Snap Krackle 'n Pop!: Goodbye, farewell, we hate to see you go! Not!!!

Snap Krackle 'n Pop!: Goodbye, farewell, we hate to see you go! Not!!!: Goodbye, farewell, we hate to see you go.  Not!!! As we near the last days of 2013, we can't help but look back fondly (or not ...

Snap Krackle 'n Pop!: A Highly Unexpected Surprise on The Eve of All Sou...

Snap Krackle 'n Pop!: A Highly Unexpected Surprise on The Eve of All Sou...: As I'm sure most of you know, All Saints' Day is always celebrated on the 1st of November, followed by All Souls' Day.  And, as ...

A Highly Unexpected Surprise on The Eve of All Souls' Day!

As I'm sure most of you know, All Saints' Day is always celebrated on the 1st of November, followed by All Souls' Day.  And, as I posted in my last post, this is a very holy day for Catholics.  Unfortunately,  yesterday I was so preoccupied with an article on aging that I've been working on,  that it totally escaped my mind and consequently I didn't make it to Mass.

After working on my article all day and downloading some pictures I had taken for it, I proceeded to check the pictures for errors.   I was taken aback when I saw several orbs of different sizes in many of the pictures, either directly on my person or surrounding me.

Depending on who one talks to, these orbs can mean spirits that are within close proximity; or just plain orbs resulting from different reflections of light.  To be honest, I was not so much perplexed with my findings, as I was joy-filled; and later, over dinner I mentioned it to my girls.  Jules, who's good at trying to make people feel good, suggested that the orbs might be my late Victor's spirit watching over me.  Which is exactly what I would like to believe!   However, because of my Protestant upbringing, I have a  hard time embracing orbs, spirits and the like.  Read my book, The Women in White, and you'll see why.   The thought that any spirit, good or bad, aside from the Holy Spirit, might be in my midst, is hard for me to wrap my brain around.

Very early this morning,  I awoke from quite possibly one of the most beautiful and surreal dreams I have ever experienced.  It was so vivid, so surreal, so palpable, that at that precise moment I could swear it was real.

It was evening and I had gone for a walk to enjoy the brisk fresh air.  I paused, looked around, and looked up at the beautiful night sky.  There, up in the air but close enough that I could almost reach out and touch it, a straight path lead from one side of the spectrum to the other.  I was not so much taken aback by this revelation, as I was by the next.  As clear as day, a handsome man dressed in a suit and tie, appeared to be walking along on the skyward path.   And when I looked closely, lo and behold, the man was my own beloved Victor.  Mesmerized, in shock and in denial, I asked myself over and over again, "How could this be, Victor is dead!"

When our eyes met, he motioned for me to stay, that he was stepping down to meet me.  As I stood in shock, paralized, and completely stopped in my tracks, I witnessed how he effortlessly came down off the path and started walking toward me.  "Yet, he's as alive as I am!" I convinced myself, as he came closer to me, sporting the signature dimpled smile on his always handsome face.

And then we were holding each other, and a loving warmth unlike anything in real life overtook me.   And as we kissed, I stopped trying to figure it out and surrendered to the moment in time, convinced that my love had never died.   As we held each other in this seemingly eternal embrace, all sense of place, time, event, eluded me.  I could only feel the warmth of our love and an inner all-around peace, and meant to be with this man who was so alive and well.  This man who had never died!  And when we composed ourselves, never letting go of me, he whispered, "Let me walk you back home."  And I could only nod yes.   Then together we walked back home, embracing and enraptured in the warmth and the light of our love.

Once back home and still in each other's arms, the loving warm feeling never leaving me, he gently whispered something else in my ear that which I cannot remember.  And this was the saddest part - Vic started to fade away - not pull away, just slowly fade away.  And with him, the warmth I had felt, also started to leave me.   Yet somehow I was okay, because in my heart I knew that this was how it had to be.

I've never believed or disbelieved.  Is it mere coincidence, or is it God-incidence that my unique gift in the form of a dream was made possible on All Souls' Day, of all days?  There are so many questions  and so little answers.

Once again, I am in awe and so grateful to God for gifting me in such a beautiful way, for in eleven years that Victor has been gone, I never had such a precious and surreal dream.  Yes, I dream with Vic from time to time!  And yes,  he is always happy, healthy, and carefree.  But this was by far, the most heartfelt and generous of all my Victor dreams!  And all, on the Eve of All Souls' Day.

