Celebrating Mom and family

Today marks 23 years since my Mom separated from her body here. She was always a big, happy, fun presence, full of laughter, ready with a joke, always ready to move her feet and dance. As you can see in these pics, she was a beauty, too. It was super cold and windy when I went to the cemetery this morning to bring flowers and polish her headstone until it shone. I really love having a quiet,beautiful, special place where I can focus my thoughts and prayers on her without distraction. There are two vases; I always use the 2nd one because Dad used to use the first one and even though he doesn’t go there any longer, I still pull out both vases so the 1st one can still be pulled out. I fill the vase with water at the spigot, wet a rag for cleaning, trim the flower bouquet I brought (roses, ranunculus – really pretty today) and arrange it in the vase. Kneeling on a towel, I go to work on the headstone, clearing leaves, cleaning the stone, spraying it with marble/granite cleaner, wiping it and then buffing with a soft cloth for a high shine. All the while, I’m talking to Mom, feeling her presence, just the two of us, loving one another as always. I put my hands together in prayer and pray. Then I bend forward, kiss her name on the headstone and make the Sign of the Cross on her name.

  

I love the pic of mom on her wedding day. So young and beautiful and all that lace – wow! She visited Disneyland when it opened; we’ve figured she was probably pregnant with my brother Steve in this pic. In the 3rd pic are my cousins Rosie and Carmen (on the ends), with me and Mom.

   
1st pic: Tio Lolo; 2nd pic: Shelly S. (2nd cousin), Ruben O., me, Rosie A.(little girl in pic above), Gloria O.S.

Yesterday, I visited my Oropeza cousins in Oxnard to celebrate my Tio Lolo’s 83rd birthday.(Oropeza is Mom’s maiden name.) Tio Lolo is Mom’s youngest brother; she was next to the youngest in birth order in the Oropeza family of 10 children. They were all always very close and we grew up visiting at various tios’ homes nearly every weekend, all the cousins playing and growing up together. Family was the most important thing and our bond to one another was tight, almost like brothers and sisters. Being with cousins yesterday (and 2nd cousins and 3rd cousins) made me feel even closer to Mom. Being with them is like being with Mom: teasing, laughing, loving, talking endlessly, wanting more time together and not wanting to leave. Thank you, Mom, for our family, for my wonderful brothers and all of my beautiful, loving, crazy-fun extended family. I miss you but I see you alive still in all of us. I love you, Mom!

It’s Girl Scout Cookie Time

February 8 was National Girl Scout Cookie Day. Do you buy Girl Scout cookies? What’s your favorite? Samoas drizzled with chocolate? Thin Mints?  I don’t buy Girl Scout cookies, tempting as they are. Oh, I’d like to. I don’t like cake, but I do love cookies, especially good cookies.

But I don’t buy Girl Scout cookies. When I was in elementary school, a bunch of us signed up to join. I was so excited! Crafting, meetings, badges, camping – I could hardly wait. Actually, I did wait … and wait and wait. I found out later that the meetings had started … but only for the lighter-skinned girls. Those of us with darker skin (there were only a couple of us) weren’t called. We weren’t allowed to join the local Girl Scouts. I was just a little girl and I didn’t understand why. I didn’t know about prejudice or why some girls got to join but others weren’t. To me, we were all the same, just a bunch of little girls in elementary school.

It’s hard to believe that not so long ago, Girl Scout troops were segregated, with different troops for white girls, African-Americans, Latinos, Asians. At my school, there weren’t enough of us darker-skinned girls to be able to create a troop, so we were simply left out. I watched as the Girl Scouts wore their uniforms to school on meeting days, with their sashes and badges. I listened to them talk about their meetings and the things they’d learned or made. It made me sad. I didn’t know then why I couldn’t join. I felt left out and didn’t know why.

The social unrest of the 60s prompted the Girl Scouts to change their programs and the organization, but not yet in my area. There was prejudice in Orange County at that time. (When we moved into our new house, a neighbor came up to my mom and told her “I didn’t know they were going to let Mexicans move in here!” To which my dear mom replied “I didn’t know they were going to let poor white trash move in here.” You didn’t mess with my mom.) Thankfully, the Girl Scouts are a great organization and those types of prejudices are no longer. They do great work, building up young girls, teaching them a variety of skills, building confidence and inner strength, creating strong young women.

I so wanted to be part of that. I don’t buy Girl Scout cookies. I don’t buy them because of the little girls that they hurt so deeply years ago. I don’t buy them because of the little girl that I was, wondering why I was left out, not knowing why. It’s not that I hold a grudge; as I said, they’re a great organization and I encourage your support. It’s just that I want to honor and serve as witness for what once was, for the little-girl-me who just wanted to be part of a troop.

A little painting for my grand's 16th birthday

It's amazing that my baby grand, Jas, is now 16 years old. Oh, what a precious baby she was for me at a tough time in my life! She, her mom and her dad lived with me during Jasmine's first year. It was one of my great, quiet joys to wake up to her softly crying in the middle of the night, going into her room and taking her into the living room where I'd rock her, sing to her, maybe give her a bottle if she was hungry.

