Short Story: My Dearest Uncle!


“The story I’m about to share with you now it is based on a real story”, said my favorite uncle as I sat on the cold tiled floor of his recently waxed terrace. The floor was smooth and cold and during my summer visits to my uncle’s  and aunt’s home, I loved to sit on the clean and shinny floor of their porches or terrace. I would sit over some colorful cushions, or a long rug or I would laid down over the plain white and black, cookies and cream look alike floors and crossed my hands under my head, with my left leg crossed over my right one, and I would stare straight at my uncle.

I’d say,  “Please uncle tell me more stories, I love hearing the strange and fun stories you always tell.” He would sit down by my side with a thoughtful frown and say, “Pay attention India to this stories. One day will be able to tell them to your children, or nephews, and your grandchildren too.” I was happy that he was ready to start one of his amazing stories, some where about pirates, other about lost small planes landing on his patio, other about huge storms that flooded towns and submerged a big Cathedral under an over flooded lake, other about 3 little pigs that built housed like he did, but not as stronger, and about sirens, fisherman, and sharks.

This time he was telling me the little red riding hood story, a little country girl. (she was the same age as I was then) This little girl got in trouble for not listening to her granny and almost got eaten by a wolf. But thanks to him that was in the deep forest cutting trees and gathering wood, the little girl and his grandmother were safe, and the bad wolf became a delicious meal and a nice pair of boots. I knew the real little red ridding hood story and smiled ear to ear paying very close attention to my dear uncle and how to manage to make each old story funnier and new.

My dear uncle was an old busy man who rarely had time for chit chat. But somehow he made a point of talking to me about anything that come to his mind, as if he was a teacher or philosopher, and a great story teller. So whenever it was time for my uncle and ant to have their rest or siesta, most likely in the afternoon I would offer to comb and braid my aunts silvery blond locks as Uncle Plato began telling us some of the same stories we’ve hear over and over again but each time they were new facts and new and embellished details he’d forgot to mention before.

Some afternoons he reminisced about Hurricane St. Patricio and how it flooded and vanished whole towns, some cities were barely visible even months after the hurricane was gone, to other lands, and the waters had stopped flooding the streets, towns, and small villas. His large town had being almost destroyed by Saint Patricio, much like what Hurricane Maria did to some towns in Puerto Rico last month, on September 19, 2017.

Going back to his recollections of the incidents on that other category 5 hurricane reminded me of my relatives recent accounts of the hurricane Maria. For example, this  town, named Guajataka, was so overflown that its lake swallowed half of the town during the non stopping rains. It is said that the town’s first church and buildings surrounding it are to this day hidden inside the lake. And when there’s low tides, or during the very dry summer days if you go closer to the lake Guajataka you can see from the distance a cross and the roof of that church peering through, right at the center of the lake.

To this day, people still gather on the shore of that lake, to pray for their loved ones and the relatives they lost and throw flowers into the fresh waters. I’ve seen others tossing coins in. I also prayed few time for all the lives lost in that storm even though very few were possibly related to me. Each time I get to visit my late uncles home I see that little girl with short brown hair and worn sneakers running and jumping around my dearest uncles home. Other times she is pensive reclining on a chair or on the floor listening to whimsical or historical stories and legends or sharing some of her inventions or the ones she’d recently learned in school. We both know how Uncle Plato would re-tell the same stories and how we could never guess how the new ending would be.

And every time he had a very good story to tell. Just like other amazing stories I heard from my older sister I was 4 years old and moved with my divorced mother and sibling into a 4 bedroom wood bungalow near my great aunt and uncles. We had a small tv at home, only one radio, not running water, and not many toys either. My aunts sort of adopted me. They taught me many things, lady like things, that I were going to need one day when I became a woman, just like them. My uncles and my cousins also took me under their wings and taught me things a hard working Spanish girl should know. They taught me to pick coffee beans from its own tree and laid them under the sun to dry up to later on be sold, among many other fruits and vegetables at the Weekend Fresh Market.