Snap Krackle 'n Pop!: The Women in White, by Silvie Vargas

Snap Krackle 'n Pop!: The Women in White, by Silvie Vargas: Silvie Vargas' newest novel, The Women in White, is worth every cent and every second of your time.  You will find yourself laughing, cr...

The Women in White, by Silvie Vargas

Silvie Vargas' newest novel, The Women in White, is worth every cent and every second of your time.  You will find yourself laughing, crying and cheering for our heroine, as she reveals what can be accomplished with the right amount of determination.

In her quest to find her roots on the island where she first saw life, Samantha Rivas embarks on the emotional journey of a lifetime.  What she learns will shake and shape her to the core, forcing her to come to grip with her own blurry past.  Suddenly, things that have been buried deep in her subconscious come to light one lonely night in a suburb of New Jersey, leaving Samantha in the fight of her life as she's forced to face her own dark demons.   From her grandmother's long-time struggle to win over evil spirits, to a falling-out that forces the family to change their surname, it all comes back in full apogee for better or for worse.  Her family values and her upbringing will be the deciding factor in the final outcome of Samantha's and her daughters' lives.

Journey through time with Sam and her family as they travel from humble Puerto Rico to bustling New York, overcome obstacles to discover true love, and reconcile ethnic ties with modern-day ambitions in this tribute to the boricua women of past and present.  Their strength and courage will leave you with the knowledge that there is always hope for a brighter tomorrow.

Snap Krackle 'n Pop!: Lessons Learned from Visiting a Hospital...

Snap Krackle 'n Pop!: Lessons Learned from Visiting a Hospital...: We can learn so much just by visiting a hospital, or from being admitted; and more so, when admittance is through the emergency room. Our ...

Snap Krackle 'n Pop!: Lessons Learned from Visiting a Hospital...

Snap Krackle 'n Pop!: Lessons Learned from Visiting a Hospital...: We can learn so much just by visiting a hospital, or from being admitted; and more so, when admittance is through the emergency room. Our ...

Lessons Learned from Visiting a Hospital...

We can learn so much just by visiting a hospital or from being admitted; and more so when admittance is through the emergency room. 

Our horizons tend to expand when we find ourselves in a hospital setting.  There's probably no other place more exhilarating than the ER. Nowhere else will you find a more diverse group of people. I compare that excitement somewhat to that of say, Grand Central or Penn Stations. No pun intended, but if you want to come alive, you should visit the ER. The hubbub of people rushing to and fro, all with the purpose of keeping us alive and well, is like a breath of fresh air. 

The lesson here is appreciation for life and for all those who are so dedicated to preserving it.

I may live to be a hundred years old, and my fascination, more like my gratitude to doctors and nurses will never wane. I consider them real life wizards who continue to perform miracles even under the direst of circumstances. This same heroic trait can be found in our military, police, fire personnel, and even in every-day average people. But with doctors and nurses, I feel there's an almost magical air about them. But I don't want to steer too far from my topic. 

1) Getting back to lessons learned at the hospital, humility is probably at the top. Hospitals put us in touch with our mortality. We suddenly become humble amid all the illness, trauma, drama that prevails in this type of setting. And some of us seek a certain closeness to God or to a Higher Being. For the life of me, I will never understand how some regular people can allow rage to overcome them to the point of taking their anger out on those same people who are trying, sometimes desperately, to save their lives.  

2) Compassion is another lesson to be learned. Several years ago I was admitted for a severe case of poison ivy. After my condition was under control and finally able to take stock of my surroundings my heart went out to a lady several beds down who kept crying out for help. Obviously the medical staff had done everything within reason for her. I could only resort to prayer for this poor woman as well as for myself, and for everyone else present, doctors, nurses and patients alike. Ten years ago when I was caring for my late husband Victor, I met a Jewish man whose wife was also dying. The man was desperate to save his loving wife, just as I was to save my darling husband. I couldn't save Victor, just like this man couldn't save his wife. I did what I could to comfort the man who didn't believe in Jesus but was desperate to cling to any hope. Handing him a book on the Risen Lord that had been keeping my faith alive, I said to him, "You probably don't believe, but this book might help. It's certainly helped me." His reaction: he practically got on his knees and bowed down to me he was so grateful. In this last story we can relate to so many different lessons to be learned.

