard, and I was always in prayer that my ride up the hill  would be safe.  One time, the chair lift operator helped me on, he accidentally stepped on my ski and it fell off. As the chair went up I looked back in horror as my right  ski was at the bottom by the chair lift. Getting off a chair lift was already a challenge and now having only one ski added to my stress. It was the longest lift ride so I had plenty of time to plan the exit strategies off the chair. I remembered that it was a snowy day but I was was sweating profusely. Setting next to a stranger filled with useless advice just added to my impending fall. “Is it my balance that makes me fall?” I asked myself. My mind was running wild with ways to get off the chair without causing a dog pile. Finally the last jerk on the lift before the exit, and I told the stranger to steer clear of me (at that point I had not decided if I was going right, left or straight). With my left foot securely in the boot attached to the ski, and poles in my left hand, I scooted to the edge of chair lift. As if a pair of winged angels gently guided me in slow motion, I made it off safely and then I fell.  A few chair lifts behind was a man carrying the lone ski, I quickly put it on and skied to the lodge for some much deserved hot chocolate.

Back in the 90’s the tickets were punched to see how many runs you accomplished. To me, it was a bragging right and I wanted nothing to do with it. Mike on the other hand saw this as an investment, and he was going to make sure that we were getting our money’s worth. A stern reprimand followed when he found out that by lunch time I had only two runs. I reluctantly agreed to ski the rest of the afternoon.

Sonja was my ski partner but she quickly advanced, so I was the lonely skier of the family. Mikos and Mike were advanced skiers and never had the patience for me. My family would ride up with me on the chair lifts and then disappear. I once took a wrong turn on a pretty steep hill and the only way down was to ski. Remember the  MC Hammer song, “That’s Why We Pray”? Remembering the song is the reason I am still alive today. Traverse, snow plow across the wide mountain, fall, get up and repeat while singing MC Hammer’s song. This was my biggest ski accomplishment on a black diamond run (most difficult) and it was done without a single family member witnessing. This story will forever go down as a rumor industriously spread by none other than myself, but God is my witness, and it took almost half of the afternoon to get back to the lodge.

In the 20 years of skiing I have so many fond memories of family bonding. Both Mikos and Sonja have continued with the family tradition of skiing and believe it or not, Mike is still a great skier. Not me, I gave it up.

“He says to the snow, Fall on the earth,” and to the rain shower, “Be mighty and downpour.” Job 37:6