The Mighty Milo Comes to Visit!

While my daughter Lindsay is traveling for the next two weeks, I am the lucky one who gets to care for her dog, MILO. What a dog he is!

Milo is a Havanese, a breed from Havana, Cuba (their national dog) trained to be circus dogs. Our little Milo runs in perfect figure eights in the backyard and stands on his hind legs for treats.

Wikipedia notes that the Havanese breed is "highly adaptable to almost any environment, and their only desire is to be with their human companions."

That's for sure. Milo adores Lindsay, but if she is not around, I will do as her caretaker. 

Sweet and cuddly, sturdy, smart and devoted, he is the best dog in the world, or at least, in my world.

We love you Milo!

]

"Mom, what tune would you like me to play?"

At Christmas, he becomes a tiny reindeer!

Chapter 64, SISTER MYSTERIES "In Which I Turn Into Renata"

DEAR MARY U HEARD WHAT MOTHER YOLLA SHE SAID she is going TO YIELD ME UP TO THE AUTHORITIES SHE SAID SHE WILL TURN ME IN, NO MATTER THAT I WILL BE HANGED MOTHER YOLLA SAID SHE CANNOT PROTECT ME SHE HAS TO THINK ABOUT THE CONVENT MOTHER YOLLA DOESN'T LOVE ME ENOUGH TO SAVE ME

my mother loved me enough BUT her anxiety was so great that I MUST NOT HAVE FELT IT she never gave me the unconditional love that I craved Mary

Mary MARINO my therapist says that I have to give it to myself that I have to reparent my

MOTHER YOLLA SAYS SHE CANNOT RISK THE REPUTATION OF THE CONVENT MOTHER SAID IN SO FEW WORDS THAT SHE WOULD RATHER SEE ME DEAD HANGED HANGED HANGED HANGED THAN TAKE THE CHANCE TAKE THE CHANCE SO NOW

WHAT THE

WHAT THE

WHAT THE

What am I to do

WHEN YOU ARE AT THE END OF YOUR ROPE MARY WHEN YOU HAVE NO MORE  HOPE MARY WHAT DO YOU DO YOU AAAAAASSSSSSKKKKKKK MARY, DIVINE MARY FOR HELP I DON'T WANT TO HANG I DON'T WANT TO DIE I WANT TO LIVE AND GIVE OF MYSELF TO GOD AND OTHERS AFTER ALL I AM A DEVOTEE I AM A a good nun A GOOD NUN, I HAVE GIVEN MYSELF HEART AND SOUL TO GOD, I HAVE BEEN A NUN FOR SO SO LONG AND NOW

No, it has not been long at all I have just become the nun, just now, just just just now I have turned

into

WHAT

WHO?

IF I RUN IF I RUN I CAN'T RUN AWAY FROM MYSELF AND MY DUTY ANYMORE I CANNOT CANNOT WHERE WOULD I GO SAN FRANCISCO? ARTHUR SAYS HE WILL TAKE ME BUT WHAT WOULD I DO MARRY ARTHUR MARRY MARY

HELP ME MARY SHALL I RUN AWAY MARRRRRRRY ARTHUR

GOD I WANT TO BE A NUN, I HAVE ALWAYS BEEN A NUN, DEAR MARRRRRRRY

NO, I WOULDN'T CONSIDER MARRYING ARTHUR HE IS A DEAR DEAR MAN A GOOD SOUL BUT NOT A PERSON NOT FOR ME

MARY MARY MARY MARY HELP ME HELP SEÑORA HELP HER OUT OF HER DEEP COMA COMA COMA COMA COMA PLEASE HELP ME NOW I WON'T LEAVE HER I WON'T EVER EVER EVER LEAVE YOU YOU UNDERSTAND THAT BABY C YOU UNDERSTAND ME, I LOVE YOU MARY YOU LOVE ME TOO, 

My therapist Mary said I have to bring love to my fear and anxiety I have to envelope myself in love and when I do I will have Divine forces helping me to helping me helping

YOU HAVE TO LOVE AND CHERISH YOUR INNER CHILD, pick her up whenever she cries and cries and thinks you will abandon her you won't though you won't! I won't let you

MARY MARY MARY MARY YOU HAVE BEEN WITH ME UNITED WITH ALL THE ILLUMINATED SOULS HERE AT MY MEDITATION TABLE I HAVE FINALLY BEEN ABLE TO SPEAK TO SAY I WON'T EVER EVER EVER STOP LOVING YOU MARY MARY MARY MARY