3) Contemplation and self-discovery. During short periods of being left alone on my visit to the ER, I contemplated on life and its challenges, how when we allow faith to replace fear, fear disappears. Granted that some of us might be dealing with a terminal illness and much worse have no faith. But it's precisely during that time that God comes to us and let's us know that we are not alone, that He will never let us walk alone.

On a merrier note, I've learned other nice things about hospitals. I'm a real foodie--eating delicious cuisine is very important to me. Though I won't argue that hospital food can be a real disappointment when compared to some fancy gourmet food, the lobby cafe at Hackensack University might not be a bad choice for the value. Lately, many hospitals have their food catered from top chefs. If you're not a patient and the value meal at the lobby cafe doesn't do it for you, you might be able to sneak away for a tastier meal as well as a breath of fresh air.

Going for walks down the corridors or to the lobby gift shop is always an option while your loved one naps. I find the artwork displayed on the corridor walls helps change my perspective for the better. Just as I've done at the Louvre, I tend to lose myself in some of the artwork provided in hospitals. The chapel is wonderful for peace and quiet; and the often zen-like outdoor gardens offer a place for contemplation and meditation.

4) Among the lessons I learned is to never take life for granted. To enjoy every day as if it were my last, to cherish the little things as well as the big ones. And most importantly, to know that God is never far from those who call on Him.

I'm sure I could go on with lessons learned at a hospital, but these were the  first to come to mind. 

Snap Krackle 'n Pop!: My Last Visit with Mom

Snap Krackle 'n Pop!: My Last Visit with Mom: My last visit with Mom September 12, will mark eight months that Mom went home to the Lord. Last month, on the same date, I posted a pi...

My Last Visit with Mom

My last visit with Mom

September 12, will mark eight months that Mom went home to the Lord.

Last month, on the same date, I posted a picture on FB.  It was of Mom and Crissy, taken exactly a year ago last month at BB’s wedding. As I studied her face in that picture, I could see the pain that she was already enduring but keeping to herself. That day was probably one of her worst, in terms of physical pain and of not being able to fully partake of such a joyful event. I remember having to take her outdoors and away from the loud music, her head hurt so much.

Looking back on the events that lead up to what could have been one of her happiest days, the night before she insisted on waiting up for Cristina and me who were flying into the island from New Jersey. We had rented a car at the Luis Marin airport and were en route to Mom’s house. She had cooked for us and was anxiously anticipating our getting home and eating what she had cooked for us.  I finally convinced her to go to bed, that we would see her the next day. But needless to say, she waited up for us, and regardless got up to serve the pasteles and rice with gandules she had cooked for us. It broke my heart, because I knew she was making a real sacrifice staying up past her bedtime to be with us.

The next day, the three of us went into town. Mom seemed genuinely happy as we went from store to store in the small town of Cabo Rojo, looking for the perfect pair of shoes for her to wear to the wedding (and, for a pair of sunglasses).  I should mention that she already had shoes for the wedding, but complained they were not comfortable.  She was like a teenager looking for the perfect accessories for the special event!  We finally found her shoes, and I will never forget the look of contentment on her face.  After getting everything we set out to get, we stopped for lunch at the Taco Maker in the shopping center on Highway 100, only minutes away from Mom’s house, where we indulged our taste buds to their tasty fries and chicken tacos for lunch.

Again, I witnessed a sense of peace in her demeanor, as the three of us enjoyed a quiet time over lunch. Yet, I also detected a faraway look in her face, one which I can only describe as her being in two places at once - elated to be sharing this special moment with her daughter and granddaughter, but also sad as if looking into the future.

A week later, Mom and I went back to Taco Maker when we went to the Mayaguez Mall to exchange the nightgown I had brought her as a gift from home. In exchange, she chose one which I didn’t think was as nice – something more youthful and whimsical.  Nonetheless, I respected her choice and was happy for her.

Mom and I have always had a special bond. I would like to believe, one unlike the bond she had with Kimi, and with Elba. With me, Mom felt free to say whatever was on her mind, and I appreciated that.  I welcomed it, and I prided myself on the fact that she could feel so comfortable around me.

