miércoles, 5 de diciembre de 2007

a big aaaarrrrggg!!!!!

There's a difference between trying to do the right thing… and actually doing it.
Lately I've been putting extra effort on doing what's right because I REALLY want to do it… not just because I have to, but it seems that no matter what I do, it's never good enough.
I can't DO more, but I'm not quitting… I'll keep trying, even when others make it almost impossible. I need to remember I do it FOR ME, not for them.

miércoles, 21 de noviembre de 2007


Thanks, because she was there with me when I came to life, and I was there for her when she departed.

Thanks for the little puppy that came to be my best friend as he never left my side during dark days, and left his shattered body with the peace he deserved.

Thanks for my hands and sight, as I’m able to make a living with those tools.

Thanks for those sad days that make me value the bright ones.

Thanks for my friends, near, far or long gone, each one of them has given me precious nonmaterial gifts that have filled my life.

Thanks for knowing that, as imperfect as I am, your love for me is perfect.

Thanks for the hope that I still carry, even when all has been lost.

Thanks for the aches and pains, because they help me remember that I’m still alive.

viernes, 9 de noviembre de 2007

why ravioli? why green?

My mother was known by all to be a foodie. When it came to conquering her Everest, a lack of an ingredient was not going to stop her!

Like all great masters, her food evolved as she did. Picasso had a blue period, Nené had a pasta period. And just like the tiny Spaniard with a talent bigger than him… her creations where sometimes too much for the common people to grasp… or eat.

Pasta had to be made from scratch, real Italian chefs don't use Buitoni. Noodles, gnocchi, lasagna all went through her miracle maker machine, sometimes too thick, others just perfect. And so it came the inevitable, we all knew we had it coming, it was time to make raviolis.

With the steady hand a painters acquire after drawing fifty pair of eyes in a single sitting, my mother delivered the pasta in record time, smooth, perfect; but then she realized that her eagerness for starting her new culinary project had overshadowed one little fact… there was nothing to stuff those tiny pillows with.

I, like every time she went into one of her creative spells in the kitchen, was too afraid to even show my head in her domain, mainly because the unspoken treat of having me wash the dishes; so I tried to make myself invisible, and left her alone on her search for the perfect stuffing.

I should have helped her, I knew she struggled with the Tupperware, jars and “a date is only a number” leftover food in the refrigerator. But I was too afraid, anyone that has been in her kitchen in the middle of one of her projects knows that all math logic was cast aside when it came to food… in fact secretly awaiting for a call from some Nobel wining mathematician inquiring about the fourteen dirty pots for a five ingredient recipe “mystery” we had in 2004.

And so, when she called me to dinner, the guilt left no other choice, I had to sit down with her, and be the first human subject to try her new concoction. As any one that has gone willingly to the guillotine, I walked to that table with fear so big it gave me a rigid expression that could have mistakenly been confused with pride. I got to the chair as my knees buckled, just in time to save my butt from hitting the floor. And then I waited.

One plate was put in front of me, the other accompanied her to her side of the table, and with it in front of her she proudly stared at me waiting for that first taste like a kid who knows that his all A score card is coming. The smell was intoxicating, béchamel with a little bit of nutmeg (yes, nutmeg), who knew, maybe this was going to be a pleasant experience after all. And so I proceeded to “dissect” the first little sucker, searching for the mysteries guarded under that pasta belly. With a swift stroke one ravioli had now become two, showing unceremoniously a greenish/blue color of what my mother confirmed after looking at my puzzled stare: “Blue cheese!”.

I did not remember having any blue cheese in the house, but she was resourceful, so I happily dug in as my fears evaporated and took that first bite. But oh, the horror… she had mastered the fine art of packing a filthy stable, smell and all, into a 1.5 inch square, and now she was waiting for my nod of approval to have her taste of It's-Royal-Nastiness,-the-Crowned-Prince-of-Ravioli-Hell. What could a good daughter do?!?! And so I gave her whilst trying to swallow that thing without it touching my tongue one more time.

She was happy, pleased, and so she dug in. For a slip second I was hopeful, maybe she wouldn't notice and her feelings will be spared, but I thought to soon. My grandma's words “You can cheat others, but not yourself” came to mind as Nené graciously took her napkin and to spit that Italian-Dominican cyanide.

