A friend of my friend just passed away, and I am heartbroken.
It's odd, because I have known this person since I was young, and hard as we tried, ours was a cordial relationship at best. Most times we did not quite see eye to eye, and other than for the mutual friend we had in common, we probably would have never even turned our heads to look at each other.
In the maturity and insight that comes with age, I have come to recognize that I grew resentful of her, because in a way, I felt that she somehow stole my friend away from me. You see, I was the childhood friend, the very first one. Me and my friend met at the age of 3 & 4, and grew up together, went to school together, went through the hardships of teenagehood together, and then, before we knew it, the time came for us to go our separate ways. We went to different colleges, and that's when Maria Elena came into the story. She was the college friend, and she was engaging, fun, confident, and she truly cared for my friend. I resented that.
The years went by, and our lives took all of us in different directions. We all moved thousands of miles away from home and from one another. We built families that kept us busy, and we didn't speak nearly as often as we'd probably liked to, but it didn't matter, because the love was still there. Oddly enough, I felt peace of mind knowing that my friend still had a strong relationship with her "other" friend. Being so far away from home and family, it is comforting to know that someone still has got your back. I know I am not a very communicative person. I am not one to pick up the phone and make a call. That doesn't mean that I don't care. It is just the way I'm wired. But because I know my failings, it gave me a measure of comfort knowing that she was still there, that she would do the things I wouldn't. She would pick up that phone and make that call, just to see how things were going with my friend. I am grateful for that, because my friend has had a few rough years, and that support has meant the world to her. She hasn't told me so, but I know it.
And now I find out this terrible news, and I am surprised to find myself feeling very sad. I think of her family, the young kids she left behind, and I cannot help but to feel an immense wave of sorrow. Her daughter, in the throngs of teenagehood herself, lost her mother when she most needed her, but at least she will have memories of her, and of the sunny person she truly was. In a few years, her young son will probably have next to no recollection of his mother, a thought that tears me up, as I look over at my own little guy, and wonder what if... the idea is too daunting to bear.
I am grateful that my friend was able to flight to her bedside and be with her just hours before she passed away. I know this made a huge difference to her. She was able to show her friend just how much she loved her. She was able to show her in the way that matters most, that she was a beacon of light in my friend's life, that her life was meaningful in so many intangible ways, that she truly touched other people's lives, and for that very reason, her short time on this earth was not in vain. She lived a life of purpose, love and laughter.
I am sad. My loved one lost a loved one today.
Friday, September 20, 2013
Thursday, September 12, 2013
Technology, Blessing or Curse?
WhatsApp is great! It
may just be one of the most genius inventions EVER!! I mean, imagine being able
to text (who needs to talk? That’s soooo 20th century) with anyone
you want anywhere in the world, and not having to pay one single cent for every
message you sent. Genius.
And to someone like me, whose family is spread out far and
wide (and I mean FAAAAR and WIIIIDE), the neat opportunity of finding out what
everyone is up to at the single touch of my fingertips, just makes family feel
so close (without the added inconvenience of actually having to be close to
them, yah know?). So, it stands to reason that I felt eager to have the little
app added to my iPhone, and myself added to my beloved family unit’s group.
Instant gratification. As soon as the app was on my iPhone, the first ‘ding’
took less than 2 minutes to be heard. Oh! A message!! So, I go and check it out, to find out
immediately that it was one of my nieces sending a message to another one of my
nieces, half a world away, but since I’m part of the group, I get the message too.
I spend a very entertained afternoon reading what the younger lot of my family
has been, is, or will be up to… and the evening, and the early hours of the
morning, and noon…. and the darned thing doesn’t. Stop. Dinging!!!... And not a
single one of the messages is actually for me. That’s what I get for trying to be
interested in my family.
But, when the one niece in Spain is sending texts at 9:00 AM,
just on her way to school, to the other one that is in L.A., just getting ready
to party at midnight, with input from the gallery in Washington state, south
Florida, and lord knows where else, it wakes the fudge up of this ole lady who
is trying to sleep at 3:00 AM (what? None of you sleeps with their cell phones
next to them??). Whoever thought it was a good idea to be THIS connected?!? Especially
when you have a gang of girls (and one lonely guy), ranging in ages from 12 to
23+ in your family. And that is excluding the ones under 10, which I KNOW are
just bidding their time to come out and deliver the final blow that will off us
all.