But during the time my uncle was resting in his old brown hammock that was tied up to his terrace beams with strong farming ropes, the same one he used to tie his cows with, he would lower his strong loud voice to almost a whisper as if he was talking to himself and began his stories. “You see that mango tree by your aunt Lucy’s house over there on that hill?” “Yes I play hide and seek there with my friends there after school.” “Once, many years ago, even when your Aunt’s home wasn’t built yet, right over there, a helicopter  passing by, looking for some bad people, got fire, and it exploded in the air falling down over that tree.” “Wow uncle. But how that happened?” “No one really knows. But big pieces of it feel all over the streets, the tree, and over a neighbor’s roof top.” “That’s and amazing story. Can’t wait to tell my friends.”

“That’s not all”, said my uncle smiling this time. He rarely smiled. But he continued with his story ignoring my questioning little eyes, opened wide as cow eyes. “They said that the Pilot was such a Christian man, and did so many good things for the people he knew, that he prayed for his own life with so much faith that he came out of it unharmed.”Did he grow wings uncle P?” “Not quite. People ran to his rescue and found him hanging from a tree branch with his parachute wrapped around his arms and shoulders, but he was barely hurt by the accident. In a way he grew wings.” “Yes, he did for sure.”

“This means that the pilot was really a man of God. Because he believed even when things were going so terrible for him. You see, he almost died on his helicopter accident but he was not angry at God. He believed God intended to save him and prayed for that. And God in return protected him from the fire and his fatal fall. The pilot, whom no one ever knew his true name, was saved.” “Great story. That’s why I always pray when I’m scared, specially at night. I’m afraid of the dark.” My uncle touched my hair and messed my bangs a little smiling again. He looked happy then. “You will never need to be afraid because I’m here to protect you, and God is up there also watching after you. Just like you grandma and my mother are. They are your guardian angels. Pray to them. And always pray to God, because he listens to his children, specially to such a pretty and sweet girl like you.”

Uncle P. is my guardian angel now, and last night as I closed my eyes to sleep, he told me, “Remember my stories, India? Well it is time to share them. Is your time to pass them along to your children and grandchildren, and other people’s children and grandchildren too. They’ll need this stories as you needed them when you were a kid. This will help them to know that not everything is bad. That their is still hope in this world.” “Thank you Uncle, I needed to hear your words once again. I will SHARE these stories and many more from now on.” I really miss talking to you, and listening to your great stories, my dear Uncle P.

Good Morning from Starbucks!

What can I say?

I woke up with a bad pain on my left neck
and temples. I knew I needed my medicine, coffee. Sometimes is impossible to live or function without it.

So I rushed to a nearby Starbucks and got myself a Grande Cafe Latte, my usual lemon cake, and an egg bacon sandwich taken out a frozen plastic bag and heated up to justify it’s price tag of $3.45, so very typical of the Starbucks brand. But regardless of my disdain for it, I’m also addicted to their lemon cakes.

That frosting that seems to melt inside your mouth leaving your tongue and lips tingling with a rush off tangy flavor and sweetness. The soft almost smoochie cake texture that I like to squeeze between my fingers when it crumbles and the coffee itself bold and strong, almost like Spanish coffee strong but with many different distinct and delicate aromas. However $4.99 a cup, when for a $1.50 I had a huge Grande cup of Cafe con Leche back in my hometown Moca, Puerto Rico.

Yes. I’m whining again. I do that a lot lately.  So boring! But I wanted to share that drinking that strong Colombian bean freshly scented coffee while sunbathing over one of these outdoors chairs previously blessed by beautiful love birds or whatever those tiny white marks were, probably left by the colorful birds my crumbs from the ground…

That coffee was the medicine I needed to start my day. “La medicina ideal para mis dolores”. That could be a great sales slogan for Starbucks’ coffee, “The ideal medicine for all your pains.” It made me chuckle thinking of a tv add announcer saying that “slogan”. I was definitively born a Sales woman. Everything I say or do has a sales ring to it. Well, back to my latte, lemon cake, and sandwich before they get cold. Darn! to late. going for my refill.

Till my next post.

