Clearing the Air

It has been over a month since I unofficially moved back in with Mama.  Within these last few weeks, the unofficial move became official when I sat down and had the "Mama I'm moving back in" talk with her.  Then I began packing up...once again.

Plaza Colón in Mayagüez, Puerto Rico

Pretty quickly, the holidays approached and I realized why, this same time last year, I moved out.  Christmas here is depressing.  "What?" you say, "Christmas in Puerto Rico?  Depressing?  No way!"  Well, my response is no, Christmas in Puerto Rico is not depressing.  Christmas in Mama's house is.  She has no Christmas spirit and even less now that she's in a sling.  There is no eagerness to visit family and she in no way considers this a special time of year.  It is no wonder that right around this time last year I decided to pack up and move out.  But, it seems God has other plans for me.  So, almost exactly a year later, I'm back.  Apparently, I have unfinished business here and one way or the other, I am going to have to deal with it.

 

Mama's brother's house was a rockin' good time!

Ahh!  Stay on beat Mish!

Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, I am ashamed to say, were probably two of the most tense days in this house.  Christmas Eve Mama said she wasn't going anywhere [we had been invited to her brother AND her sister's house].  I got upset and down.  I went into my room and Skyped with my little brother and my dad until pretty late.  Then, I pushed myself to get dressed and only made it to Mama's brother's house.  While I felt welcomed and did my best to make the most of my evening, I was still bummed.

Christmas Day wasn't much better.  She hardly even looked at the gift I put under the tree.  She was quiet.  I was quiet.  I even bathed her in silence.  The tension you could cut with a knife and all I kept thinking was "Michelle, you're supposed to be better than this.  You have to make it right."  That evening I had a long conversation with an old friend.  I expressed my frustration regarding this situation to him and he simply asked me "Have you expressed any of these feelings to her?" I quickly responded "No." To which, of course, he asked "Why not?"  My response was "I don't want to make my grandma cry." He laughed and said "Why would you make her cry?" My response was simple, "Because I think I want to make her cry.  To prove she has feelings.  Which tells me I don't need to talk to her yet." He left it alone and we continued on talking about family and other stuff.  But, that part of the conversation stuck with me.  I knew I needed to come to a space where I was able to express myself, able to have hard conversations, without necessarily hurting [or wanting to] hurt the other person.  While I had done well with this in the past, I have also had my share of miserable failures.  I didn't want the latter to happen with Mama.

It wasn't until the morning of December 26th that I sat down with Mama and I cleared the air.  I had just returned from an early morning run.  After preparing her breakfast and cleaning up the dishes, I sat in front of her in the living room...and I started. "Mama...necesito que decir lo siento y que pide perdon..." [Mama...I have to say I'm sorry and ask for forgiveness...]

I went on to explain that I know that my behavior over the last few days was less than stellar.  I told her that I was angry but perhaps not for the reasons she thought.  I went on to tell her that my parents raised me with an emphasis on the importance of family.  I told her I work to maintain contact with everyone because for me, these people are important.  So, I explained, it hurts me when her attitude towards family is so nonchalant.  I get that people are different, I even get that we are not always going to agree.  What I am still working on being ok with is the way it seems she could really care less about anybody in her family.  In fact, she seems to only really care about the neighbor's kid [the one she pretty much raised, put before everyone, and still refers to as her son].  I went on to explain how deeply that situation has hurt me throughout my life. How no matter how hard I try I can't wrap my head around it.  I also let her know, I was done trying to wrap my head around it.  The past is the past and whether I understand it or not, it just is.  I concluded that while that hurt, I am still here.  I am here and I am willing to work.  My focus is on peace.  The only way I can love her the way I'm supposed to is if I find my peace within this situation.  This conversation was an enormous step in that direction.  I finally spoke about the elephant in the room.  Actually, my elephant.  By talking about it, without hostility but with honesty, I was able to free myself.  She heard me.  What she does with what she heard is up to her.  I have no expectations.  My mission was accomplished.