And then a scream… “Damn nutmeg!”. She took both our plates back to the kitchen as I followed trying to comfort her. I took a chance, I knew I was just a finger painter talking to DaVinci, but I said: “I don't think it's the nutmeg". She turned her back to me, incredulous, everything was perfect, it had to be that tiny spec of nut dust; and quietly threw away the hard “food” of her labour.

I turned around heading for the dinning room, and just as I was about to leave I saw it… sitting there, amongst the flour dust and leftover dough was an empty wooden Camembert container, and it all became clear. “Mom” I said “Are you SURE we had blue cheese?”. With that words the Devil awaked, how dare I, a single mortal, question her!. “It's just that… err” I stumbled “Was the cheese you used blue or green?”. It took a few seconds, but I think she got it also, because the first words out of her mouth were: “Mamita (endearing term she used with me only when she had done something wrong), can you please bring me my glasses?”.

And so, as she carefully inspected that round wood box she realize that overdue greenish Camembert, although it might look the part, could never be Blue Cheese.

martes, 6 de noviembre de 2007


I think I'm letting you go.
No more nightmares about you every night.
No more cries in the dark.

Could it be my Canadian souvenir
is working it's magic?
Or is it that you and I have finally made peace?

viernes, 26 de octubre de 2007


For many, adoption comes as a last resource;
for me is my first option.

Others try to get pregnant,
I try to find my child born from another woman’s seed.

They eagerly await 9 months to hold their little treasures;
I have no due date, but I wait the same as them.

And while others try to predict whose eyes will he/she have;
I'm happy knowing that no matter what he/she looks like,
he/she will be beautiful, because he/she will be mine.

jueves, 18 de octubre de 2007

a drop

Lately I have not been very creative. The though of beauty born from amongst the chaos has been banging my head. I guess I was in a “winter-y” state, cold and barren, but it’s time to flourish. So a new “project” has begun, a little drop given in exchange for a future.

viernes, 22 de junio de 2007

green survivor

After a weekend at the beach I came home to a dying plant. I never realized she was like me, an indoor gal. Now she sits in my studio, she's loved and comfy in her new spot, but most importantly, she's alive.

jueves, 21 de junio de 2007


As you can see by my pink stash… finding lots of fun cotton fabric in a little island can prove challenging. Rows and rows of low quality polyester mixed textiles line the stores creating visual chaos only heighten by the sounds of bachata blasted from loudspeakers. So is no surprise that when my good friend V asked me what I wanted her to bring me, I said: “Cotton fabric!! Any print, any color” and proceeded to explain what a fat quarter was (here only “thin quarters” are sold).

I know that in our modern times of globalization, free trade and mass producing, you can get an shirt for 100 pesos (less than US$4)… Chinese or Indian made, of course!!! The demand has decreased and the offer has pretty much disappeared, and that leaves us crafters in “fat quarter limbo”.

Oh well, let me just step down from my soapbox while asking “Why do the high end fabric stores only carry upholstery fabrics!?!?... you try binding a quilt made with thick heavy canvas like textile!!!”

miércoles, 20 de junio de 2007

christmas in June

It's only June, but Christmas has been on my mind for a few days now, I dontt know why, maybe is because I'm looking for something to cheer me up. So I'm starting a list of things I'll be doing this year:
•Tree skirt
•Tree top
•Christmas banner

I'll be tackling these in between other projects as I haven't decided between a Japanese themed or a country bear tree this year. I need to find some ideas.

martes, 19 de junio de 2007


Leftover fabric found amongst my mother’s belongings now have new life.

viernes, 8 de junio de 2007

green friday

Tomatoes, garlic and basil living together in my container garden.

In return

The homemade pizza Blanca Saturday sent is now long gone. As my mother used to say: “ When someone brings you food, the container shouldn’t be returned empty”... And since I can’t cook to save my life, and the tray was sitting in my kitchen counter asking to be taken back home, I made this little something. A red dot is missing… but at least the tray is gone!!

viernes, 4 de mayo de 2007

blu fromage

My first attempt at sewing.