And, yes, you could very easily just turn the phone to
silent mode, but then, the light goes on every time a message comes through,
and no matter how much willpower you think you have, the lure is just too
strong. You can’t help yourself. You just need to see what the last ditty is
about!! Believe me, I have tried. I am like a drug addict: I know this is not
good for me, but I just can’t help it. And I know I’m not the only one. People
have been known to have gone insane within this crew. Legend has it that my
poor aunt down in Venezuela was last seen pulling her hair out and throwing the
danged phone into a pond to “make the
voices stop!”
As for me, I found the feature to mute them all (yeay!!),
but the longest I can mute them for is one week. One week of silence. One week
of blessed peace… and then, the closer we get to the end of the week, my eye
starts twitching, my breathing becomes fast and shallow, my skin is clammy, my
hair disheveled…. “Are you feeling ok?,” some concerned stranger asks. “Oh,
she’s fine, it’s just that the voices are about to come back,” my 9 year
old answers…
Monday, April 15, 2013
The Emperor Has No Clothes!
"So now the Emperor walked under his high canopy in the midst of the
procession, through the streets of his capital; and all the people
standing by, and those at the windows, cried out, "Oh! How beautiful are
our Emperor's new clothes! What a magnificent train there is to the
mantle; and how gracefully the scarf hangs!" in short, no one would
allow that he could not see these much-admired clothes; because, in
doing so, he would have declared himself either a simpleton or unfit for
his office. Certainly, none of the Emperor's various suits, had ever
made so great an impression, as these invisible ones.
"But the Emperor has nothing at all on!" said a little child." -- (Hans Christian Andersen)
"But the Emperor has nothing at all on!" said a little child." -- (Hans Christian Andersen)
During Maduro's campaign, he had to resort over and over again to showing a video of Chavez during his last few days before he left for Cuba, anointing him as his successor, and asking people to vote for him should he become incapacitated to govern. He called himself the "son of Chavez" and tried to imitate, without success, his "father's" speech style. He had to do so, because he knew he had no merit, no qualifications, and none of the charisma of his predecessor. He had to do so, because he knew that he was in the position he was, not because he deserved to be, but because he was lucky enough to have been handpicked by a dying man.
The chavismo movement was well aware that the chance they had to continue in power was a slim one. They knew that they had to appeal to the heartstrings of people still grieving from the death of a figure that, like it or not, became larger than life, revered and idolized by many. They knew that in order to stay in power, they had to capitalize on that grief, on that undying loyalty. To solidify their self-styled revolution, they had to obtain a solid win. It had to be a wide margin. Wider, if possible, than the one Chavez himself got in October's presidential elections. They had to show to the world that the whole country was behind them. That's the only way they could legitimize that which cannot be legitimized... and they blew it.
If nothing else, April 14, 2013 will go down in Venezuelan history as the date when Chavismo was shown to be naked.
Let's pretend for a second that Maduro actually won the elections -- we all know what actually happened -- can such a narrow victory be called a victory at all? Instead of winning by a landslide, as it was necessary -- imperative even -- for chavismo to survive, they did it by a margin as thin as a single hair. This "win" only puts in plain view a fractured movement, a movement that is plagued by internal distrust. And, as it has been plainly said, Maduro is no Chavez. The absurdly dire conditions in which the late president left the country, will be the undoing of his own revolution. Maduro cannot, and will not be able to lift the country from the hell-hole that he, his master, and his cronies have dumped it into, and sooner or later, the other half of the country, the one that still placed some vestiges of trust in the revolution, will wake up to the truth. And then, he will have to answer to them. Look! The Emperor has no clothes!!
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
The Death of a Man, the Re-Birth of a Country
Give a man a fish and he eats for a day. Teach a man to fish and he can feed himself for life.
Since December 11, 2012, a whole country and a good deal of the world has been expecting this day. That was the last time anyone saw and heard from Hugo Chavez for the last time, right before his last surgery in Cuba in a vain attempt to stop the unstoppable. Since then, the man that had just been re-elected to lead the country with the largest proven oil reserves in the world went silent, and given his penchant for televised speech marathons of upwards of 8 hours each, that should have been the first clue to his devout followers that things were not well, that their idol was not coming back. Since then, the government has jumped through hoops to make people believe that Chavez was, in fact, involved in the active government of Venezuela from his hospital bed. The fact that his followers actually believed such absurdity speaks volumes of the level of blind idolatry the man enjoyed from half of the country.
