E. Steven Collins - the man, the myth, the legend...

Ernie Steven Collins, better known as E. Steven and best known as simply, E.  Yesterday morning I started my day with a phone call no one wants to receive.  E, a dear friend and mentor, had suddenly passed away.  I was numb with sadness and shock.  It had been over a year since we communicated but the pain was still palpable, nonetheless.

E was an original, a class act.  He was a community leader, an exceptional mentor, a comedian, a loving husband, a tremendous father (and an influential father figure to so many others), an amazing friend.

I was maybe twenty when I met E.  He immediately took me under his wing and showed me the radio ropes.  He taught me how to produce a show, how to work under pressure, and most importantly, that nothing is impossible if you put your mind to it.  "Sweetheart" he'd say, "to get what you never had you've got to think like you've never thought and do what you've never done." He gave criticism without belittlement.  A warm word, a corny joke, a random lunch date, were all possible every time you passed his office.  He could be listening to Biggie or Coltrane, depending on the day.  A simple lunch at Reading Terminal Market could turn into a meet and greet with the Mayor, a councilwoman, a longtime fan, a church leader, or perhaps just a former intern.  The beauty of E was that they were all received with the same importance.

E touched everyone he met.  He was a gentleman, a shining star.  He lived life to the very fullest and brought whomever was willing to come along for the ride.  No matter where life took me, or how long it had been since we spoke, I could always count on E for a warm "Miss you!!"  Love you lots!".  That was just E.

While the sadness remains, I can't help but feel blessed --- blessed to have known him.  I'm struggling...it is so very hard to put into words just how special he was.  A plethora of information.  An open book.  A welcome wagon.  A cheerleader.  E was...amazing.

My prayers go out to each and every person who had the privilege of knowing him -- for I know we all have similar stories and thus similar pain, sadness, and shock.  I can only hope that every one of us takes a little  E with us as we continue on our journey.  Paying forward the love, respect, and guidance he gave to us is the greatest homage we can give him.  E. Steven Collins - the man, the myth, the legend!

Rest in peace, E.  Miss you and love you lots.

Moving On

Moving on has to be one of the hardest things for a person to do.  No matter the age or the gender.  Be it moving on from a job, a relationship, a home, a city or even a way of thinking.  Change is a natural part of life but not always a welcomed one.  We see it all the time, in the lives of others and (at times begrudgingly) in our own lives.  Einstein once said, "The world as we have created it
is a process of our thinking.  It cannot be changed without changing our thinking."  That consciousness he is referring to, has to arrive before change can ever happen.  Realizing and recognizing when something no longer serves you or the road you've "selected" for yourself.  Change can be scary, almost paralyzing...but why?  Well, it’s very closely associated with another "ch" word -- choice.  People have protested and even died to secure our "right to choose" within this society.  Even God himself tells us through the Bible that we have been given the gift of free will.  Blue pill? Red pill? You have the final say.  Every moment of our lives we are making choices, both consciously and subconsciously.  So for those of us that love saying, "I don't know what to do" or "I'm so bad at making choices", well, perhaps there's a bit of a silver lining in the notion that every thing you do and DON'T do is...a choice.  So why is this relevant to change? Well, before we make a choice to change, we have to count up the cost.  That's when the What if's show up.  What if...what if the next job is worse than the last, what if he/she doesn't love me the way I imagined they would/should, what if I get my heart broken yet again, what if I really don't know what I want to be when I grow up, what if I never live in the same city as my family ever again, what if my friends stop calling me because of my new way of thinking, what if my family makes fun of me, what if I'm not strong enough, what if I'm not good enough, what if I truly am not all that I think I can be...

Just typing those what if's brought tears to my eyes.  Imagine carrying them around with you all the time? In my heart of hearts I believe we all know what we really want.  While many of us don't have a detailed map, if you pay attention you may realize that it feels like there is almost a code written within us that navigates us during those really important moments.  There's a section of society that make a conscious, unapologetic effort to follow that internal navigation.  You can call them yogis, Christians, spiritually awake people, Hindus, Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, Sufis, insert label here, etc. The label is simply a label, but is usually a first step to a truth that is sometimes difficult to put into words.  Simply put, you realize that you are part of something greater -- a grand design.  When this happens, you become keener.  Despierta (awake).  And so, when the change that needs to happen is counter to your very being, somehow you still make the choice.  Not because your heart and soul really wants to, but because it is literally the natural next destination on your map.  No, it may not end up the way you think it should have, no you may never live in the same city as your parents again, and he/she might tear your heart to pieces, and that job might just be the worst job you've ever had --- but that might be just what you needed to make you wiser, stronger, gentler, kinder, more forgiving.  The more "in tune" you become with the God that lives within, the more you can see, understand and even accept -- well, life.  Even if it hurts.  Moving on becomes less of a boogie monster.  The truth isn't so hard to tell anymore.  Choices are made with genuine consideration and not fear or anger.  Change is welcomed.  And in some way, if we're walking in love, even the world changes for the better.