However, I remember that on her last visit to River Edge, Mom made me cry over something she said to me.  I was doing her hair and she was not happy.  I should mention that Mom had never in her life said anything to me to make me cry.   That time, she brought me to tears - tears of hurt, of Mami subconsciously comparing me to my sister. But in reality that was the farthest from the truth. The fact is that those tears had been building up inside of me for months--a sense of loss of my once youthful mother, of having to say goodbye again so soon, of me not having enough patience with my dear elderly parent, whenall she did was merely point out in her innocent way how Kimi always did her hair and never complained.  (I should point out, that doing anyone’s hair is not my favorite thing to do, and Mom’s hair was no exception--I have a hard enough time doing my own.) That time, I got so annoyed that I lashed out at her, saying something like, ‘”Yes, I know.  Kimi is this.” Or, “Kimi is perfect . . .” Then the I broke down and cried like I had never cried over anything before.

It never occurred to me that Mom might just be looking for attention from me, for some affection from me, but she that was probably going about it the wrong way.  Maybe the only way she knew?

That time, I apologized for my outburst.  Mom, however, was not moved, and she never apologized to me, at least not formally. Obviously, again, with me, Mom was free to say (or not say) what was on her mind; and apparently she didn’t think it necessary. Because when people love each other, the way mothers and daughters love one another, sometimes words are redundant. And like the famous saying from the movie, Love Story, goes, “Love is never having to say you’re sorry!”  And so, after I pitied myself for a couple of hours, I was okay with it and reached out to her and Mom and I were best buddies again.

This was the kind of relationship Mom and I had. I would always try to remember that she didn’t have much time left on this earth. She was after all 88, only two years away from 90. And my God, how many people live to be 90!  (And in Mom’s case, still look as good.)  I kept reminding myself that her longevity and good genes were a blessing from God; and that we, her children and grandchildren were blessed to have her genes. I also always reminded my girls that we should cherish every second we had with her, because one never knows when one of us will be called home.

On Aug 12, 2012, at the reception of BB’s and Karen’s wedding, Mom complained of an awful head pain. My heart ached so much for her. I tried to put myself in her shoes, and realized what a huge sacrifice she must have made to be there for her youngest grandson’s wedding. Truth be told, the music could have been a bit lower. Plus the heat and humidity was a teensy bit stifling that night. I was perspiring as if I’d been working in the sugar fields under the scorching sun all day. And so, I quietly led her outside on to the terrace facing the ocean where we sat and talked, and where Kimi and Machy were kind enough to bring dinner out to us.

I remember that Mom looked absolutely beautiful in a royal blue sequined silk ensemble that Kimi had picked out for her, and of course the comfortable shoes we had gotten for her earlier. And I did her hair in an up-do, just as nice as Kimi would have done.

Mom and I shared some beautiful stories that night.  And after dinner, she asked if I would take her back to our hotel room.  Obviously, I took her back to our room, helped her into bed, and decided not to return to the wedding reception so as to keep her company. However, in my quest to alleviate some of Mom’s discomfort, that night I lost my favorite shoes, a pair of gold-tone strappy high-heel sandals, a fact that upset me for weeks. But looking back, nothing matters now. Not even missing out on one of my favorite nephews’ wedding, or losing my shoes.  The only thing that matters is that I was there for Mom when she needed me most. After all, Kimi couldn't be there.   She was celebrating her son's wedding.

After getting her ready for bed, I told Mom that I was going to run down to the reception hall to quickly to fetch us some wedding cake.  When I returned with the mouthwatering cake, Mom who never went to bed without her tea (and sometimes a light snack), didn’t get up to have any, asking instead that I save her piece--that she would have it the next day.

My recollection of the next day and the following 21 days that Mom and I spent together, are as vivid as the computer sitting in front of me. Somehow Mom knew, as well as I also knew in the back of my head, that this was precious time that we would never get back. In essence, this was God’s special gift to both of us, which I will eternally be grateful for. Though never enough time, this was a chance to make this time remembering fondly the rest of my life.

I love you, Mami!  Forever and ever!

What is it about Paris that makes it. . .

What is it about Paris that makes it everyone's favorite city?  Coming in first, even after Madrid, New York, and all the top cities, for me Paris is a never ending magical trip of avenue upon avenue of the most impressive buildings, statues, gardens, etc.  Take for example Les Halles, one of the most interesting buildings (so as not to say ugly) I've yet to see.  How about the Centre Georges Pompidou, which was built "inside-out", thus giving it an unfinished look. Yet it is purposely surrounded by scaffolding, multi-colored gigantic pipes, and ducts.

