Someone asked me the other day about my chocolate Labrador retriever. Her name was Catira, a term applied to blond women in Venezuela, I believe. But to me she is my Soul Dog. In this case, circumstances are important because every thing about her adds meaning to the way she influenced and –as far as I am concerned- saved my life. This makes telling complicated but I will try. Continue reading
MINDLESS
Have you ever noticed that there are times when one is absolutely mindless? When anything done the day before… no, even ten minutes before, gets erased from the inner blackboard without leaving a trace? This usually happens in moments of stress, preoccupation or intense worry. It also happens when one is in love. Continue reading
SALOMÉ
The alarm goes off. I open one eye. The grey hush of morning is beginning to reflect in the mirror on the wall from the window to my back. There is something warm snuggled up against my left shoulder blade and extending almost down to my waist. Slowly I turn my head on the pillow and meet mustaches, eyebrows, two floppy black ears and the dark shiny eyes of my miniature schnauzer, her head comfortably resting on the pillow beside mine. Continue reading
WASTING TIME
It was only about three years ago that I realized it wasn’t possible to “waste” time. I am not going to launch into a diatribe about “time” not existing (I’ll leave that to the modern Einsteins and the plethora of recent gurus) because for all use and purposes in this life on Earth, time passes. Continue reading
LIFE DOESN’T OWE YOU ANYTHING
My life at that moment seemed almost impossible to live.
Twenty four months earlier I had declared myself a raging alcoholic on the verge of prolonged suicide and spent five weeks in an addiction clinic.
Thirteen months earlier I had given up smoking thinking that as I had managed to do it with one addiction, the second one would be easier.
Six months earlier I had finally decided to give up what I hoped was my last addiction. I divorced my husband. Continue reading
EGO-NESS, CONSCIOUSNESS AND AMENDS
The wonderful thing about Consciousness is that it doesn’t let you get away with anything. I had just finished the first day of September feeling rather pleased with myself (the first sign that Ego was taking over: Consciousness does not feel “pleased” with itself, rather its manifestations are of love and gratitude; Continue reading
The Multi-Faceted Approach to Building a Better Penis
I just couldn’t resist. The above phrase appeared as a heading in my spam box and throwing it away was beyond me. There must be a story to this, thought I. Of course, I didn’t dare open the mail to get the instructions because I feared that then I would be flooded with all the techniques for having a better, bigger, longer and more satisfying penis. Considering I had never had one at all, I could not see the use of having this kind of information swamping my spam box. Continue reading
ONE IS NEVER IMMUNE
I never thought I would fall, believe me; in spite of the fact that I live in a country where it is so prevalent that contagion is practically inevitable. And yet, I was positive: the bug would never bite me, it was not in my nature, it was against my better judgment and certainly had nothing to do with the personality I had so carefully constructed. No. Not I. Continue reading
WHISTLING GIRLS
My grandmother used to repeat it often: Whistling girls and crowing hens always come to some bad ends. But I wanted to whistle, I wanted to whistle bad. My mother said you’ll get wrinkles around your mouth, and I noticed she already was beginning to have some. Had she wanted to whistle too, when she was a girl, and given in to the desire as I did when no one was listening? Continue reading
PLACING THE BLAME
Yesterday –or maybe it was two days ago, time begins to lose its accountability- someone sent me a PPS (pictures and words) titled “The Eggs You Eat”. I knew what I was in for if I opened it, and I opened it anyway. I watched, each moment more pained, the photos of four or five hens cooped together in spaces too small even for one, of beaks cut with hot pliers so that the birds could not peck each other fighting for what little space they could, of wings and breasts featherless and bleeding from incessant rubbing by wires that band the cage, of animals too exhausted to even stay on their feet from laying day in and day out as many eggs as possible. My chest hurt when the pictures finished. Continue reading
Writing a life 