Glory, glory!

There are times when it seems nothing is going right.  When it seems the world is coming down all around you and even when you know better, you don't necessarily do better.  My last post, regarding my grandmother, was one of those times.  I did know better. I wanted to do better.  I just didn't know HOW to change my attitude.  Here is this woman that I have deemed ungrateful and cold.  I decided I no longer belonged there with her.  I had to move on.  The moving on part stands true, but for sake of time and space, I'll save that for another post at another time.

Mama celebrates 89!

Before I could move on I knew I had to "fix" my heart...and I knew it was no one's job but my own.  Many times, its easy to blame outside sources for what has happened to you, how you feel, or where you are or aren't in life.  But, we must remember we are in charge.  Everyday.  We make a choice.  Yes, there are things you can't escape like children, grandmas, and other such responsibilities but even in those things we really do make a choice.  Plenty of people have turned their backs on these types of responsibilities that many of us consider inescapable.  So, by simply being there we have made that choice.  But, if you're going to be there ---  well, be there...and bring something meaningful to the table.  In my case, I am still working towards building the foundation of my life.  Who I am, where I stand, what I do, etc. are all still being formulated.  But now, Mama has become a major part of that process.  So, how do I honor her while still staying true to my own camino (walk/journey)?

Step 1 - I apologized for my attitude.  I sat there, tail between my legs and I apologized.  I explained that I am conscious of how angry and difficult I have been and I explained why.  Using me.  Not her.  While I easily have an opinion on how she contributed to my less than appealing attitude, she has to come to her own conclusions about her behavior.  That's HER choice and her cross to bear.  Not mine. Having the ability to be true to who you are and being the best you possible is not an easy feat.  But, to allow anyone or thing to come in and tear that down in a blink of an eye says there's serious work left to be done.  For me, this is the definition of maturity -- the ability to face adversity without crumbling, digressing, or making rash, emotion filled decisions.  Be the change you want to see...

Step 2 - I prayed (and continue to pray daily).

Step 3 - I spoke to my father.  That conversation was one of the realest conversations we've had in awhile.

Step 4 - I got moving.  I found a housekeeper/grandma sitter.  Praise God she is truly an angel.  I "randomly" got her name and number from city hall and only after her interview did we find out she was the sister of our old handyman/neighbor whom Mama really loves.  Serendipitous, really.

Step 5 - I am getting back to being the loving, sweet and kind granddaughter I was when I first got here.  Looking forward to adventures with Mama and really making an effort to spend time with her.  Being present, patient and forgiving when I am with her (even if it means watching corny novelas and super annoying Puerto Rican gossip shows).  So many times, we just get use to those around us.  Then we wonder why we feel like we're in such a rut.  You hear it all the time when it comes to marriages, but it really can be applied to any relationship. It is a work.  A constant reinvestment into who they are and what they mean to you --- especially when things get so gray you're unsure about those answers.  That reinvestment clarifies the place they had in your heart, before life started piling into that once pure space.

Step 6 - I am allowing myself time for me.  Yoga, prayer and meditation, Newsroom watching time, time with other family members, working without guilt, coffee or drink dates with myself (and others), reconnecting with the outside world.  Finding that balance between responsibilities and relaxation.  When that is out of balance, so is your life.

This blog serves as an account of my story.  My characters consisting of Mama, my parents, Max, sister-cousins, etc.  But you too have your own story.  Your own challenges.  Your own characters.  To you, on your journey I say - be encouraged.  There may still be more question marks than periods, but I'm learning that that's life.  That's the beauty of life.  The journey is in the questions.  In yoga, its called "the flow".  Well, I encourage you to remember you too are living the flow.  The challenging, strengthening, frightening, yet magnificent flow.

The Warriors

February of 2013.  That was the last time I looked at this blog.  A six month adventure has turned into a 3 year (this December) ordeal.  In this time I've grown closer to God, farther from seemingly everyone else in my life, and have reached a stalemate with my grandmother.  If I seem down, its probably because I feel a bit defeated.  The rain is coming down in front of me -- literally and I feel the same way inside.  These are the hard times.  The point of this blog was to get me through the happy, sad, funny and tragic.  Happy and funny come easy.  Sad and tragic, well that's a bit harder to express -- on a public forum to people who could care less or care too much.