When we first visited Paris with Victor back in the fall of 1996, we stayed in a hotel in Montmartre where the room was so small that only in single file could one get to the closet, into bed, or take a look out the window.  So small in fact was the room, that Victor had to take an adjoining even smaller room for himself.  I think you get the picture. Three years ago, the spacious room Cristina and I had originally thought we had booked, turned out to be something out of a horror movie.  It was in essence, an eerily dark closet with a cot for a full-size bed.  On top of that, we had to haul our suitcases four flights up a steep dark and then winding staircase.  The minute we entered the room, I knew we that we had to get out of there.  Like pronto!   We should have guessed what awaited us, when after checking in the male front desk clerk handed us two see-through, dried out towels, which had we used them would no doubt seriously have damaged our skin.  I flatly refused to honor that reservation!   And so, after some finagling we got out.  After again fighting our way back through the group of potheads in the narrow street below, we ended up in a similar joint again.  Yet somehow we found paradise at the Holiday Inn right in the heart of the city.  A call to RCI on my recently purchased mobile phone saved the day!

That time, we hustled, struggled with, and ended up on the metro with our heavy suitcases until finally reaching the safety and comfort of the smartly decorated, thoroughly modern chic Holiday Inn.  Thank God for American hotels!

On this last trip to Paris however, again we had the most comfortable and affordable sleeping arrangements at the Novotel in Roissy en France, a beautiful suburb of Paris.   Although, due to a big misunderstanding, we ended up paying twice for the same accommodations.  Ah, the perils of budget traveling!

Centre Georges Pompidou

Montmartre where we stayed in 1996

Les Halles - once a market is now a shopping center

But don't let these little anecdotes deter you from visiting Paris even on a budget.  The sights will astound you!  The cuisine will floor your taste buds!  And the vibe is sure to hook you, time and again!

The tower which was supposed to stay for only three years, ended up staying for ever!

Cooling off at one of the magnificent fountains!

The July Column at the Place de la Bastille with the bronze-gilt figure of Freedom

On the famous Champs-Elysee

Snap Krackle 'n Pop!: Our Lady of Lourdes

Snap Krackle 'n Pop!: Our Lady of Lourdes: It was never on my itinerary to visit Lourdes on this last trip to Europe.  Truth be told, I wasn't even sure where on the map the famou...

Our Lady of Lourdes

It was never on my itinerary to visit Lourdes on this last trip to Europe.  Truth be told, I wasn't even sure where on the map the famous shrine was.  So what a surprise when to my delight, while on the road to Bordeaux, I spotted Lourdes while studying the map of France! And lo and behold, only two hours away from the town where we where staying!

Life is full of surprises! When I told my friend Maureen of my plans to visit France again this year, she said, "Oh wonderful, maybe you can visit Lourdes!"  I was honest with my friend and told her I would never be able to visit Lourdes, because 1) I really had no idea where it was;  2) I didn't think we'd have time; and 3) I didn't think my traveling companions (two young girls) would be up for it.  I had already 'pushed' The Way of Saint James on them, and I was positive they would not want to visit another religious shrine.  

Call me ignorant, or maybe it was a lack of interest on my part - but I really had no idea where Lourdes was.  My thinking was that it was somewhere in the north of France.  My very Catholic friend Maureen, always talked about Lourdes and about the miracles performed at the shrine, especially the cures.  I've never been one to believe - I am of the kind that has to see with my own eyes in order to believe.   On the other hand, I've never doubted either.  Maybe it has something to do with the fact I was brought up in the Protestant church where there is very little devotion to Mary.  So you can understand my somewhat reluctance to 'dive' into the powers of Lourdes.  But call it what you may, be it coincidental, God-incidental, or what have you, the truth is I found Lourdes when I was least looking for her!  Or was it the other way around?

For those of you who don't know Our Lady of Lourdes, it is the most famous of Catholic shrines worldwide.  Unlike Santiago de Compostela's Way of Saint James, where pilgrims of all backgrounds, ethnicities, and religions visit in search of inner and spiritual peace, Our Lady of Lourdes is probably Catholics' number one venerated site to visit.  It's right up there with the Vatican, and with our Lady of Fatima in Portugal.  Here Mass is celebrated every day.  As for my traveling companions, when I burst out with excitement at finding the site, they were both elated for me and more than happy to visit.  How is that for things working out according to God's plan?