In a way that is perhaps a lot more morbid than we would like to think, the opposition has been expecting this day since far longer. In fact, many in the opposition have been hoping for this day for almost as long as the man had been in power. Even I, although ashamed to admit it, at one point hoped for the man to suffer a heart attack so that he'd die without anyone having to commit murder. It wasn't a heart attack, but nonetheless, my macabre wish was granted.
For as long as we have been waiting for this day -- at least to me -- the news of his death was oddly anticlimactic. I always imagined myself rejoicing, celebrating, crying with euphoria. And yet, none of those things happened. I do not feel overjoyed, I did not celebrate, my happiness was barely affected by the news. What I felt was a mix of relief and a great deal of dread. Relief because there are no more lies, because no matter how hard the government tried to pretend the charade could go on, the truth finally broke the chains and made itself known. Now we can begin to build the path to get out of the limbo our country has been living these past three months. Now we can finally allow our constitution dictate what we need to do, because there is not parapet to hide behind. Relief, because for better or for worse, it is always better to know than to speculate. Within the next 30 days we will elect a new president. For better or for worse.
And yet, despite the tremendous sense of relief, I have to admit that my sense of dread is 10 times lager. As much as we would like to believe that the man was universally hated, you can't cover the sun with just one finger. We know better than that. Let's face it, all those elections that we would prefer to believe he won thanks to fraud, he won mostly fair and square. The man was formidably charismatic, and was able, like no one before him, to connect with the masses -- mostly poor and uneducated, but also middle class and professionals. He saw the opportunity, and seized it. He saw the discontent, the disenchantment, the disenfranchisement that a great deal of Venezuelans felt, and he grabbed unto that, he fed their sense of having been wronged, he did more than others to meet their most basic needs with gifts and hand-outs. He found a scapegoat and fed it to the masses. The rich, the educated, those were to blame for the ailments of the poor. He gave the poor masses someone to blame, someone to hate, while keeping them dependent on his largess. The strategy worked. And it worked, not only on the poor, uneducated people of Venezuela, but also on the poor, morally void leaders of Latin America.
Charismatic people like that, with such phenomenal pull, are very hard to come by, and that's why, when one emerges, such person becomes the stuff of legend, and his name goes on to be part of the annals of history. For better or for worse. He could have done such great things. He could have made a country that had many reasons to be proud, into a country that had no reasons to be ashamed. Instead, he used his power to divide us, to turn brother against brother, mother against daughter, enemies one and all. And in the process he squandered our resources, buying favors and loyalty from lapdogs from all over the region, making the very same people he purported to defend more impoverished, less educated, more enslaved, less free.
If everything works according to the constitution -- and we all know that is not always so -- we will be electing a new president in 30 days. My dread is that the damage this man did to our country may now be irreversible. He taught a whole nation to expect a fish, but never how to fish for itself. My dread is that the next president will be chosen by a country full of beggars.
Since December 11, 2012, a whole country and a good deal of the world has been expecting this day. That was the last time anyone saw and heard from Hugo Chavez for the last time, right before his last surgery in Cuba in a vain attempt to stop the unstoppable. Since then, the man that had just been re-elected to lead the country with the largest proven oil reserves in the world went silent, and given his penchant for televised speech marathons of upwards of 8 hours each, that should have been the first clue to his devout followers that things were not well, that their idol was not coming back. Since then, the government has jumped through hoops to make people believe that Chavez was, in fact, involved in the active government of Venezuela from his hospital bed. The fact that his followers actually believed such absurdity speaks volumes of the level of blind idolatry the man enjoyed from half of the country.
In a way that is perhaps a lot more morbid than we would like to think, the opposition has been expecting this day since far longer. In fact, many in the opposition have been hoping for this day for almost as long as the man had been in power. Even I, although ashamed to admit it, at one point hoped for the man to suffer a heart attack so that he'd die without anyone having to commit murder. It wasn't a heart attack, but nonetheless, my macabre wish was granted.