I WON'T LEAVE SEÑORA

I am sitting here in the dark alone with her in the middle of the night holding her limp hand with one of my own and writing here in my journal with the other, weeping because I cannot leave I cannot run away anymore I must face the facts that I actually will die, I actually will hang I will die so maybe that is what Mary wants? Why Why DEAR GOD I did not kill my cousin I did not make my mother sick IT WASN'T MY FAULT THAT MY MOTHER WAS SO DEPRESSED AND ANXIOUS Dear Mary, I want to know what you want me to do WHERE DO I GO? what? I am finally listening finally hearing finally finally BUT YOU MUST SPEAK TO ME TELL ME WHETHER I SHOULD RUN? HOW? WHERE? DEAR MARY, THANK YOU FOR SPEAKING TO ME, YES, I HEARD YOU at the moment I thought I would die of the depression that it would just never end never NEVER I found Mary I found Mary the therapist and she spoke to me over the phone and she told me to love my depression, invite her in, tell her -- your inner child -- that you love her unconditionally, invite the depression right into your heart and soul right into your laptop where you are writing now and when you do you will have the whole of the Infinite you will be sad you will be happy but you will know how to respond to your deepest feelings you will have a partner in the NUN YOU WILL FINALLY UNDERSTAND THE BIG PICTURE THAT YOU ARE HER AND SHE IS YOU AND BOTH OF YOU NEED TO GO FREE you thought you were going back in time to save the nun but along you were saving your own self you must understand you must write no matter what no matter who reads who reads you need just like you need to breathe you need to

WRITE I MUST WRITE THE ENDING OF SISTER MYSTERIES PLEASE MARY I NEED YOU I NEED YOU TO TELL ME WHAT TO DO WHERE DO I RUN WHAT DOES A NUN DO WHEN SHE HASN'T KILLED HER COUSIN BUT SHE IS DESTINED TO HANG IS THAT WHAT HAPPENED BACK IN 1884? DID I DIE DID SHE HANG NO NO NO NO NO PLEASE MARY SHOW ME THE WAY TO FREE HER FREE ME SHE SAYS TO HERSELF

"What?" Is that what I think it is it is it is

"What?" I WHISPER.

Señora squeezes my hand.

"SEÑORA...ARE YOU...ARE YOU AWAKE?" I DROP THE JOURNAL BUT I STILL HAVE THE LAPTOP HERE AT MY MEDITATION TABLE I STILL SHE

DROPS THE JOURNAL AND NOW SHE IS BENDING OVER HOLDING HER DEAR DEAR SEÑORA'S HAND IT IS DARK THERE IS NOTHING SHE CANNOT SEE THE OLD WOMAN'S COAL BLACK EYES BUT SHE HEARS HER SPEAK, WHISPER SOMETHING CAN THIS BE A DREAM DID RENATA FALL ASLEEP DID I? DID I ? IS SHE HEARING REALLY HEARING

Señora speaks now in Spanish and I cannot say it myself I have to go on the Internet and get one of those English to Spanish translations:

Tome la revista páginas tomar ellos les muestran a las autoridades por favor, Renata que todos conocemos, se me que terminó Antonie, he mantenido la hoja hice el final cut y él venció en un charco de sangre en mi regazo,

"take the journal pages and show them to the authorities, please Renata

"Take the journal pages take them show them to the authorities please Renata let them LET ALL THE WORLD AND ITS ILLUMINATED BEINGS let all know it was me who finished Antonie, I held the blade I made the final cut and he expired in a pool of blood in my lap

my laptop. I am writing all of this at my meditation table where for 18 years i have been TRYING TO SOLVE THE SISTER MYSTERIES TRYING TO RESOLVE THE TIME TRAVEL NUN STORY

I am weeping now so delighted Señora is back, she is out of the coma, she is awake "YOU ARE AWAKE!" I hug her and my tears pour out onto her coffee and cream colored face, wrinkled and soft as a pillow.

