William

The picture above is from my first grade class. I am

the little girl in the red turtleneck, and William de Herrera,

one of my best friends then, is on my left.

 I don't know if it still is, but back in my day, it was not "normal" for boys and girls to be friends and play at recess together. Yet, one of my best friends was William de Herrera. William, Michael, Vivian, and I often played together at recess, and even had nicknames for each other: Big Mouth, Blabber Mouth, Motor Mouth, and Jabberjaw. The names were always interchangeable; it just depended on who called it first.

There were shrubs against the back wall of Yucca Elementary where Vivian and I would take refuge behind one, and William and Michael would shield themselves behind another. Each one of us was either Army, Navy, Air Force, or Marine Corps, but would fight against each other in pairs of boys vs. girls. For example, Army/Air Force vs. Navy/Marine Corps. We would use the branches of the shrubs as machine guns and make the sound effects of blasting guns and bombs. It never failed, vanity would prevail in the midst of war, and either Vivian or I would scream out, "Hold your fire! I need lipstick!", at which time Vivian and I took time to primp for battle.

William and I attended church at Immaculate Conception and were enrolled in the same First Holy Communion class. We got ticket stubs as points for attendance or some kind of reward, and they were redeemable at the end of the year, when the annual bazaar was held. I remember William and I walking around and looking at the tables to see what we could "buy" with our tickets. William was so sweet, he gave me some of his so I would have enough for a purchase.

I remember his voice, and how sweet he was. If I would have had a brother, William would have been him. We never fought, and I remember him looking out for me. I have always wondered whatever happened to him, and always thought to seek him out to see what we each remember about those days or one another. I am fairly certain William remembered me, and I'm sure fondly.

I have let the tears flow today, and probably will for a couple of days. On the bright side, when it's my turn to go, and I get to the other side, there are some wonderful people that will be there waiting for me. I expect one bad ass party!

William de Herrera

July 27, 1970 to November 2, 2006

Sammy

I had quite a bit of a scare with Sammy (my Angora Mini Lop bunny) last week.

About 2 weeks ago, Sammy's appetite slowed down, and he was sleeping more. Since there was a sudden drop in temperature, and bunnies do slow down during the winter, I thought that's what it was. However, when I noticed on Friday night (Dec. 3) that he had not eaten his pellets, I put fresh apples and cabbage in his cage. He ate, but his feces were black and small - not a good sign.

I took Sammy to his vet on Monday night, and Dr. Gallerstein thought he might be in pain or have the beginning of GI Stasis, a deadly and extemely painful shutdown of their digestive tract. He gave Sammy a prescription and told me to count the feces. I was really, really worried, but with medication and a box of fresh hay, Sammy is now doing very well. He is constantly eating (and pooping), and he seems more alert and happy. It took about 2 days for me to see results, and I made about 6 calls in that time. I was a panicked Mommy!

The very first rabbit I ever had was named Stu. I had bought him for an ex-boyfriend after we'd been playing with him in a pet store, and as we were leaving he stood up as if to ask, "Hey, where y'all going?". Long story short, I found out that this ex had been spanking Stu for no reason, so I took him home with me immediately. Stu loved me so much, when I would pick him up he'd put his paws on my chin and kiss me. Bunnies are not normally so affectionate. Unfortunately, I did not know anything about rabbits. Stu got GI Stasis and died in three days, in agony. I vowed it will never happen again.

Years later, I find Sammy, my Angora Minilop, at a tack and feed store that allows people to drop off their pets and livestock for adoption. It's June, North Inland San Diego when it's hot and dry. I see this strawberry blonde furball in the back of a hutch, trying to escape the sunlight that was inches and minutes (as the sunlight passed) from hitting him directly with no shade. I felt so bad for him, I adopted him. As soon as we got in my car, I put him on the passenger seat, but he hopped over and sat in my lap all the way home. That night, I placed him next to my pillow, and he sat there the entire night.

I decided to name him Sammy after Sam Kennison, the comedian, since my bunny had the same color hair and seemed to have an attitude. He didn't like for me to kiss him. I got nipped on the cheek and lip a few times because he did not approve of my affection. If he hid under or behind furniture, I would use a plastic hanger to scare him out. Instead, he would growl and box the hanger! I thought rabbits were prey...

Months later, Sammy started to go through puberty. I found out what it was the hard way: he was marking me as basically his bitch, by spraying me with urine. I got really tired and pissed of having to clean up, and change my clothes and bedding almost every day. Finally, one day after spraying me, I'd had enough. I got up, yelled at him, and grabbed him by the ears with my right hand. He lunged forward and bit into my left forearm. I had to pull him away, tearing my flesh, because he would not let go. Everyone told me to either take him to the Humane Society or release him out in the desert, where he would surely die.

Remembering his first day with me and how he got close to me immediately, but had defensive mannerisms, I thought there may be underlying reasons for his behavior. I think at some time, he was probably very loved, but maybe someone in his household turned out to be mean to him. So, I had a talk with him. I said, "Sammy, I am the only one who will take care of you. If I don't, you're dead. I love you, and I'm sorry for upsetting you and disrespecting you. Now, you need to respect me. Stop peeing on me and 'marking' me. I'm Mama, not your Girl. Be a good boy and this will work out." He never marked me again, and he only nipped my lip one more time.

It was 2005 when I adopted Sammy. I was very mobile and used to take him out for car rides on the weekends and the park now and then. He knew me when I was at my best, and when I'd gotten worse, and I fell in my room one day, he was scared for me. He ran into his cage, ran in circles, and hopped onto the top shelf of his cage as if to see if I was okay. When I had him neutered and picked him up, I cried and babied him. There was a fire in San Diego in 2007. Since I lived very close to the danger zone, I lined my car seat with blankets, set up food, water, and a makeshift litter box. I took him to work with me every day and left the windows open, checking on him on my breaks and lunch.