For as long as we have been waiting for this day -- at least to me -- the news of his death was oddly anticlimactic. I always imagined myself rejoicing, celebrating, crying with euphoria. And yet, none of those things happened. I do not feel overjoyed, I did not celebrate, my happiness was barely affected by the news. What I felt was a mix of relief and a great deal of dread. Relief because there are no more lies, because no matter how hard the government tried to pretend the charade could go on, the truth finally broke the chains and made itself known. Now we can begin to build the path to get out of the limbo our country has been living these past three months. Now we can finally allow our constitution dictate what we need to do, because there is not parapet to hide behind. Relief, because for better or for worse, it is always better to know than to speculate. Within the next 30 days we will elect a new president. For better or for worse.
And yet, despite the tremendous sense of relief, I have to admit that my sense of dread is 10 times lager. As much as we would like to believe that the man was universally hated, you can't cover the sun with just one finger. We know better than that. Let's face it, all those elections that we would prefer to believe he won thanks to fraud, he won mostly fair and square. The man was formidably charismatic, and was able, like no one before him, to connect with the masses -- mostly poor and uneducated, but also middle class and professionals. He saw the opportunity, and seized it. He saw the discontent, the disenchantment, the disenfranchisement that a great deal of Venezuelans felt, and he grabbed unto that, he fed their sense of having been wronged, he did more than others to meet their most basic needs with gifts and hand-outs. He found a scapegoat and fed it to the masses. The rich, the educated, those were to blame for the ailments of the poor. He gave the poor masses someone to blame, someone to hate, while keeping them dependent on his largess. The strategy worked. And it worked, not only on the poor, uneducated people of Venezuela, but also on the poor, morally void leaders of Latin America.
Charismatic people like that, with such phenomenal pull, are very hard to come by, and that's why, when one emerges, such person becomes the stuff of legend, and his name goes on to be part of the annals of history. For better or for worse. He could have done such great things. He could have made a country that had many reasons to be proud, into a country that had no reasons to be ashamed. Instead, he used his power to divide us, to turn brother against brother, mother against daughter, enemies one and all. And in the process he squandered our resources, buying favors and loyalty from lapdogs from all over the region, making the very same people he purported to defend more impoverished, less educated, more enslaved, less free.
If everything works according to the constitution -- and we all know that is not always so -- we will be electing a new president in 30 days. My dread is that the damage this man did to our country may now be irreversible. He taught a whole nation to expect a fish, but never how to fish for itself. My dread is that the next president will be chosen by a country full of beggars.
Sunday, June 10, 2012
A Well Deserved Praise to an Amazing Kid
Ever since Daniel started Kindergarten, he was taught that the first thing he had to do as soon as he got home from school, immediately after he stepped through the door and put his backpack down, was to sit down and do his homework. Anyone who knows me, knows that I may bark a good deal, but at the end of the day, these boys know how to manipulate me like silly putty, and get away with murder. Homework, though, is the one area where cajoling, begging, or whining will produce absolutely no results. When it comes to homework and schoolwork in general, I am like the Rock of Gibraltar, unmovable. So much so, that for the longest time, he thought it was "the law". I did not disabuse him of his belief, but eventually he figured out the truth. Too late, though. By now, it is a matter of habit. The poor kid does it automatically, without thinking. He comes home, he sits down, he does his homework, period.
I have wondered on occasion if I am too inflexible when it comes to school work. Am I being too strict? Am I pushing him too hard? Have I praised him enough? I would like to think that, rather than just pushing him to study, I have been instilling in him the desire to reach for excellence, to push his own limits and seek what is beyond, to always believe that he can do better. The one thing his father and I have been very careful to stress to him is that natural talent is a good thing to have -- and all too easy to waste. We have made sure he understands that success belongs to the one who seeks it, not the one who thinks it is his birth right. Smarts will only take you so far. Effort and dedication are the golden ticket, and that's where he needs to keep his sight on.