"I will go get Mother Yolla and the others, I will get you some water, some tea, you must be so so thirsty," she doesn't answer but she squeezes my hand and when I turn I swear I see Mary the Virgen de Guadalupe, her sky baby blue veil where I tucked myself all those years ago when I had the chemo I had the cancer

I WILL BE WRITE BACK I squeeze her hand and she squeezes mine and I race out of the room and down the hall to Mother Yolla's room and knock once on the door and barge in because Señora is awake

SEÑORA SHE IS AWAKE I SCREAM I PULL ON MOTHER YOLLA'S SHOULDER

"What..what? huh?" Suddenly Mother Yolla is sitting up and out of the bed she and I race down the hall screaming SHE'S AWAKE SHE'S AWAKE SO ALL THE NUNS WILL HEAR and in seconds flat there are a dozen of us here in her room and it smells sour and fouled as if Señora has peed her bed but no matter she is awake

GO MAKE HER SOME TEA Mother Yolla screams and Teresa dear Teresa runs out of the room and Mother Yolla screams

LIGHT A CANDLE,

Mother Yolla has Señora's limp hand in hers and she must be feeling the squeeze

"She squeezed my hand, Mother Yolla, she squeezed my hand and then she spoke to me, she told me what to do she told me to take...."

Mother Yolla interrupts me. "Renata, her hand is limp."

"That can't be, she was just holding and squeezing and talking to me."

"Come here my dear," Mother Yolla is not angry, just tired very very tired. "Feel her hand my dear."

I do. I feel Señora's hand and it is warm and as limp as a dead fish.

"But she was awake, I swear it. I felt her squeeze my hand. I know I did I did I did," and then I am caving in, I am sobbing uncontrollably now everything is caving in on me I am going to hang and my dear dear Señora is not awake now

Teresa arrives with the mug of chamomile tea and I am sitting in the chair beside Señora's bed crying and trying to understand and after a while after Mother Yolla rubs my back and holds my hands in hers Teresa she is my dear dear friend just like Nina, just like my dear friend Nina for whom I wrote this story started writing it in 1995 when Nina had cancer and I wanted to write something to distract her from her misery the misery that is chemotherapy and there it was, the birth of Sister Mysteries.

Sister Teresa hands me the cup of warm tea and later she puts me to bed like the baby I want to be there for BABY C Mary my therapist told me, invite your depression in like a baby, nurture her pick her up, just like a newborn, every morning climb out of your dark cave, tell her you will be there for her no matter how sad she is no matter what she says no matter what you tell her you will be there for her forever and then the universe will partner with you and

YES MARY IT IS STARTING TO HAPPEN when I meditated this morning I felt it I felt the universe open up

I take the cup of tea from Teresa and sip it just a few times and I'm saying to Teresa, "Señora told me I have to turn in those two missing pages from my journal I must show them to the authorities..." I am heaving and hiccuping and Teresa takes the cup of tea from me

and sits

on

the

bed

and says, "Shhhhhh, Renata, you've got to rest now, you've been up all night with Señora, get some sleep now, we'll talk about it later my

hear me Teresa hear me? She wants me to turn the pages of the journal into the authorities she wants me to show them to the world

IT'S TIME I PUBLISHED THEM RIGHT HERE ON THE SISTER MYSTERIES BLOG TO SHOW THE WORLD HOW SEÑORA WAS THE ONE WHO HELPED ANTONIE TO FINISH HIS LIFE SHE WIELDED THE KNIFE NOT ME NOT ME

"You've got to sleep now Renata," and she forces me onto my stomach and she rubs my back in big gentle circles her hands so strong i have loved her so long, I have been WRITING SISTER MYSTERIES FOR EIGHTEEN FUCKING YEARS AND HERE NOW HERE NOW

Here is CHAPTER 65 -- FINALLY THE MISSING PAGES OF RENATA'S JOURNAL, THE MYSTERY OF ANTONIE'S DEATH IS FINALLY RESOLVED!! It's about time it's about timeless it is a timeless story of freedom, a liberation story that is exactly what it is 

mine and Renata's together

Chapter 63: Sister Mysteries "IF YOU TURN ME IN I'LL HANG!!"

Dear Señora,

I shouldn't have waited so long to call Mother Yolla and the other nuns to your bedside.

I should have run at top speed to find someone who would get the doctor.

But I was afraid. That's a sorry thing to admit, Señora, but it's the truth. And by now, you know that's true of me. You know me so well. You know how fearful I am. 

I finally ran downstairs and found Mother Yolla, who immediately sent Teresa to get the doctor. She took the horse and wagon that Arthur had brought me home to the convent in just a day and a half before.

It took more than two hours for Teresa and the doctor to return. And in the end, it took Dr. Thacker only a few minutes to examine you.