Holding my precious first granddaughter in my arms swelled my heart and began the difficult work of healing it in so many ways after it had been so badly injured. She still does that for me; my soul still connects, recognizes and knows her power in my life.

I saw a print on Pinterest recently and thought it would make a great painting for Jas. She's on her high school junior varsity water polo team and loves being in the pool or at the beach. I printed a copy (on the left) and then painted it on an 8x10 canvas. Just a bit of fun for my water baby girl (an Aquarian, like me) who loves the water!

English is a beautiful language

"Happy belated birthday!"
With a nod to Princess Bride and Inigo Montoya: You keep saying that phrase; I do not think it means what you think it means. There is no “belated birthday.” A birthday is a specific day, so no one can have a late birthday. If I miss someone’s birthday, the phrase is: “Belated happy birthday (wishes)!” because the wishes are belated, not the birthday.
English is a beautiful language and applying what we learned in elementary school helps us to communicate more clearly and promotes better understanding. (It also prevents expensive lawsuits, as people have gone to court when language is found to be misleading or incorrect.) The way a phrase is ordered (syntax) can alter the intended meaning. For example, this news headline:

Former Deputy Sentenced For Missing Wife's Murder

Maybe he was just busy that day and couldn’t be there for the murder?
Sometimes a typo is just a typo. I don’t think I want to be contacted by this associate:

I’ve been fortunate to be employed as a copywriter/editor/proofreader for many years and am pretty passionate about getting things right (in accordance with AP Stylebook and Merriam-Webster) before my work is published. I feel strongly that professional work should be correct. In various studies, polls and surveys, people have said that errors on business ads, websites, flyers, signs, etc., affect customer perceptions and impact the brand. Comments generally fall along the line of “If they can’t even get the spelling correct, what does that say about the quality of their other work?” Errors diminish perception about the quality of the business, they devalue the impact of the message. People have been known to lose confidence and to even quit doing business with companies because of the lack of quality in their published work.
That said, though, I’m not a “grammar Nazi” and, frankly, I find the term abhorrently insulting. If you make errors in your personal writing, it doesn’t matter to me one bit. (I do it all the time; I don’t check my personal writing with the same level of scrutiny that I do my professional work.) Sure, it helps to clarify meaning when the work is correct, but I’m usually able to figure out what you mean. I’m not a writing judge. And, by the way, why are mathematicians not called “math Nazis” or scientists not called “science Nazis?” If someone points out a math error, you thank them. But people are blasted for pointing out personal writing errors, so I just don’t do it unless someone asks for help. Even at work, if someone else makes an error on their published work, I don’t point it out unless someone specifically asks me to review their work for errors.
Some folks on Facebook have asked me to help them by posting examples of common errors so they can improve their communication. They’ve been very appreciative and find it helpful. I think people generally want to grow and evolve, to learn how to do things better, to improve themselves along life’s journey. I’m always learning new things about language usage. I’m passionate about information design—how we design information to be consumed by the user with understanding and clarity—and I feel that language is part of the discipline of information design.
I’ll end with a little nugget that, like the late birthday greeting, doesn’t mean what most people think it means:
In “ZIP code,” ZIP is an acronym for Zone Improvement Program and should always be capitalized per the United States Postal Service, which created the program. “Zip code” is incorrect. And now you’ve just learned something new!

Kindness and acceptance–without labels

When Sally Ride passed away last year, I remember reading a headline announcing that she had confirmed that she was gay shortly before her passing. Recently, there was a big to-do about Jody Foster at some awards show. (Sorry, I don’t watch them so I’m not sure which it was.)

I wish we were evolved enough as a civilization that we didn’t keep labeling people unnecessarily, whether by color, gender, race, sexual identity, handicap … whatever. Sure, there are times when a description is helpful, such as describing a bad guy: “He was about 6’, with jeans, gray shirt, ruddy skin tone and shaggy hair.” But we use labels when they aren’t necessary, such as the Sally Ride announcement. It seems that if she announced her preference, then, for equality’s sake, every other astronaut should announce theirs, too. Or imagine every entertainer, director, writer, etc., at awards shows going on stage and announcing their religion, race, preference, etc. Every time I hear the term “black president,” I cringe. He’s the American president of the American people, period. Let’s not separate him with a label. (Besides, he’s actually half-white and half-black, as if that makes any difference, either. He could just as easily be labeled a white president or bi-racial president; I don’t know why people label him as a black president … or use any label at all.)

All those labels don’t really matter. Does the person do a good job at what they do? Do they treat others well? Are they kind and thoughtful? These things matter, not the amount of pigment in their skin or who they love. (Love is a beautiful thing and should be celebrated.) I cringe when I read a news report where skin color is mentioned when it’s not relevant to the story. I cringed when an acquaintance wrote about her granddaughter being hassled by a schoolmate … and she felt compelled to mention his skin color.