I'm proud of myself because I found a way to say really difficult things in a sincere way [oh and all in Spanish!].  As soon as the conversation was over it was like a weight was lifted off my shoulders.  Mama didn't say much, she just listened.  I found it interesting that I wasn't looking for nor needed her feedback.  What could she really say?  Nothing I said was untrue and in no way do I want her to lie to me.  I know she loves that kid...now that man [and his daughter and his wife].  I know that she can't help how she feels about him and that she made certain decisions in her life that cultivated that relationship yet destroyed others.  I also know that I can either accept her for who she is or spend my entire life wishing she were someone else and finding myself miserable.  You can't choose your family, but you can choose how you deal with them.  She may not be a warm and cuddly grandma, but she certainly is one who is teaching and growing me daily.  For that, I am thankful.

Feliz Navidad.

Tostones de Pana

Mama was NOT really cutting

Pana.  I love pana.  Before I came to live here in Puerto Rico, I had never tasted nor even seen a pana.  Pana, also known as breadfruit, is commonly eaten boiled and paired with algo guisado [something stewed] or cut into cubes, lightly fried, smashed, and then fried again [like tostones].  Today's cooking lesson will show you the latter...both super duper easy AND TASTY! [The other way, you simply boil with salt to taste for about 20 minutes]

How to cut/cook pana [in pictures]:

Step 1: slice in half

Step 2: Slice like you would a cantaloupe

Step 3: Peel the skin

Step 4: Cut into cubes

Step 5: Place in bowl with water and salt to taste

Step 6: Heat oil and fry until lightly golden

Step 7: Place on flat surface [my neighbor uses a plastic bag, I don't know how I feel about that]

Step 8: Squash the pana down

Step 9: Open & refry for a few minutes 

Step 10: Voila!

I hope you enjoy this recipe as much as I do.  It has been quite a journey thus far with Mama and her one arm and a more detailed blog highlighting those adventures is on the way.  Until then, though, I cook, and make lemonade out of lemons [or tostones out of pana].

Limbers de Coco

Mama getting her one armed Skype on!

Mama's bum arm has come with quite a few silver linings [some of which I'm sure I'm not even aware of yet], one being...drumroll please...new recipes!  Yaaay silver lining!  Since I have essentially moved back in until further notice, I am now playing part time chef and part time nurse.  Part time chef comes with its perks, the following recipe being one...you're welcome... in advance.

Limbers are Puerto Rico's version of a flavored icy.  These amazing cups of cool, sweet goodness don't come in your average flavors though.  Coconut, sesame, guanabana [soursop], and crema [cream] are just a few of the most popular.  Mama and Papa use to run a store from a renovated garage in the same house she still lives in.  The neighborhood would come for various grocery/snack items, one of the most popular being her limbers.

Recently, Mama had some visitors from New York, a step-daughter and her husband...and they absolutely love her coconut limbers.  Apparently, every time they come to visit Mama has a freezer full waiting for them.  Since she's got one arm down, the neighbor and I joined forces and became Mama's sous chefs.  In doing so, I got this amazingly simple recipe...and now, so do you! Mmmm icy....

Tools/Ingredients:
- Pot
- Plastic cups
- Can opener
- 1 cup of sugar
- 1 bottle of coconut syrup
- 1 tablespoon of vanilla
- 1 can of coconut milk
- Water [use the empty syrup bottle to measure]
- Cinnamon [optional]

Step 1:
- pour the coconut milk, syrup and water into the pot

Step 2:
- add vanilla and sugar

Step 3:
- mix with a big spoon so that the sugar does not settle at the bottom of the pot
- add cinnamon, extra sugar, etc to taste [optional]

Step 4:
- Fill cups and place in freezer
- once frozen garnish with cinnamon [optional]
-ENJOY!

Enjoy!

What. A. Day.

Today Puerto Rico celebrated its day of "discovery".  It is an official local holiday and most offices and all schools are closed.  I, after having spent the weekend continuing to reunite with my newfound family members, was looking forward to this day "off".

It started just how I wanted it to...early rise, followed by daily readings, followed by a trip to the local track for a long overdue jog in the crisp morning air.  Check, check, check.  Next, I was heading home to jump into my pilates/yoga regimen.  Then, I would start on the laundry list of to-dos I had assembled the night before.  But, just as I was starting my car and heading home, my phone rang. It was Mama's neighbor.  They were in the hospital.  They'd been there since about 5am.  Mama was experiencing such a severe pain in her arm she could not get herself out of bed.