In 2009, I found a lump the size of a pea on his chin. He had an absess and it turned out to be in his right cheek as well. He needed surgery, and my poor Sammy had his cheek shaved, and got an inch-long incision in his cheek. I gave him medicine twice a day. When he didn't eat, I force-fed him using a huge syringe and powdered pellets with warm water. I gave him IV's so he would not get dehydrated, and I put him in bed with me at night for comfort.

I am not a hug-a-bunny activist, pardon the pun. I am not a vegetarian, nor a vegan, and I do not belong to or support PETA. I love animals. Our furry companions can't speak to us, but we learn to communicate with each other. Sammy has been in my life through some good times and bad. When I get good news, I pick him up and hold him, as I do, when I am sad. He doesn't hold grudges. He trusts me. I laugh at the things he does. Sammy is my fur angel. I love him and he knows it. I know that when he puts his head on my shoulder and chatters his teeth in contentment, he loves me too!

Tacones

Tacones is Spanish for high heels.  Yes, I could have titled this post "High Heels", but saying it in Spanish sounds sexy.  Say "tacones" as you look in the mirror.  It looks like you're saying something naughty.  That's how I feel when I wear mine...

I will be getting ready to go out in a little while and it just occurred to me, that while I know exactly what I'm going to wear, the shoes will be difficult to decide on.

I have at least 40 pairs of shoes, but only about 8 that I can wear. I no longer wear heels more than an inch and a half tall, and they have to either have an ankle strap, or have a strap that goes across the arch of my foot, so it doesn't accidentally slip off.

My favorite type of shoe has always been ankle straps pumps. They look so demure, yet something about them is incredibly sexy. Perhaps it's the strap, which suggests bondage. I have two pairs that I always wore Salsa dancing because I knew no matter how fast I was turned, the shoe was not going to slip off. The ones I used more were blood-red patent leather, and they attracted a lot of attention, and being the attention whore that I was, I lavished in it.

Heels are better than any chemical that can be ingested or applied, in my opinion. A woman can instantly go from 5'4" to 5'8". You can wear jeans and sneakers and go from kinda frumpy to vavoom with a pair of heels. The walk is transformed gloriously. The legs and back feel longer, the shoulders are squared, and the head is held up. You then walk one leg in front of the other. This makes the hips swing side to side. Wear a low-cut, snug sweater and a pencil skirt, and you are now a vixen. This is the part of my life I miss so much.

I still dress well, wear my make-up, and my hair is nicely coiffed. What I do not have is the heels and the walk that made me the Diva.

I still have those Nine West ankle straps, some silver heeled stilettos that look like sexy biker sandals, black patent-leather Coach maryjanes, others I refuse to do away with. Someday, I will build a showcase of my shoes.   I have great memories tied to them.

So I'm off. Time to get dolled up - just for a couple of errands...

Reminiscing

I've been thinking of my sister an awful lot lately. I mean, I think of her everyday, but she's in my subconscious. She's recently been in the forefront of my mind.

One thing that has been bothering me is that I have forgotten a lot of things in my life. I remember the jist of the event, but not so much the details. Similarly, I cannot remember as much about Daniella as I would love to.

I have so many regrets. I wish this and that, but I will not torture myself with those thoughts. Things were as they were, and not solely of my own volition.

I do have more to be grateful for when it comes to Daniella. I remember us being little and playing cars, school, Barbies, and going outside to play with the neighborhood kids. We liked the same movies. I remember when we were little, Mom and Dad would take us to watch the typical kiddie movies: Snow White, Cinderella, etc. First, it was great because Mom would make burritos and bring candy and sodas, so we had a feast during the movie. It never failed, though. After the movie, as other kids were being escorted out by their parents, my sister and I were sitting there crying and being comforted by out parents. Not because the movie was sad, but because it was OVER!! I have never heard anyone else tell such a pathetic reaction to a movie.

We thought it was cool how some twins have a unique capability of devising a secret language. No we weren't twins, but my sister and I loved going to stores and pretending to have a secret language. We had nonsensical "conversations" which included questions and laughing. I don't even know if people listened to us. I just remember we had fun doing it.

I've been going through counseling ever since Daniella left, but my grief and devastation is not significantly lower. I have her pictures and her beloved Papa Bear in my room, and they make me smile, but I always have this lump in my throat. My sister and I had not been getting along for the previous 5 or 6 years, but thankfully, had made peace with each other. I told her that I love her and didn't want our parents' funerals to be the next time I saw her, and that I don't want to argue with her anymore. My brother-in-law told me she was happy about that. I am, too, but I expected us to be getting closer during this very time period.

One thing that really hurts is that someone she was close to most of her life, and I had become close to as well, is no longer part of my life. There was an incident that resulted in this person verbally assaulting me, making false accusations against me that were so very hateful. Unfortunately, I was in a situation that because of my lack of mobility and other circumstances, I had to shut up. I am still very enraged over this, but I know I need to eventually forgive this person so that God can do His justice. 

My counselor tells me I am doing well with my grief. I suppose I am. I have not given up on my life or my dreams. I think I have done well in being there even more for my parents. I even want to do more now to make my Sister proud of me. My Faith is strong, so I know someday she will greet me and give me a big hug. For now, I want to live my life in the most positive way so that I will see her after my final hour and the other people I have loved in my life.

Until then, I will hold on to the memories.  Memories of us hearing a child fall at church and using our fingers to count the first scream.  Memories of me trying to teach her to dance, and listening to her Pink Panther laugh.  I was blessed to have had her in my life, and she will always be a part of it, always in my heart.