Nestled in a valley in the southwestern part of the Hautes-Pyrenees, Our Lady of Lourdes is the scene of pilgrims gathering from all over the world.  On February 11, 1858, the Virgin revealed herself to a poor shepherd girl, Bernadette Soubirous who was born on January 7, 1844.   Eighteen such apparitions were reported. Bernadette, died in a convent in 1879. She was beatified in 1925, then canonized in 1933.
  Her apparitions literally put Lourdes on the map.  The town has subsequently attracted millions of visitors, the illustrious and the povery-stricken. The Church has recognized many "cures" that have been witnessed here.  

As with most towns in France, Lourdes is a beautiful town to sightsee.  Here you will find the house and convent where Bernadette lived, or at least the place where the house used to be.  

Scroll down for some pictures and enjoy!

Beautiful rendition of Christ on the Cross at the entrance..

So happy to be here.....

Our Lady....

the venerated site comes in full view.....

Entry to the Church

Inside the church....

Adults as well as children in awe of the place.

Depictions of Bible scenes adorn the inside of the church....

the author on the upper part - the cupola

A lone faithful contemplates on the sacredness of such a place....

Statue of Bernadette inside the church....

Bernadette and her flock... people leave flowers on the grounds

Our Lady of Lourdes in all its glory!

Stream encircling the venerated site (the source of the holy water).

Snap Krackle 'n Pop!: And the flood gates opened, finally.....

Snap Krackle 'n Pop!: And the flood gates opened, finally.....: And the flood gates opened, finally….. It wouldn’t be fair to consider myself a writer, if I didn’t at least attempt to writ...

And the flood gates opened, finally.....

And the flood gates opened, finally…..

It wouldn’t be fair to consider myself a writer, if I didn’t at least attempt to write about the most recent developments surrounding my life.   After all, it’s been more than a month since I wrote anything down.  I guess that’s what they call writer’s block.  However, I can use all kinds of excuses, but only for so long – it’s long overdue and I should at least give it a stab. 

Our trip started Sunday, July 7 and went through until July 24 when we flew home.  By now everyone has heard the news.   At the same time that we were flying home, a horrific accident was taking place very near to Santiago de Compostela, a place that has suddenly become very dear to my heart.  It grieves me to think that 79 people lost their lives and that countless others were injured and possibly still in hospitals. 

The whole experience of losing Mom, then out of the blue and without even realizing it traveling on the same exact day that marked her six-month anniversary to the place where our great-grandparents were thought to be born and to the place where the Apostle St. James' remains lay, is definitely something to think about.

Last night at our annual combined Cornerstone Teams II and III dinner meeting, it all came to a head, and the floodgates finally flung open for me.  The fact that I was sitting next to Kelley Lacey might have had some bearing on my sudden emotional outburst, considering that Kelley is known to cry at the mere mention of anything remotely sad.   Suffice it to say that when our co-hostess Mary played the closing song, “Stand By Me”, which I originally started singing along to and swaying to the beat like everyone else, I was literally brought to my knees, sobbing relentlessly for a good ten minutes or so.   Embraced on either side by my sisters Karina and Kelley in a friendship circle of close to twenty women, I clung to Kelley as if she were my lifeline and the only person who could understand my pain. 

It was, I believe, a culmination of emotions that brought me to that point.   Not having fully grieved the loss of Mom; visiting the Apostle St. James’ final resting place, and journeying to the land of my ancestors, specifically the Santiago’s (Mom’s last name is De Santiago).   And, I’m guessing, feeling the tragic loss of 79 innocents, near such a sacred place, all finally came to a head.  The fact that my two girls and I could have been on that train and possibly killed didn’t escape my mind either.   And from henceforth, is probably where my meltdown more than likely stemmed from.   Added to the fact that it was a grueling two and a half weeks for us three girls, gallivanting nonstop through every city from Madrid to Santiago, from Bordeaux to Paris, and then down to Barcelona, this tryst most definitely took a toll not just on my body, but on my emotions as well. 

I guess I just needed to empty myself emotionally.  On top of all that, this week we received distressing news.   My brother-in-law, the patriarch of our Vargas-Santiago family, was admitted to the hospital with chest pains and underwent emergency surgery of the heart.   The idea that we might lose another dear family member so soon after losing Mom, was probably too much to bear.  

I could go on about all that transpired this week, but I will end by saying that God is overly gracious, and kind, and so very generous in every way with my family and with me.  For that, I will be eternally and forever grateful to Him.