From then on out it was hours upon hours in the extremely cold hospital emergency room.  Thankfully, she was in a bed by the time I got there, and a stroke/heart attack had been ruled out...but the pain had hardly subsided.  It wasn't until almost 5pm - yes, 12 hours later - that they realized she had dislocated her shoulder.  For 12 hours she suffered through injections, tubes of blood being sucked out of her, apathetic technicians who borderline manhandled her, and numerous, personality varying nurses.

Her neighbor/bff was there the whole way through.  And, while she certainly can't seem to stay still, and has an apparent issue with more than a few minutes of silence, she is an excellent follow upper.  She is precise.  If they say they're coming to check her pressure in two hours, well she's checking her phone every half hour to make sure they come when they said they would.  When they don't come, because they never do, she is making her rounds looking for the nurse.  I am thankful for her and have even begun to admire her.

Dislocated right shoulder

Once Mama was finally diagnosed, we were told they were going to sedate her for a short time so that they may put her bone back where it belonged.  Then they'd take another X-ray to make sure nothing else was awry.  How does an 88 year old woman dislocate her shoulder?  Well, the answer to this particular question, when it comes to Mama, we will never specifically know.  But, my hard headed, warrior woman, grandma still rearranges furniture.  She still mops her house, still insists on gardening, and as if that weren't enough, she does stuff like gets dizzy or falls and tells you about it days later after she's picked herself up and kept it moving.  Because of this, a few months ago, I got her the Life Alert bracelet.  Sadly, she didn't actually use it last night.  Lucky for us, her neighbor/bff heard unusual commotion against the wall their bedrooms share.  She called out to Mama through the window to check if she was ok.  That, was when she discovered she wasn't.

Today was emotionally draining.  I continued to battle feelings of inferiority, of naivety,  and of pure freight.  When the doctor told us Mama would have to be in a sling for the next two weeks, I honestly freaked out inside...because my first thought was...I'm going to have to bathe her.  How selfish right?  Why is that even a thought? Well, it was...that and every other foul, funny,  and disturbing thing that may pass through ones mind when they realize bathing an 88 year old is in their very near future.  I honestly had a moment.  How can I get out of this? Who else can do it? I thought.  No one but you was the immediate answer.

By the time we got home, Mama had had a mini bathroom accident in my car and was still a little dazed from the drugs she was given at the hospital.  My feet were sore from standing for so many hours and we were all exhausted.  I knew shower time was coming and I knew that meant showtime for me.

I am pleased to report I put my big girl hat on and I just went to work.  It was fairly easy once I put myself in Mama's shoes.  Here is a very proud and independent woman who now has to depend on another for just about everything for the next few weeks.  She is tired, she is embarrassed, she is feeling her mortality and she is counting on a neighbor and a granddaughter that, two short years ago, she had a distant relationship with...at best.  She deserves my utmost respect, my upbeat demeanor to lighten the mood, and my compassion.  So, I got a washcloth, I made the water comfortably warm, and I began to treat her like she was at a spa.  She deserved it after all she went through today.  As I continued to bathe her, I thought about the numerous toddlers I've bathed in my life.  This wasn't much different.  While many of my friends are dealing with terrible two's, accidents, bath time adventures, and first time boo boos....I kinda am too.  It's like I'm in bizarro Mommy Bootcamp.  The circle of life I guess.  I'm doing my best to embrace it.  Fighting feelings of "What the hell am I doing here?" because the truth of the matter is I know ...

Challenge accepted.  What a day...of "discovery".

Guineo Escabeche

As promised in my last post, here is the guineo escabeche recipe.  Mama and I made this together for the family reunion last weekend.  Very simple, very tasty.  Enjoy!

Ingredients:
olive oil
vinegar
onions
bay leaves
olives
garlic
salt to taste
guineo verde (small green bananas)


Process:
- slice the guineos down the back, keep the skin on
- set the guineos to boil for about a half hour - depending on the amount of bananas you're boiling

- the guineos should be soft enough to easily peel the guineo, but not too soft
- while the guineos are boiling, slice onions and press garlic
- while guineos are cooling- take a pot and combine olive oil, vinegar, onions and garlic under low/medium heat
- allow this to simmer a bit, then throw in a bay leaf or two
- peel the guineos and cut them into slices and throw in the pot
- add olives and salt to taste -- note that you shouldn't need much salt considering you're using olives
- remove from heat and allow guineos to sit and marinate for at least a half hour
- you may eat at room temperature or cold

Brothers & Sisters

The "every Ramirez" photo

Hermanos.  This past Saturday, a major "Puerto Rico to-do" was scratched off my list.  My beloved Tio Roberto and his wife Nereida, threw a family reunion!  We got more than half there, as six out of the ten who are still with us were in attendance.  This was, without a doubt, a victory!

