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