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

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".