We all waited outside the closed door. Soon the doctor opened the door and stepped into the dim hallway of the convent.

"I'm afraid that she has suffered a stroke," Dr. Thacker declared, taking off his wire-rimmed glasses and rubbing his eyes. "It looks to me as though she has slipped into a coma."

A collective groan rose up from the group of us at the door.

"Can you do something?" I begged.

He shook his head. "I'm afraid there is nothing possible," he said. "She may wake up, or she may not. It's out of my hands. For now, I suggest that you keep her company around the clock. Sit with her, make her comfortable, sing to her, and pray that she may get better."

"But how do we feed her?" I said. I know that in a modern hospital, full of the latest equipment, Señora would have a feeding tube to provide her nourishment. And intravenous fluid to keep her hydrated. But this is 1884, and there is no hospital except in San Francisco, a three-day ride away. Even if we got her to the hospital they wouldn't have the equipment to feed her.

Dr. Thacker pressed his lips together and stared me straight in the eye. "She has to wake up to take fluids and food," he said quietly. "There is no other way to feed her."  He turned to Mother Yolla, and set one hand on the older nun's elbow.

"I know very little about prayer," Dr. Thacker said, his face pale and sad. "But I would highly recommend it in this case. And I will be happy to return tomorrow to check in on her again."

He turned to face Teresa. "Would you be so kind as to drive me back to town?"

As the two of them went downstairs, Mother Yolla gathered us in the hallway. "We will take turns sitting by her side," she announced simply. "Who will be first?"

Five hands went up including my own. Mother Yolla chose two of the other nuns, who promptly opened the bedroom door and disappeared inside.

"Oh but please let me stay too," I begged, pressing my hands together over my chest. "I might as well be with Señora since I won't be able to stop thinking about her for even a moment."

"No my child," Mother Yolla replied. "You'll have your turn. But first, I need to speak to you in private." She eyed me carefully, and there was something so direct and piercing about her facial expression that it triggered a flush of anxiety in my stomach.  I felt my mouth go cotton dry.

"Of course," I mumbled.

She motioned for me to follow her downstairs. We passed through the dining hall and out the door to the backyard. I thought we'd sit beside the hummingbird feeder, but she kept walking. We ended up in the very small chapel where the nuns are free to go for private meditation. I so loved this precious chapel, as it was built entirely of stone. Like the other nuns, I had helped to lay the floor, which was no more than California palm fronds covered over by heavy blankets. There was room for two small chairs but many of us chose to sit cross-legged in meditation.

Mother Yolla, a tiny woman, could enter the chapel without bending, but I had my father's height.

I followed her inside. She took the chair on the right. I sat in the left hand chair.

"Please my dear, face me if you will," she said quietly. As I lifted the chair and swiveled it around to face her, I felt my heart hammering in my chest. Our knees were almost touching.  The air in the chapel was fragrant with a mixture of mint and sage, as we regularly brought those plants into the meditation space.

Mother Yolla looked into her lap where she had one hand resting on another. She cleared her throat and looked up at me.

"Renata you know that I couldn't be more pleased to see you. We were all so worried when you disappeared." I nodded, nervously squeezing my hands together. What was she about to say?

"I...I am so sorry I caused you and the others so much distress," I said, my voice shaky. "I didn't mean to make my escape, it just kind of happened. And then there was no way to reach you or the oth..."

"Please," Mother Yolla said. She held up one hand to quiet me. "I understand that you did what you had to do."

"Yes, that's true," I mumbled.

"Sometimes we are forced to do things that we would rather not do," she said, gazing at me steadily.

I blinked. What was she coming to? What was she trying to say?

Again she cleared her throat. "This isn't easy for me. But I am going to have to turn you into the authorities.  I cannot jeopardize the rest of us here at the convent. If they were to find you here, we would stand guilty of harboring a known criminal."

I blinked again. My chin dropped to my chest. Tears welled up in the corners of my eyes. I sniffled.

"I am so sorry Renata, you know how I feel about each and every one of my novitiates. It kills me to do this but Father Ruby insists."

I lifted my head. My face bleached red. "So that's it, he's the one insisting." Mother Yolla stared into her hands.

"I should have known. He's the one who let Antonie take advantage of me. He's the one who insisted that Antonie was family, that I owed it to my cousin to do whatev..."

"PLEASE, no more!" Mother Yolla's voice was sharp and unforgiving. "I insist that you show respect for Father Ruby. He is simply abiding by the law of California."