The personality differences definitely shined from time to time...little miss diva Mama removed herself from the group at one point because a bottle of rum was on the table.  She is the eldest and it is quite evident that she is a bit of a separatist.  Speaks when spoken to, you know, that sort of stuff.

Eventually, with a bit of help from the more outgoing, younger generation of cousins, she warmed up.  Before I knew it, she was singing her heart out to classic boleros, providing enthusiastic backup vocals for a group karaoke session, and shoulder shimmied the night away to salsa, merengue, and even reggaeton tunes.

I'm getting my photos one by one!

The reunion not only brought brothers, sisters, cousins, aunts and uncles together, it also managed to shine a light on just how close Mama and I have become.  When it was dinner time, I served her a plate.  As I walked up to her with plate in hand, I spotted her adamantly shaking her finger and head in unison (as any mature 5 year old would do).  By the time I got to her, she announced (sternly and proudly), "No, no.  I'm not going to eat."  This, of course, was declared in front of an audience of her sisters...one of whom had already deemed the food not to her liking (this sister, I must add, is painfully skinny and doesn't seem to eat much of anything...further in that discussion I will not tread).  So, I looked Mama straight in her eye and as softly, warmly and equally sternly as I could, I said "I'm getting my plate now and we'll eat together."  As I walked away, mumbles of protest continued to fill the warm night air.  

Add caption

I prepared myself for the battle ahead of me, but upon my return, "motherly" instincts simply kicked in.  I removed her from her "audience" by encouraging her to face me with her plate.  I then asked her to pray over our meal (as she does everyday with me at lunch).  As she eyed her food, I reminded her I prepared the salad myself and we made the guineo escabeche (recipe coming in next post) together.  I saw an air of comfort fall over her face as she picked up her fork and started for the leafy greens.  Finally, I sealed the deal with her favorite...a nice cold Coke.  Before I knew it my Mama's plate was spotless!  She even ate her dessert (and half of mine...what a greedy lady)!

She arrived clutching her purse, refusing to eat, and being almost anti-social.  She ended up singing, chair dancing, laughing, smiling for tons of pictures, and being the LAST sibling to leave the party.  

Titi Rosa, Mish and Mama

Mama with one of her many nephews

Mama Maria is the big sister.  Serious.  Independent.  As one of her brother-in-laws describes her, "..una guerrera...siempre" ("...a warrior...always").  This may not be the most popular personality in a family, but she is still family.  She is a mother, grandmother, great grandmother, aunt, daughter, and sister.  And these, well these are her siblings...and there's nothing she can do to change that.  Whether they want to admit it or not, they need each other and probably always have.  Tio Robert gets that.  On Saturday, the veil seemed to lift for many of them, and they are now getting it too.

Titi Fanita, Mish, and Titi Virgin

I am one of three.  The middle child.  The only girl.  The wild card.  My older brother is the definition of stability.  Responsible.  A meat and potatoes kinda guy.  The "little" one is taller than all of us.  Charming.  Warm, yet cool under pressure.  Together, somos hermanos.  While we may change, that fact never will.

Right now, the three of us are separated.  One in Japan, one in New York and one in Puerto Rico.  Conversations are far and few between, as we can no longer count on Ma's next BBQ to catch up.  Between the three of us, there are currently three different time zones, three children, journeys of self discovery, bills, questions of next steps, significant others, oh, and not to mention, aging parents.  It now takes effort and a level of consideration for each other's lives...separate from our role as brother or sister.

Thank you technology!

Saturday night, when I got home, I e-mailed my little brother.  I'm looking for a good old fashioned sibling conversation.  No one else, just him and I.  Its long overdue.  Big brother can expect a call shortly as well.

Who picks up the phone, who sends the e-mail/text, or pays the first visit just doesn't matter.  Forgotten birthdays, anniversaries, and time lapses don't matter.  We're human.  Life happens.  What matters is that when we reach out, we are received...with genuine love.  THAT is the only thing that matters.

My brothers are special because they are my brothers.  We were gifted to each other and grew up together in a household that only we truly get--- because we lived it.  The good, bad, ugly, and beautiful...we shared those together.  Blood runs thick and what we have to offer each other is support...by birthright.