So, in a way, I cannot say I am surprised about the amount of work he puts into everything he does. If he likes something, he will go after it, with a passion that is a bit intimidating in someone so young. Everyone knows he wants to be a professional baseball player. He has said so to anyone within hearing range that will sit there long enough for him to tell them. I don't know if that will be in his cards, but one thing is certain: that dream hasn't changed in 4 years, and his determination to be better, play better, learn more hasn't wavered. The funny thing is, I always thought that this kind of dedication was reserved to baseball only. But then came basketball, and his determination to get better was exactly the same. We're now swimming, which in and of itself is an amazing feat for a kid that just last summer was still afraid to go too far from the edge of the pool. He knows he's nowhere near close to being one of the good ones, but he's already committed to getting better. Much, much better.
Academically speaking, if I think back on this past school year, I realize that I have been loosening the reigns quite a bit. I don't have to be on top of him to do things. He's doing them of his own accord. He has had an extraordinary school year (even if he cannot, for the life of him, keep quiet), with next to no involvement on my part, and that is exactly what I was aiming at with all those talks. The ones I thought were going in one ear and out the other. As it turns out, something must have stuck, because he works hard, very, very hard to get those results. And they are amazing results.
I don't know if I have praised him enough. I am certainly extremely proud of him. If I were to be any prouder, I may very well burst. But I do have a feeling I may have underpraised him a bit. I am just so weary of the constant praising kids get these days for just about anything. How are they going to learn when something is actually worth the effort, if they keep hearing "good job, Johnny" for doing things that should be second nature and require no effort? I dunno, I guess I just don't want him to stop striving for more.
So, in case I have done a poor job at showing my child how grateful I am to be his mother, here it goes (in hopes that he will someday read his mother's ramblings):
Daniel, you are a blessing to your daddy and me. We are so proud of you. Not just of your accomplishments, although those certainly make our days and bring a thousand smiles to our faces, but of the person you ARE and the promise of the man you are growing up to be. We love your passion and your dedication. We admire your humble hard work. But most of all, we absolutely revel in your kindness, your good nature and your compassion. With kids like you, this world has a tremendous amount of hope and a very bright future. You're a beacon of light, and we are grateful to the good Lord that He saw fit that we would be the lucky pair to guide your steps.
I have wondered on occasion if I am too inflexible when it comes to school work. Am I being too strict? Am I pushing him too hard? Have I praised him enough? I would like to think that, rather than just pushing him to study, I have been instilling in him the desire to reach for excellence, to push his own limits and seek what is beyond, to always believe that he can do better. The one thing his father and I have been very careful to stress to him is that natural talent is a good thing to have -- and all too easy to waste. We have made sure he understands that success belongs to the one who seeks it, not the one who thinks it is his birth right. Smarts will only take you so far. Effort and dedication are the golden ticket, and that's where he needs to keep his sight on.
So, in a way, I cannot say I am surprised about the amount of work he puts into everything he does. If he likes something, he will go after it, with a passion that is a bit intimidating in someone so young. Everyone knows he wants to be a professional baseball player. He has said so to anyone within hearing range that will sit there long enough for him to tell them. I don't know if that will be in his cards, but one thing is certain: that dream hasn't changed in 4 years, and his determination to be better, play better, learn more hasn't wavered. The funny thing is, I always thought that this kind of dedication was reserved to baseball only. But then came basketball, and his determination to get better was exactly the same. We're now swimming, which in and of itself is an amazing feat for a kid that just last summer was still afraid to go too far from the edge of the pool. He knows he's nowhere near close to being one of the good ones, but he's already committed to getting better. Much, much better.
Academically speaking, if I think back on this past school year, I realize that I have been loosening the reigns quite a bit. I don't have to be on top of him to do things. He's doing them of his own accord. He has had an extraordinary school year (even if he cannot, for the life of him, keep quiet), with next to no involvement on my part, and that is exactly what I was aiming at with all those talks. The ones I thought were going in one ear and out the other. As it turns out, something must have stuck, because he works hard, very, very hard to get those results. And they are amazing results.
I don't know if I have praised him enough. I am certainly extremely proud of him. If I were to be any prouder, I may very well burst. But I do have a feeling I may have underpraised him a bit. I am just so weary of the constant praising kids get these days for just about anything. How are they going to learn when something is actually worth the effort, if they keep hearing "good job, Johnny" for doing things that should be second nature and require no effort? I dunno, I guess I just don't want him to stop striving for more.