If society pressures anyone to announce anything that labels and separates them, then they should require it of all. Can you imagine me introducing myself to you as a Spanish/French/German/Apache Catholic with Zen Buddhist leanings, some spinal issues that make movement difficult, blah, blah, blah? If you’re telling your story and including background information, that’s one thing, but for society to want people to make announcements … well, I sure do hope we evolve beyond that at some point and understand how irrelevant it really is.

I’ve felt very strongly about this for so many years, that I find that I often don’t notice the things that separate us. I try to look at who the person is—their Divine within—and I sometimes fail to note their physical appearance. Does Marsha have light skin? Are John’s eyes round or slanted? I fail to note these sometimes. Don’t know and don’t care, unless we’re talking about cultural issues that are pertinent to a discussion.

Buddhist teachings encourage us to observe, but not judge. Let us all simply be kind and accepting of one another. Let’s drop the unnecessary labels and just celebrate our shared oneness.

Merry Christmas, Mom

Merry Christmas, Mom! I took flowers to the cemetery last week. Gosh, the cemetery was so beautiful! It’s one of my favorite places during the holidays. There is more love to be experienced there than in any gaudily decorated mall. There were quite a few families putting up trees and decorations when I was there. Everywhere you could see the love that people put into decorating and including their loved ones in their holiday celebrations. Of course, we all know our loved ones aren’t lying there under the sod; you are all free from any physical encumbrances, no limitations imposed on you by a body any longer. But the cemetery gives us a very special place to gather, to share memories or to ponder alone. There is a sense of aliveness there, oddly enough, because the energy of love is just so powerful and the cemetery is filled with love. One family puts up a cardboard fireplace each year, hung with paper stockings with family names written on them; as new members join the family, new stockings join the others on the mantel. It always touches my heart; those are the kinds of things that always touched yours, too.

When I was cleaning your headstone and polishing it to a gleam, I noticed an incense stick stuck in the dirt around the stone again. That always touches me, too; someone (a stranger, I assume), lights incense and says prayers for you. I sometimes see the red stick in a couple of other graves, but not in all those that surround yours. Someone specifically chooses yours for their incense and prayers. That kind of thing would touch your heart, too, I know.

So, we had Christmas brunch at my place today. Steve offered to bring the food and make brunch for everyone. Ern and the Wesleys brought drinks and food, too. I love that everyone pitches in when they come over, like family always did at home when we had Christmas with you and Dad. There’s no sense of “host and guests;” it’s family all setting up the table, gathering chairs, helping to serve, lighting candles. (BTW, I sent Dad See’s chocolates for Thanksgiving; Amber and I sent him a Hickory Farms basket for Christmas. We didn’t hear from him for either occasion. I miss him so much, Mom, that I just have to try to not think of him too much. Please watch over him, OK?) Brianna wanted me to play Rudolph on the piano after we ate, so I played and some of them sang. Then I played Silver Bells for you since you always loved that. I’ve been playing your other favorites the last few days, too, like Little Drummer Boy, White Christmas and the carols.

I miss you, Mom, but I carry your love with me always. Just look at the beautiful family you started, mom to sons and daughter to granddaughter to great-granddaughters. Your presence is felt in every family celebration. I love you, Mom!

12-12-12

Number combos are fun to note, aren't they? Today's 12/12/12; a repetitive number pattern like this won't occur for 88 years, when the date will be 01/01/01. We do have 11/12/13 coming up next year, though, so can have some fun with that.

There are those who attribute dates with serious portent. Some believe the ancient Mayans said that 12/12/12 would signal a shift in the world, letting go of old ways and embracing a new, more peaceful world. There are all kinds of predictions, practices, beliefs, etc. about 12/12/12. I respect others' beliefs; I believe there is more in this world than I'll ever know.

For me, though, dates are fun but not anything that I believe signals anything. The measurement of time is a manmade thing, an arbitrary assignment of numbers to time, days, months, years. There are a number of different types of calendars, too, such as Gregorian, Hebrew, Julian, etc., each of which assigned their numbering differently, some with leap years, some with leap months, some with a different number of days in some months. I've read that the Mayans didn't account for leap years, so any big event that was supposed to happen on 12/21/12, should have actually happened seven months ago.

Dates are just a way that man measures time.

• The snowy great white egrets I saw flying overhead today don't know that today is 12/12/12; they're living as they live every day.
• The orchids that are starting to bloom in my garden don't know it's 12/12/12; they're just filling up with enormous energy as they prepare to open up in magnificence.
• The earth doesn't know it's 12/12/12.
• And for the Divine, time isn't measured; always is always, there are no limits, no constraints such as measured time. How can we limit the Divine with something as unimportant as a calendar?

One friend suggests that we use this day to open ourselves to a higher state of being, to be more light, more open; to stretch ourselves and to do everything with a sense of soul purpose. A great suggestion for any day and every day.

Happy 12/12/12!