My grandmother is tough.  She's cold.  Quite frankly she can be quite the pain in my ass.  But, who isn't?  I know I'm a pain.  I can be tough and I can be quite cold when I want to be (and even sometimes when I don't want to be).  In my yoga teacher training (which I completed about two weeks ago but now feels like 2 years ago), we learned about karma.  Stored up karma, karma in your present life, karma in your future lives.  Perhaps this is mine.  Learning how to deal with someone as hardheaded as I am.  Feeling what it's like and gaining new insight on the love and patience it must have taken for those who have been apart of my life to "deal" with me.

In the training we also learned about personalities using an enneagram  test.  Initially, I ranked tied with a 7 (the adventurer) and a 9 (the mediator).  When my teacher described the different types of personalities I pegged my father and grandmother as an 8 (the warrior).  These personalities (when unbalanced) are dominant, they have a 'my way or the highway' attitude and when they are in attack mode -- well you better watch out!  Our teacher told us the exam we took was an initial one and if we'd like to go deeper, we could meet with her separately....so I did.  Well, surprisingly, I discovered I was actually a 7 and an 8.  It seems I too, am a warrior.

The warrior personality is developed through hurt.  A serious injustice that was enacted upon you which shifts the manner in which you approach people, situations --- life in general.  You hurt them before they can hurt you.  You bring a grenade to a fire fight.  You put on an armor and you wait for the shoe to drop and war to start.  "But Mish, that's so not you." some would say.  While others, unfortunately, are reading this and just nodding their head.  To those, who are probably still mending war wounds as a result of my actions, I say I'm sorry again and again and again.  While I didn't have a label of "warrior" to use, I knew there were things I wanted to change about me.  Things that were unsettling and so I began to address it, I made a real effort to see what was wrong and how I could be a better me.  That journey started years ago and has truly enhanced my life in so many beautiful ways.  But, that's the thing about this journey called life.  It's a journey.  And so, there will always be something new to challenge us.  A new opportunity to use what we've learned and apply it so that we can move to a new level of living our best life.  This sounds amazing and fun, but its anything but most times.  See, my inherent nature is to protect myself.  To make sure I'm not hurt, like ever.  Because feeling hurt can paralyze me.  This takes me back to my grandmother...

I'm a warrior living with a warrior.  I am trying to provide, love and guide her in the best way I know how without losing myself in the process.  I am looking at 32 in a short few months and I have dreams of a secure financial future, an amazing husband, and cute as a button bilingual children.  So, I find myself working on my budding conversational English company, tending to Mama, attempting to maintain contact with the outside world and tending to the house.  Everything, obviously, is done half heartedly because while I'm doing one thing the other is being neglected.  I don't have a social life past liking things on Facebook and Instagram, and attending my weekly yoga and English classes.  So my dreams are feeling more and more like that -- dreams.

Then, on the day I graduated with my yoga teaching certificate, my grandmother ended up in the hospital.  I was none the wiser until my father told me the next day.  Apparently she told her neighbor not to call me because she knew I was graduating.  She took the dog for a walk, felt dizzy and rushed home, only to fall flat on her face in the middle of the living room.  She had a medical alert bracelet on her arm that she could have used but instead the prideful warrior attempted to lift herself up (unsuccessfully).  Thankfully, a neighbor came by for one of her daily visits and helped her up.  They then took her to the hospital to tend to her bruises and to make sure there were no further injuries (thankfully there weren't).

Since that incident I decided things had to change, so I started looking for a cleaning lady -- which led me to find a great free town program that is offered to the elderly.  In this program they are picked up in the mornings and dropped off in the afternoons.  They are fed breakfast, lunch and a snack, they play games, listen to music, and do a whole slew of activities.  It's like school for old folks lol.  The place is beautiful and nicely maintained.  My parents (who were visiting) and I made an appointment with them so that my grandmother could see the place and hopefully give it a chance.  Well, we didn't get that far.  She vehemently refused to even visit.  I was pissed.  I was hurt.  I was sad.

I can now see, though, that I was so angry because I was thinking about myself.  What a relief this would be for me both mentally and physically.  How perfect this would work with my schedule and how this would free me a bit more to start laying the groundwork for my own life.  Me, my, I.  So, when she was adamant about her position, I took it personally.  How could she be so rude? How could she not even consider this, knowing how helpful this would be for me?  Doesn't she care about me and my feelings?  Doesn't she want to see me happy?!  I wanted to book a flight on the first thing smoking and leave her proud warrior ass in the dust.  In the past, I probably would have.  But, I know better now and so I have to deal.  I still have a heavy heart.  I am still displeased with her and quite frankly don't even want to be nice to her, but I know that I have to figure it out.  I have to break out of my own warrior shell and find that thoughtful wife and loving mother that I hope to be one day.  This is truly one of the hardest things I've had to do...not sudsy butt crack washing or dog piss cleaning. ..but this --- going against the very grain of who I am and loving and being gentle towards someone who has disappointed and hurt me so much that I don't even want to look at much less talk to.