So, in case I have done a poor job at showing my child how grateful I am to be his mother, here it goes (in hopes that he will someday read his mother's ramblings):
Daniel, you are a blessing to your daddy and me. We are so proud of you. Not just of your accomplishments, although those certainly make our days and bring a thousand smiles to our faces, but of the person you ARE and the promise of the man you are growing up to be. We love your passion and your dedication. We admire your humble hard work. But most of all, we absolutely revel in your kindness, your good nature and your compassion. With kids like you, this world has a tremendous amount of hope and a very bright future. You're a beacon of light, and we are grateful to the good Lord that He saw fit that we would be the lucky pair to guide your steps.
Friday, January 20, 2012
It is Darn Time to Start Showing a Little Appreciation, Dagnabbit!!
It is 2:30 am, when I finally shut down the computer and the lights and head up to bed. I have been sitting at this computer for over almost 18 hours straight working on someone else's concept of an urgent matter. Some sort of witness statement that was needed for some multimillionaire international case that is none of my concern. That is in addition to all the other deadlines I already had. Except for trips to the bathroom, to pick up the youngest monster at school, and dinner at the local McDonald's, I was virtually glued to the chair.
By 6 PM I was in panicky mode. Oldest monster has a Cub Scout pack meeting at 7 PM and I still have over 2 hours of this danged transcript to go. That is, in actual working time, approximately 6 hours of work. After hanging up the phone three times on the husband (sorry honey), who will not make it on time to take said son to meeting, I call one of the other moms, who in true friend fashion, offers to take, not just the oldest child in question, but also the youngest menace. She obviously didn't know what she would be getting herself into, so I thanked her for the offer, but declined to send said youngest menace along, even though it would have made the next couple of hours much easier on me.
By midnight, I am fuming. I had expected this particular project to take no more than 6 hours, but at this point, I have already accumulated 10 hours of work. I am tired, hungry, and cranky --in true toddler fashion-- and cannot see why on God's green earth I got myself into this mess. I am so mad! Mad at me, for accepting a job that, deep down I knew was going to be a bear, because it involved fixing other people's mistakes, and that ALWAYS gets me riled up. Mad at the other translators who put so little effort into the project the in the first place and now I was left to clean up their mess. Mad at my clients, for having the gall to think so highly of my skills that they needed to ask me to do work for them. (Really, who the heck cares if it is, indeed, paid work at rush rates?!? ) I am fruitcaking overloaded, and I.can't.take.one.more.job!!
After 4 hours of broken sleep, I scramble to get everyone up and ready to go. My eyes feel heavy and I would like nothing else than to go back under the covers and sleep until noon. But we all know that's not an option. Child needs to be at school at 8, and today is my turn to carpool, so...
As I am driving back from dropping off youngest creature and friend at their school, I can't help but notice what a beautiful morning it was. Cold, but beautiful. After the adrenaline of the morning rush subsides, it is actually quite a serene trip back home. It is in a sunny morning and I am driving through rolling fields that despite winter, still manage to show vestiges of green. Not having to be anywhere, I start to relax a little, and the mind starts meandering around, and little by little, the rational, civilized part of me starts gaining ground and replacing Mrs. Hyde once again.
At this point, I realize how very ungrateful I am. I am sinfully ungrateful, and in such a realization, I feel painfully ashamed.
Normally on Fridays I work as a volunteer translating for the local food pantry. Today, mercifully, I have the day off. But as I think about what I would be doing any other Friday, I came to the realization that the last 12 agonizing hours of work provided me with enough money to cover, say, about 3 of these families electric bills. Every Friday I come face to face with families struggling to get some of their most basic needs covered. Food, shelter, health, and sometimes, just someone who will listen to their ordeals. Most times, these families have fallen on hard times due to unemployment. The economy is improving entirely too slowly for some of these folks. And here I am, complaining because I have --get this-- too much work. Shame on me.
I also realized that, for as tiresome and irritating as this particular project was, I found myself laughing out loud more than once at the stuff I heard coming from that tape. There is no denying that there is entertainment value in litigation. And, really, under normal circumstances, without the rush, I truly love what I do. No other job on earth ever gave me this much pleasure and pride. I like that my clients think I am the bomb. I like that I KNOW I am doing a great job. I like that I actually have the choice to take it or leave it, if I so please, because I am my own boss. Explain to me, then, why am I complaining?