The pride I felt as a little girl watching my big brother play the trumpet, pitch at his numerous baseball games, or even graduate, is the same pride I feel today when he does something simple like pick me up from the airport.  He's there.  Late, on time, whatever.  I know he'll be there.  Siempre.  

My little brother can become Andre the Giant, he can learn discipline, and be a proud member of the US Air Force...but that hug, that smile, and the traditional head scratch that makes him 8 years old again, that will always be him and I.  Siempre.

These connections keep a family united.  These connections lead to cousins knowing cousins.  Family becoming friends rather than strangers.  This world is hard enough to navigate, why not face it together?

cousin love

Roots

"In all of us there is a hunger, marrow deep, to know our heritage -- to know who we are and where we came from.  Without this enriching knowledge, there is a hollow yearning.  No matter what our attainments in life, there is still a vacuum, an emptiness, the most disquieting loneliness." - Alex Haley

Pedro, Virginia, Celina and Victor

My grandmother Celina had three siblings: Pedro, Virginia, and Victor.  I grew up knowing of and seeing these three siblings pretty regularly -- even the ones, who as far back as I can remember, lived in Puerto Rico.  We were always aware of their presence and what part they played in our family construct.  Them, their children, and their children's children, for the most part, were a part of our extended, yet familiar, family.  As a kid, you don't think about "sides"-- especially not in the household I was raised in.  Family was pretty much anyone who showed up to our numerous gatherings (birthdays, holidays, or 'today is a good day for a party' parties).  I never looked at them as "Ma's side" or "Pa's side".  It wasn't until I was much older that I realized most of the "friends" were my dad's and most of the "blood" was my mom's.

My (paternal) great grandparents celebrating their 50th anniversary with (most of) their children

My grandmother Maria has twelve, yes twelve siblings.  Yes, ALL from the same mother and father.  Two years ago, this was news to me.  How I could go 29 years on this planet without knowing, speaking to, or even remember seeing one relative of my grandmother's is pretty amazing to me.  But, I've learned that in life there are many layers to a story.  One man's priority is not necessarily another's.  One man's belief could be another man's cheap joke...just as one man's treasure could be another man's trash.  My Spanish is now advanced enough that I feel confident in seeking out, talking to, and hopefully developing some sort of relationship with these siblings on my own.  Not all are still alive, but a good majority of them are.  I am seeking stories, old pictures, and clarity on the enigma that is Mama Maria.  I also know that deep down, I'm still looking for pieces of my biological grandfather through them.  Maybe one of them happens to have a story, some information or better yet - a picture of him!  Highly unlikely, and virtually impossible, but a girl could dream -- right?

Family seems to be a touchy subject with that crew.  From the limited conversations I've had with Mama Maria, I sense hurt, tension, secrets, and resentment.  Even in my limited interaction with the few members I have met thus far, well, I've never seen a family so disconnected.

5 minutes of heaven for me! Mama and some of her sisters.

There are glimmers of hope though.  Last summer I left a note in my Titi Rosa's mailbox explaining that I would love to meet her and encouraged her to call me sometime.  She did one better, she gathered two of her other sisters and a niece, and surprised Mama with a midday visit (looking for me)!  Luckily, I was able to spend a small amount of time with them on my lunch break.  But, when I later called Titi Rosa to try to setup a weekend lunch gathering with her and her sisters, she was obviously hesitant and non-commital.  Weirdness.  There is another sister that supposedly lives in the same neighborhood as Mama, yet in the year and a half that I've been here, I've NEVER seen her.  No visitations, no calls, nada.  Supposedly her daughter recently got married.  No invite.  More weirdness.  Then, there's Tio Robert, whom shortly after I returned from New York this summer, randomly reached out to Mama and expressed interest in seeing her and meeting me.  It was as if there was some divine intervention at work because upon my return to la isla, I had decided that I wanted to at least meet and take a picture with every living sibling Mama had left -- before the end of the year.  My parents happened to be in PR during this time, so we jumped in the car and headed over to Tio Roberto's --- but not before stopping to see my great grandparent's old house.

Tio Robert!