I so desperately wanted to say more. But Mother Yolla was already standing. I stared into the large rosary beads hanging at her waist. "As you well know, Renata, I am not the final arbiter here. Father Ruby is in charge. And we must do what we must do, even if we are desperately unhappy doing it. So please please, please forgive me." She lifted one sleeve to cover her eyes. Her head fell forward and the edge of her veil brushed against my cheek. It had been almost a year since I'd felt the veil.

The next thing I knew Mother Yolla turned and rushed out of the chapel. I thought I heard her muffled cries as she fled.

My Mother's Orchid

Dear Mom,

Today is your 87th birthday.
When you turn 87, there aren't a whole lot of birthday presents

You want health and happiness for
Yourself and all of those

You love
Orchids.

The one I bought you a year

A few months ago
all the blossoms
had disappeared
and Dad said, let's
get rid of
that plant it's just three bare sticks.

But no, Mom,
despite your vision issues,
you saw something
tiny and green budding there
on one of those bare branches
something wonderful
four or five new pink blossoms appeared!

So eager you were to visit
the sun room
each morning
each week, on Tuesday,
you put two ice cubes in the pot
not a drop more water.

You were just adorable
caring for your orchid.

So today, your day, it
wasn't difficult to know
what to buy you
I ought to get my mother

another orchid I said
so
I did.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOM!
We Love You So Much,
Claud

Can You Believe It? A Poem

By Camincha

  
The            stomach hangs
            the gut retrieves
the            heart skips a beat
            the tongue still spills
the            words of yesteryears
            the message lost
the            now not what it was
            the young man not
the            man today in here
            the bags under the eyes
the            sadness lurks behind
            the glasses that cover
the            once bright blue eyes
            the woman also not the
the            girl he knew hidden by
            the thick waist
the            dry, pale skin
            the bags under the eyes
the            lines in skin that was
            the freshness, suppleness in
the            memory only
            the long years
the            body punished but
            the heart that now skips a beat
the            heart is young still
            the one that whispers
the            heart that, cries out
            the words of love that
the            lad caught and held
            the one who smiled with
the            fresh, moist lips
             the one without grey or
the            lines that confuse
            the one she ran off with while
the            glasses hide his tears.

“...Camincha wants to take in continents and hemispheres. She is a woman of extraordinary vitality, passion and has a hunger for life. Read her, enjoy her.” Michael Krasny   KQED-FM

                   Camincha is a pen name for a writer living in California. 

WHITE POEM

so white so snow
so softly so softly
snow falling as clean as fresh
as white as a sheet of paper the
flakes coming down,
                         down
                           down
steady steady
all of them slanted at the same angle
almost exactly the angle at which you would
hold a pen to write a poem about that clean
clean sheet that keeps coming
                                   down
                                     down
until the fallen snow becomes itself a white poem
its lines curved
its shape thick and sculpted
a landscape
billowing in
all directions, all edges rounded and so so white,
and so so soft
and no no sound except for the occasional whipsaw of
wind that blows fine powdery sheets wild every which way.

And inside, we remain in our
pajamas until after noon, warm, sipping hot drinks, thinking how
delighted we are by the winter scene out the window and by
the cozy warmth inside.

New Paintings

In January, I started an abstract painting class with a wonderful teacher, Arthur Yanoff. I was a little embarrassed to tell him about my painting technique. I apply paint (acrylic) and then I wash off part or all of the canvas, wipe it dry, and keep painting. Sometimes I think I might lose a good painting in this process. But for now, that is how I paint. I have this feeling that a painting knows what it wants to be and it's up to me to help give birth to that image. Crazy, perhaps, but fun, too.

The painting below is one I did in class. Beneath that painting is the version that emerged after I applied my "wash it off and keep painting" technique. My painting teacher, Arthur, whose work is stunning (he has had some 75 shows, including a one-person exhibit at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston) was very receptive to my technique. In fact, he told me that Matisse used to wash down his paintings each night with turpentine, and then resume painting in the morning. 

It's reassuring to know I'm in good company. 

It's wonderful to have such a wonderfully encouraging teacher.  

The painting below was for Jocelyn and Evan, to honor their new home in Boston.

The painting below was the first version, which I did in class. The painting below that was the second (final) version. Finally, the last painting, is one I did in class yesterday. I have taken Arthur's advice and not washed it off. At least not so far.

i