Let's review, shall we? I am lucky to have paid work that allows me and my family to live comfortably and without the uncertainty of where our next meal will come from, or whether we will have a place to stay next month. My work is satisfying and meaningful, and more importantly, it makes me laugh. Well, if those are not good enough reasons to be grateful, I don't know what are.
So, from now on, when the hours grow long, and the outlook is gloomy, I will try to remember that the good Lord has actually blessed me in more ways than I am able to count…. And, fudge it! It is darn time that I show a little appreciation!! (Thank you, God).
By 6 PM I was in panicky mode. Oldest monster has a Cub Scout pack meeting at 7 PM and I still have over 2 hours of this danged transcript to go. That is, in actual working time, approximately 6 hours of work. After hanging up the phone three times on the husband (sorry honey), who will not make it on time to take said son to meeting, I call one of the other moms, who in true friend fashion, offers to take, not just the oldest child in question, but also the youngest menace. She obviously didn't know what she would be getting herself into, so I thanked her for the offer, but declined to send said youngest menace along, even though it would have made the next couple of hours much easier on me.
By midnight, I am fuming. I had expected this particular project to take no more than 6 hours, but at this point, I have already accumulated 10 hours of work. I am tired, hungry, and cranky --in true toddler fashion-- and cannot see why on God's green earth I got myself into this mess. I am so mad! Mad at me, for accepting a job that, deep down I knew was going to be a bear, because it involved fixing other people's mistakes, and that ALWAYS gets me riled up. Mad at the other translators who put so little effort into the project the in the first place and now I was left to clean up their mess. Mad at my clients, for having the gall to think so highly of my skills that they needed to ask me to do work for them. (Really, who the heck cares if it is, indeed, paid work at rush rates?!? ) I am fruitcaking overloaded, and I.can't.take.one.more.job!!
After 4 hours of broken sleep, I scramble to get everyone up and ready to go. My eyes feel heavy and I would like nothing else than to go back under the covers and sleep until noon. But we all know that's not an option. Child needs to be at school at 8, and today is my turn to carpool, so...
As I am driving back from dropping off youngest creature and friend at their school, I can't help but notice what a beautiful morning it was. Cold, but beautiful. After the adrenaline of the morning rush subsides, it is actually quite a serene trip back home. It is in a sunny morning and I am driving through rolling fields that despite winter, still manage to show vestiges of green. Not having to be anywhere, I start to relax a little, and the mind starts meandering around, and little by little, the rational, civilized part of me starts gaining ground and replacing Mrs. Hyde once again.
At this point, I realize how very ungrateful I am. I am sinfully ungrateful, and in such a realization, I feel painfully ashamed.
Normally on Fridays I work as a volunteer translating for the local food pantry. Today, mercifully, I have the day off. But as I think about what I would be doing any other Friday, I came to the realization that the last 12 agonizing hours of work provided me with enough money to cover, say, about 3 of these families electric bills. Every Friday I come face to face with families struggling to get some of their most basic needs covered. Food, shelter, health, and sometimes, just someone who will listen to their ordeals. Most times, these families have fallen on hard times due to unemployment. The economy is improving entirely too slowly for some of these folks. And here I am, complaining because I have --get this-- too much work. Shame on me.
I also realized that, for as tiresome and irritating as this particular project was, I found myself laughing out loud more than once at the stuff I heard coming from that tape. There is no denying that there is entertainment value in litigation. And, really, under normal circumstances, without the rush, I truly love what I do. No other job on earth ever gave me this much pleasure and pride. I like that my clients think I am the bomb. I like that I KNOW I am doing a great job. I like that I actually have the choice to take it or leave it, if I so please, because I am my own boss. Explain to me, then, why am I complaining?
Let's review, shall we? I am lucky to have paid work that allows me and my family to live comfortably and without the uncertainty of where our next meal will come from, or whether we will have a place to stay next month. My work is satisfying and meaningful, and more importantly, it makes me laugh. Well, if those are not good enough reasons to be grateful, I don't know what are.
So, from now on, when the hours grow long, and the outlook is gloomy, I will try to remember that the good Lord has actually blessed me in more ways than I am able to count…. And, fudge it! It is darn time that I show a little appreciation!! (Thank you, God).