Today the cleaning lady came for an orientation before she begins on Monday.  I couldn't help but notice that as she was leaving, Mama mumbled "Buena suerte" (good luck) under her breath.  And so, it seems, the adventure continues...

Hands

Hands that touch.  Touch a frail body ever so sensitively.  Hands that are wrinkled.  Hands that are freckled.  Hands that can have the weight of a ton of bricks.  Hands that I use to beg to intertwine with mine.  Just for a bit.  Calm hands.  Nervous hands.  Hands attached to long fingers and even longer nail beds.  Proof we're related hands.  Hands with the blessing of cooking skills.  Thank you Mom hands.  Well manicured hands taking care of rough calloused hands.  Signs of a lifetime of hard work hands. Seemingly huge hands have grown smaller over the years.  Mini hands full of multicolored polish.  Full of life and so much possibility hands.  Hands that look for a phone but instead find their way to a keyboard.  Hands that clean.  Hands that iron.  Hands that hang freshly washed clothes.  Hands that wipe tears.  Hands that come together to pray.  Hands that grip a yoga mat.  Downward dog.  Bridge.  Help me hands.  Help me make sense.  Hands.

The lab

Next week, Mama has an appointment with her primary care physician.  That being the case, we went to the local lab this morning to take her routine exams [blood, urine, etc.].  Mama seemed to be semi-excited, maybe even anxious this morning.  She woke up and the first thing she said to me was, "We're going to take blood this morning right?"  I assured her that we were and even suggested we go grab some breakfast afterwards.

Why aren't I at work you ask?  Well, I've significantly reduced my hours at the job in order to be around more often for Ms. Mama.  I also [thankfully] secured a position tutoring a group of engineering students at the local university.  So, there's still money coming in and more time to care for Mama.

Back to the lab.  So, as Mama is getting her blood drawn, the woman attending her is trying to convince her to take a short trip with me back to New York.  She's making a good case but Mama is just politely laughing saying its too cold over there right now.  She faithfully watches the Weather Channel like its a real channel.  Its almost like a favorite past time of hers or something.  I mean really, what is it with old people and weather?  She goes straight for the weather section in the newspaper, must see the weather on her afternoon news program, and knows the Weather Channel number and schedule by heart! You would think someone so invested in weather would use it to her advantage and actually plan outings or something!  I digress.  

Where were we? Oh yes, the woman finishes taking her blood and hands her an empty tube and a plastic cup.  Mama looks at me with these bugged out eyes and says "You can stay here."  I ask why and she responds "I have to give a sample of my urine so I have to go to the bathroom." I say, "Ok, well then, let me take your purse." See, in my mind she already has a cane and a bad arm.  If she wants bathroom privacy I'll grant it to her but the least I can do is hold her purse.  Here's were it gets interesting...as I reach for the purse, she pulls back and refuses!  But like nervously refuses - with crazy eyes this time.  Now I know something is up and before I could open my mouth again she says "Come, come with me to the bathroom."  Lord oh Lord, I think, What is she up to??  

As soon as we walk into the bathroom she starts unzippering her purse.  As she's doing that, she's explaining "I don't go to the bathroom in public places, and I never pee here.  I always bring my own urine."  Yes.  Read it again.  Ingest that.  I promise it just gets better.  She then proceeds to pull out a small plastic bottle.  As she's doing this I'm thinking - that bottle looks very familiar....don't tell me.  No. she. didn't.  The bottle, ladies and gentleman, was the bottle I use to store my natural juices that I make at home.  My famous baby bottle that I love because it doesn't leak and is small enough to fit in my bag.  Yes, that bottle is now Mama's pee pee cup.  I can't.  I didn't know how to react and so I just mumbled [desperately and in full English] "Nooooo, you can't be serious." under my breath.  Mama saw my face and said "What?"  I responded "Mama I use that for juice!"  While pouring her pee from my bottle into the tube and passing me the unused cup to throw away, she nonchalantly said "Well, I couldn't find the cup I usually put it in and so I grabbed the first thing I saw."

Please note: 

#1- I am afraid to ask what she use to put her pee pee in before my bottle came along. #2 When did she find the time to do all this without me noticing?  She must have done it last night before she went to bed...when I was out teaching...ugh #3- there is no way she just stumbled on that bottle because I store them on the second shelf in the kitchen --- of course I would have the TALL 89 year old grandma! 

As I type this I am in a fit of laughter.  How are you such a germ-a-phobe that you won't use perfectly clean public toilets but you'll freely piss in a baby bottle that people drink from?!?!  It's like I'm living a sitcom sometimes...and these things are just too good not to share.  Happy Friday folks!

Exhibit A