So, how are Tio Robert and his wife?  Beautiful, warm, and welcoming people!  It seems that Tio Robert has a yearning to keep in touch with his family as well.  He seems genuinely interested in doing what I'm hoping to do -- unite the siblings.  He politely admits its challenging, and obviously stifles any further commentary.  I can't help but feel that one of those challenges was sitting in the living room that day (you know, she goes by the name of Maria).

I honestly cannot wait to get him and his wife alone and comfortable.  Hopefully they will open up and layer by layer, history will unfold.  The Angela Lansbury in me is super excited, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't just a wee bit concerned that asking too many questions may get me in hot water.  There is an obvious disparity within this bloodline and at times, it feels like even simple questions have the potential to ruffle feathers and result in a blacklist.  But, this is a risk I have to take.  This is my history and subsequently my children's history.  I cannot deny the obvious "...hunger, marrow deep, to know..."

Where Mama Maria grew up.  One of her sisters still lives here.

PS- Tio Robert and I had a lovely conversation today.  We're getting together after church tomorrow.  It is then that I will begin to ask for pictures.

PPS - We did get together after church.  Exciting stuff. The story continues later this week in my next post.

Forward Movement?

Is it ok to go back in order to move forward?  Upon first glance, I believe most would answer "no".  Lot's wife turned into a pillar of salt for looking back, Henry David Thoreau said "Never look back unless you are planning to go that way", and I just wouldn't be me if I didn't recognize Andre 3,000 when (in one of my favorite songs to this day) he gleefully boasts "Spaceships don't come equipped with rear view mirrors/They dip as quick as they can..."

Now, back to Thoreau who said "Never look back unless you are planning to go that way".  I hear him, and interpreting this quote depends on what set of eyes you're wearing today.  This could be a forewarning of doom and gloom, danger and wasted time.  Heartache, pain, quicksand, if you will.  Or, it could symbolize a sort of purposeful journey for atonement.  We've been warned that most times its one of the bigger pitfalls of human beings, believing that they can make right what once went wrong.  Based on television, movies, and even books, we get a sort of mixed message.  If the protagonist is trying to make up for wrongdoing or lost time, well they're usually undeniably charming, genuine and successful.  But, if the protagonist is the one needing closure through revenge...well, then sorry Charlie, atonement, totally not happening.

So where do I weigh in on this?  I agree with Thoreau 100%.  You can't look back thinking your not going to go backwards a bit.  I did it.  A year and a half ago, I looked back at the sorry excuse for a relationship I had with my grandmother and I decided to go back --- back to my "roots", back to the confusion that narrated chunks of my childhood, and back to me.  See, time progressed and I simply moved forward.  At a certain point, entertaining everyone around me became all I could identify with.  Sure, I was "moving forward", but there was a staccato-like progression.  Looking back forced me to grow, to look in the mirror, to deal.  My grandmother will never change, no matter how many pictures of our family I throw in her face, she will still have the same half interested tone and demeanor she's always had.  But, I know who she is now, and as a result, I can accept her...today, yesterday, and tomorrow.

We can't control people.  We can't make them into who we think they should be, force them to act how we think they should act, or expect them to see us how we see ourselves.  We can control how we treat them though.  No, its not always easy.  Believe me.  Hearing, reading, and/or seeing adverse responses to you and your character when you are trying as hard as they are to get through this roller coaster called life --- well it can down right hurt and enrage you.  Sometimes you just want to look them in the eye and say "Damn it Mama, just say sorry!  Just say you made some freakin' mistakes and you wish things were different!"; "Damn it (fill in name here), it is NOT all about you!  Everything everyone does is not a testimony to your worth or lack thereof! Find your confidence, find yourself, and lose the dark cloud Linus!!"; "I'm sorry things didn't work out (fill in name here), but if you're really honest with yourself, you know that it was NEVER yours to begin with!"  I digress.

Looking back taught me what love is.  Unconditional love.  Doing things when you don't want to, not doing things when you do want to, finding the strength to go the extra mile, coming face to face with the mistakes you've made and owning up to them.  Humility.  Patience.  Peace.  It also showed me that my worth is not found in anyone but myself.  I don't count because Mama says I do (or anyone else for that matter).  I count because I count.  I'm happy because I am -- happy.  Comfortable in my own skin - finally!  I know I'm here because, somehow, I fit into the grand design--which is far greater than a small island in the Caribbean, my Bronx street, or even my place in my family.  So, Mr. Thoreau, I say sometimes looking back is just the thing you need to propel you forward.