Snap Krackle 'n Pop!: A Modern-day Pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela

Snap Krackle 'n Pop!: A Modern-day Pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela: I call it a modern-day pilgrimage, because we drove rather than walked to Santiago.  Yes, we flew into Madrid; got on the Renfe for the six-...

Snap Krackle 'n Pop!: The Way of St. James

Snap Krackle 'n Pop!: The Way of St. James: The Way of St. James - t he Pilgrimage of a Lifetime I've been planning a trip to Santiago de Compostela for years.  I think I might ...

Snap Krackle 'n Pop!: Snap Krackle 'n Pop!: Jerusalem, My Destiny!

Snap Krackle 'n Pop!: Snap Krackle 'n Pop!: Jerusalem, My Destiny!: Snap Krackle 'n Pop!: Jerusalem, My Destiny! : Jerusalem, My Destiny!   " He who has not seen Jerusalem in her splendour has never...

The Way of St. James

The Way of St. James - the Pilgrimage of a Lifetime

I've been planning a trip to Santiago de Compostela for years.  I think I might finally be able to get there this spring.

I think it's urgent that I get there now.  The time has finally come for me to visit.  But why the haste?

For years, I've dealt with extraneous fatigue and sleepiness.  I can't remember any time in my life when I wasn't super tired and sleepy.  After innumerable visits to doctors and a rigamarole of medical tests, I was finally diagnosed just two weeks ago with a condition known as ocular mysthenia gravis (OMG).  Oh my God, is right!  Ocular myasthenia gravis is an autoimmune disease where antibodies present in the body seek to destroy and weaken precious muscles so vital for everyday living.  This illness causes extreme fatigue and sleepiness to the point that a person would be content to sleep forever and never want to get out of bed.  Yet I force myself to get up every morning, do my routine exercises - a combination of yoga, stretching, and physical endurance and also meditate and pray then bravely tackle what life has in store that day.

MG, the full blown myasthenia gravis, eventually destroys all body muscles and renders the patient useless to do pretty much nothing.  One can no longer go about their everyday business like one used to, and in many cases patients are either bedridden or in a vegetable like state until the end.  The disease is progressive and there is no cure for it.  There is medication to halt the progression, but no known actual cure.  MG might be derived from other illnesses such as multiple sclerosis, lupus, or other degenerative autoimmune diseases that eventually claim your life.  One named celebrity to succumb to the illness was Aristotle Onassis, whose lungs eventually gave way.

Not everyone who has OMG develops the full blown MG.  Studies show that a person who has endured OMG (ocular) for more than three years might never develop MG.  How lucky would I be if that were my case.

So why the need to visit Santiago de Compostela?  Santiago de Compostela is the journey of a lifetime! Actually it's the pilgrimage of a lifetime!  And if I'm going to be limited to what I can do, I want to be able to make one last pilgrimage while I still can.  And I chose the Way of St. James.  I've visited Nuestra Senora de la Guadalupe in Mexico, Fatima in Portugal, the Vatican, and Jerusalem.  There are other famous sites to visit, but St. James Way is at the top of my list.

One of the more frustrating symptoms of OMG is double vision.  For close to ten years I've had to deal with the annoyance of diplopia.  Not so much seeing red, but seeing double.  A first the double vision was rare and sporadical, but as time went by it continued to worsen, until the beginning of this year, when my mother got very sick with stomach cancer and passed away in less than two months.  

It's somewhat difficult, not to mention embarrassing to look at people straight in the eye when you're seeing two of them and not knowing which one to look at.  Or, looking at them in a freakish or odd way.  On a good day, it's hard enough driving down a scary, curvy mountainous road in the center of Puerto Rico, late at night.  Or fighting your way through midtown traffic in Manhattan.   But in addition, when one has to deal with double vision on top of it, it's one hundred times worse.

Do I want to wear an eye patch or special prism lenses (like the ones Hillary Clinton has been wearing lately)?  Call it vanity for now.  Or denial that my precious temple of God could be vulnerable to such an ill disease (no pun intended).  But it might just come to that exactly.  Unless they find a cure for MG, the only way for me right now is medicine (mestonin three times a day), rest, and hope.  And, the Way of St. James, at least for now.  Only the future and God know what's in store for any of us.  I am just extremely grateful that I don't have a cancerous brain tumor or other rare illness with no hope of survival.  For now I am content to deal with this prognosis.  It could always be so much worse.

So on to the Way of St. James!