Spare Parts

June 26, 2009 The first time I ever heard Michael Jackson’s voice, it was on the song “ABC” , which he sang with his brothers as part of the original boy band, the Jackson 5. It was the early 1970s and I know in some weird way that I was still in diapers. I lived with my parents on the second story of a house on 83 rd street in Jackson Heights , New York . My aunt, uncle and six cousins lived on the first floor. Think what you will about Latino families and living arrangements, but I can state three things for sure. We knew it took a village to raise kids way before Hillary Clinton said so, it wasn’t like that and, and we did live independent, though lovingly close lives. I can tell you that for me as a child, this was a great arrangement. It was before my brother was born, so having built-in playmates in some of the younger kids was great. It was probably my cousin Mirna, who loved music and dance and was of an age to be able to go out and buy it, who firs...

Is anyone with the semi-usual 9-to-5 schedule aware of The Hallmark Channel and the WE Network’s slightly obsessive preoccupation with episodes of “The Golden Girls”? Is there nothing else for these two cable networks to broadcast? Who is running the show at these stations? Or is it just a clever marketing ploy aimed at the target audiences of the daytime life of nursing homes across America? Here I am two days post surgical intervention, waddling around in that recovery phase that sounds nicer to the ear than it actually is to the body. In my muddled brain of pain medicated bliss, I find moments of lucidity when I realize that I have watched countless episodes of this iconic 1980s television gem nonstop. In between seeking comfort in sitting, or standing I notice that all I hear are the voices of the fearless female foursome of that golden time in TV. Sure, there is pain and recovery to deal with, but there is also mind-numbing television. Granted, most of the time I can’t really reca...

OK, I shouldn't be making light of this potentially serious situation, but I can't help it! It's all too surreal for me to comprehend and best to joke about what one finds confounding than to dwell on it and perpetuate stress. So I am going in for what is commonly referred to in medical circles as "minor" surgery. However, since this is me we're discussing, minor takes on a whole different meaning. For me, minor is having a stuffy nose. Once we move up to the flu, swine or otherwise, we're talking major serious with complications in the high probability ratio. I am using big math words recklessly; as I am not a math whiz in any sense of the word, so if I am dead wrong, forgive me. So, needless to say, surgery ranks right up there with reading last rites. Too morbid? I'll cut it out. ;-) Anyway, next Tuesday, June 16, I go in for surgery. Monday is the fun pre-op and pre-admission day! I am having a little hernia repaired that appeared...

Amanda rocked back and forth in the old, wooden chair on her breezy porch. She inhaled deeply the smell of the salty winds that rolled in haphazardly, caressing her bare shoulders and blowing her wispy curls away from her face. Her ears filled with the sounds of the surf reaching shore, recoiling again, and returning once more. She let her bare feet graze the porch boards as she rocked. She sipped her chamomile tea, savoring the sweetness on her tongue, letting it sit in her mouth just before it cooled and she swallowed. The sounds of the seagulls above her head mingled perfectly with the ebb and flow of the ocean's dance. She loved her weekends at the beach house far away from the strangulation and pressures of her career. She tried to remember a time when she had been happier than this second, but few came to mind. Maybe when she was a kid and her dad would let her help him fix the car, pointing to the engine’s parts and naming them, then quizzing her on it later. She smiled kn...