***Like, Comment, & Share if I drew a smile on your face this morning!

Poema- Yo Soy Jesucristo

(Basado en las palabras de un joven en un sueño, que no era nada de Dios por cierto, y que era un desconocido que va se sienta en mi mesa, y me mira bien serio y me dice: )

Soy Jesucristo enamorado de un chico
(Un joven así como tú)
Te voy a contar esta historia
Si no me sale
es que no estaba el decirlo.

Yo soy Jesucristo.
Y amo a todos mis hijos!
Y quiero estar con el mundo
Pero el mundo se me aleja.
No quiere estar conmigo
Por eso no puedo estar contigo.

Por qué tu me niegas?
Yo Soy Jesucristo
Yo soy Jesús!
Y te amo.
Como amo a todos mis niños.

What Women Wants, It’s not a Hook Up

What women want from their man?

Women not only wants to cuddle and watch a movie. We want attention, trust, love, communication, and details. We want silly talks, and funny texts, a romantic dinner before sex, maybe some wine or a drink, or just a cold bottle of water near the bed.

We enjoy details and attention. Not for your guy to tell you I’m taking you out to dinner tonight and you get all done and pretty then he try to take you to a Dennis, or Mc Donnalds, or some Buffet. (Though a nice Buffet is OK) We want our guy to spend time with us, to talk, and to listen what we have to say, no matter our issue or topic; about work, about life, & about nothing in particular…And to COMMUNICATE with us too!. That’s important in a relationship. COMMUNICATION AND TRUST!.

I personally need him to share with me his plans not with his family 1st., to be sweet, to trust in me and not make a fuss every time I want to go somewhere. But to give me a space too. I need my “Me Time”. I can’t baby sit my children and work all the time, and every single day. WOMEN DESERVE A LOT MORE. I deserve a break. I want to play too, to have fun, to go on a fishing trip, to play tennis, or volley ball on the beach. I want to climb a mountain. To ride a boat or a Jetski. I want to swim in a river or in the ocean, and watch a Sunset together or travel together, even if just cruising in car around town or other cities nearby…

I need to be treated like a woman not like an object. I’m not a photo, not a painting on the wall. I’m fucking real!

I’m not a plastic doll, if you know what I mean. And I’m not a trophy (wife). A trophy that you leave on a corner, put up on a shelf and forget about. One that you don’t touch and don’t want anyone to touch either. I’m a woman that feels, wants, and needs. And I need you to open up your heart to me. To show feelings, not being a cold bucket of ice but a warm fire that devour my body as well as my heart.

I want to simply be talked to, listen to, hugged, kissed, caressed without me having to be asking for it. I want to be invited to places without me being the one who makes all the plans 1st. I respect him when he takes charge of things and asks me how I feel about it. I want to be cuddled and not only when he wants sex, but also just for the comfort of having the person I am with and care about being there for me, when I need it. No just when he needs me or wants me. Is that so much to ask? 

But most men don’t get these things, for some strange reason. They seem to have their sympathy and sensibility button turned off. The only switch they have one is the one on their pants. But their brains and heart seems to me malfunctioning almost since their birth. I’m not against men or a Feminist either. But men needs to learn what women wants and need for them in order to find long stable relationships and not just a hook up. Cause I know they too have feelings, hidden deep in their many onions like skin. And they too feel lonely at times and may even want to be loved too.

So Men out there, all that a women need is communications, attention, trust, faithfulness, and TRUE LOVE!

Irás Bien Lejos; Mi Niña Revoltosa

Irás Bien Lejos; Mi Niña Revoltosa

Así como llegaste a mí
de improviso;
Alegremente y tenaz,
desafiaste al mundo
y todo lo previsto.

Tan pequeña
y tan determinada.
Tan segura de todo,
y tan madura para tan escasos años…

Que fuerte te movias en mi vientre,
querías tu propio espacio.
Yo sentía que así mismo serías,
cuando finalmente te cargara
y estrechara en mis maternales brazos.
Sorpresivamente, como eres siempre,
te anunciaste a mí,
y cuando te cargue y bese
tus manitos chiquititas
y satisfecha bese y conté
cada dedito de tus tiernos pies
entendi que eras lo mas preciado en mi vida.
Supe desde ese entonces mi niña
que muy lejos caminarías…

Mi querida Tayzlin.
tu y tu hermanita,
que con toda su alegría te recibió
y compartió contigo todo que tenía
incluso mi amor,
han sido para mí la mas grande bendición…

Si pudiera cambiar algo de ustedes
o de mi vida,
nada NUNCA cambiaría,
sólo sería mejor madre aún,
las mas orgullosa de las madres
por tener tan hermosas y cariñosas niñas!