Saturday, July 23, 2011
A Venezuela Nadie le Quita lo Bailao
Queridos amigos paraguayos, primero que nada, quiero felicitarlos por avanzar a la final de la Copa América. Todo el que me conoce sabe que durante los últimos 10 años, a falta de un equipo nacional que representara mis sentimientos y valores en las canchas mundialistas, y a diferencia de muchos compatriotas que suelen dividir sus lealtades entre equipos de mayor renombre, siempre arrojé mi apoyo a la albirroja durante la Copa Mundial. Siempre admiré su humildad y ambición en la cancha.
Es por eso, entonces, que se me hace difícil leer de parte de los paraguayos, tantos comentarios negativos y soeces hacia nuestro equipo que, sólo aquellos ciegos por la soberbia son incapaces de aceptar, ha demostrado un crecimiento fenomenal y un desempeño admirable. Estos muchachos han dado una demostración de esfuerzo, dedicación, tenacidad y fe que es digna de admiración. Ellos le han dado motivos para sonreír a todo un país. Por unas cortas semanas, la Vinotinto le demostró a un país profundamente dividido por ideologías políticas, que no somos ni rojos rojitos, ni oligarcas azules, sino que somos 30 millones de ciudadanos color vinotinto. Este equipo que muchos - no venezolanos - quieren hacer sentir mediocres por celebrar la trayectoria hasta ahora recorrida en esta Copa América, permitió a los venezolanos que viven dentro de sus casi 1 millón de kilómetros cuadrados de glorioso territorio, y para los muchos otros que vivimos alejados de sus fronteras pero quienes llevamos el país en el corazón, vislumbrar brevemente lo que una vez fuimos y lo que tenemos el potencial de volver a ser. Ellos nos recordaron de qué material estamos hechos, y que lo que todos queremos está más cerca de lo que uno cree. Sólo basta tener fe y el coraje de trabajar duro, y allí está, al alcance de la mano.
Así pues, queridos hermanos paraguayos, de mí no oirán insultos ni mezquindades. A mi sólo me queda decirle lo siguiente: celebren su avance a la final, que aunque no merecido, es un triunfo y hay que celebrarlo. Y de verdad les deseo mucha suerte, porque la van a necesitar, que nosotros hoy, pase lo que pase, nos estaremos poniendo nuestras alpargatas para celebrar con cuatro, arpa y maracas, porque gústele a quien le guste, a Venezuela nadie le quita lo bailao.
Es por eso, entonces, que se me hace difícil leer de parte de los paraguayos, tantos comentarios negativos y soeces hacia nuestro equipo que, sólo aquellos ciegos por la soberbia son incapaces de aceptar, ha demostrado un crecimiento fenomenal y un desempeño admirable. Estos muchachos han dado una demostración de esfuerzo, dedicación, tenacidad y fe que es digna de admiración. Ellos le han dado motivos para sonreír a todo un país. Por unas cortas semanas, la Vinotinto le demostró a un país profundamente dividido por ideologías políticas, que no somos ni rojos rojitos, ni oligarcas azules, sino que somos 30 millones de ciudadanos color vinotinto. Este equipo que muchos - no venezolanos - quieren hacer sentir mediocres por celebrar la trayectoria hasta ahora recorrida en esta Copa América, permitió a los venezolanos que viven dentro de sus casi 1 millón de kilómetros cuadrados de glorioso territorio, y para los muchos otros que vivimos alejados de sus fronteras pero quienes llevamos el país en el corazón, vislumbrar brevemente lo que una vez fuimos y lo que tenemos el potencial de volver a ser. Ellos nos recordaron de qué material estamos hechos, y que lo que todos queremos está más cerca de lo que uno cree. Sólo basta tener fe y el coraje de trabajar duro, y allí está, al alcance de la mano.
Así pues, queridos hermanos paraguayos, de mí no oirán insultos ni mezquindades. A mi sólo me queda decirle lo siguiente: celebren su avance a la final, que aunque no merecido, es un triunfo y hay que celebrarlo. Y de verdad les deseo mucha suerte, porque la van a necesitar, que nosotros hoy, pase lo que pase, nos estaremos poniendo nuestras alpargatas para celebrar con cuatro, arpa y maracas, porque gústele a quien le guste, a Venezuela nadie le quita lo bailao.
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