Tu eres como ese remanzo
que empieza en un río callado
y que termina luego
en una cascada riente
y elocuente…

Ambas, tu y tu hermana son mi caudal de energía.
Son un vaso refrescante de agua fría,
del agua que me sostiene y me da la vida…
Sin ustedes nada valdría,
ya nada significado alguno tendría…

Recuerdo como ayer
tu sonriente rostro
al abrir tus ojos
por primera vez.
y tu llantico corto al nacer
parecia casi una carcajada…

Mi querida Tassy,
tus quince llegaron hoy
y tan derepente
igual como llegaste tu a mi vida…
Ya pronto llegaran tus dieciseis,
tu tendras tu novio y en futuro
rehaceras tu vida.

Viajas e irás lejos con tus propias alas
de exploradora y aventurera.
Irás muy lejos mi niña alocada y revoltosa,
llegarás alto contra marea y viento,
igual como llegastes a mi vida…
La luz y niña de mis ojos.
Mi Tazzy querida!

Nueve Meses te Esperé

“Yo te esperaba
Y veía mi cuerpo crecer
Mientras buscaba
El nombre que te dí
En el espejo
Fui la luna llena y de perfil
Contigo dentro, jamás fui tan feliz…”


Nueve Meses Te Esperé

(Poema para mis hijos, especialmente a mi primogénita Sheyla Marie.)

Me llenó de alegría al recordar
las locuras que pensé
al saber que por fín
hibas a llegar…

Por un momento pensé
que jamás te vería
que nunca vería
tu hermosa sonrisa.

Pensé que tampoco llegaría
a saber el color de tu mirada
ni el sonido de tu voz,
como dice una vieja y linda canción…

9 meses te esperé!
En silencio te esperé;
Cuando por fin supe
que serías una niña,
Que alegría!
Jamás estaría sola otra vez…

Te tendría en mis brazos, siempre conmigo;
seríamos grandes amigas…
Te cuidaría como el mas grandioso
mágico tesoro que existiría,
por que eras mía,
mi hermosa niña…

Así que te quise nombrar, Mia,
Eva Maria, o quizas Angélica,
Marina o Estrella…

Pero el destino quiso
que te nombrara Sheyla
Mi Sheyla Maria, en honor a mi Virgencita
que me permitió tenderte y darte vida…

Nueve meses te esperé,
Felizmente y contra todo te esperé!
mi niña querida!.
Y sentí tu vida latir en mi creciente barriga…

Senti en tu pulzo y tu corazón
Un eco de amor y alegría.
Sentí tu manita
tocar mi barriga,
al acariciar yo mi vientre.

Y finalmente
escuché tu llanto y tu lamento
al entrar en este mundo tan frío y a veces perverso
que de alguna forma te alejaría de mí…
Ese era mi major miedo.
Pero te esperé con amor y recelos
y nunca jamás hiría a permitír
que nada te separara de mí
Por que tu eres mi sol, mi angelito y mi niña adorada!

Ayer cumpliste tu primer añito
Que felicidad me das mi vida!
Felicidades, mi niña bonita!
Ya hoy son tus quince;
Mañana tus diesiseis…

Luego vendran tus 18, tus 21, 25, y demas.

Que alegría tan inmensa tu y tus hermanitos me dan.

Taz, y Kenny son mis dos girasoles.

Son como un nuevo aliento de vida cada vez que me miran.

Y tu eres la rosa que los adorna con tu hermosa sonrisa.
Que rápido pasa el tiempo. Ya eres toda una mujercita!
Felíz cumpleaños, mi hermosa hija!
A  mi adorada Sheyla Marie!…