I guess it took an invitation from a high school pal to remove my writer’s block. It’s been two months since I’ve blogged. I’ve allowed a combination of sicknesses, busy-ness, and just plain lack of motivation, to interfere with my goal. What’s new? Seems to be my life story.
I remember a carpool trip one morning about ten years ago, when I blurted out,
“Hey! I have an idea!” in response to something that was said or seen on the way to dropping off six children at four different schools.
“Mom, I don’t wanna hear another idea ’til you’ve done something about one of them!” my eldest blurted. My heart sank. I had nearly single-handedly been raising four children, and then some, cooked, cleaned, gardened, handled household repairs, and was, what I thought to be, a loving, loyal, tolerant wife.
I had written hundreds of songs, produced two albums, put on shows, sang in Churches and bars, held many different jobs successfully, and amassed a notebook full of clever and possibly lucrative ideas. What did she mean?
Then I realized that she probably didn’t like the idea of “ideas” thrown to the wind. She wanted to see finished products, started and sold companies, infomercials gone wild, and perhaps not hear the words, “We can’t afford that,” anymore.
I, on the other hand, love the thought of “think-tanks.” I could sit for hours and invent projects, products, productions, and possibilities. For me, THAT is the goal.
Once, in 1997, I actually did some research for one of my ideas, a hair product for wispy flyways. When I needed twenty-five thousand dollars to make a single prototype, I went back to “jotting down ideas.” I never claimed or aspired to be a “business-woman.”
The Catholic and Christmas albums, a few full length musicals I wrote and produced, and being published in an English book, are completed “ideas” of which I am proud. But I am equally as proud of the many things my mind has concocted, just for the sake of building dendrites and feeling excited!
So as I sit at 30,000 miles, pondering the immediate future, I also think of all the travel plans and memorable vacations I’ve managed to commandeer. The first time I went to Italy, was in 1975 - with the Legion of Mary. It was a Holy Year, and the subject of another piece, due to the enormity of Legion Tales, and the myriad of digressions such recollections will ignite!
“What do you think about the idea of going over to my parents’ villa in Italy with them this summer and experiencing the Adriatic? You could just be there for them, and also do your own things. It would be a win-win.” A Legion girlfriend from high school pleasantly surprised me with this proposition. And I accepted.
I left Puerto Vallarta, reluctantly, yesterday at 2PM. My apartment there is just about coming together, so I wan’t quite ready to leave. Nonetheless, I made a promise to embark on a journey to an area of Italy I have never been.
Roseto di Abruzzo is directly east from Rome, about four hours by bus. A quaint seaside town, not too far from some dream destinations, including San Giovanni Rotundo, the home of my son Daniel’s favorite saint, Padre Pio, the medieval town of St. Rita, Loreto, Marche, a hillside town whose walls began in the 1500’s, and is seat to Basilica della Santa Casa. I may return to my beloved St. Francis’ mystical home of Assisi, and deep down, though unlikely, would love for the pathway to be cleared to experience my Medjugorie dreams.
I had nightmares the early morning hours before departing from Puerto Vallarta. I had been sick with the same “clammy cold” I had had 2 months ago, and was feeling quite worn down. With several major tasks needed to be tackled before I abandoned my apartment into the hands of my helpers, Mary and Arturo, who will be over-seeing my apartment before, during, and after the arrival of my July renters, I also had to help Trenie.
Toilets were being repaired, painting finished, pillowcases being sewn by Mary, my homemade Roman shade being hung, and ceramic star lampshades installed over lightbulbs sticking out of walls. The refrigerator was cleared, its contents shared with locals, while homemade “cucaracha spray” and “lizard repellant” spray bottles were strategically placed around the apartment. Amidst all my sickness and last minute preparations, I was determined to go with Trenie and Desidario (our guide) on a “healing hunt,” as we were both suffering from sciatica. Sick or not sick, I boarded the bus with my gal pal.
Trenie, my senior by a couple of decades, never had a cold in her life. She has no ailments or complaints, and, although she’s had shoulder surgery from skiing incidents, gallbladder surgery, and a couple of other odds and ends hospitalizations, she has been in overall good health - until a couple of weeks ago. She was strangely stricken with sciatica, a curse, the pain of which I know too well.
She and I had heard of a “huesera” who could do wonders. i had been to a “huesero” three years ago, and was cured instantaneously of an ACL rupture. Miraculously, I walked out of his home, into which I had been carried, and, although a bit weak and somewhat cautious for almost a year, never needed surgery. Therefore, I believe in the powers of these “healing bone shamans.”
Maria Guadalupe lives in El Colomo. A friend of a friend, Desidario (Dari for short), accompanied us on the four-bus journey to the dusty village hut of Maria Guadalupe, a 70-something-year-old “huesera.” Her gleaming perfect smile and glint in her sun-kissed eyes made us love her immediately.
Trenie went first, and I translated, as Maria Guadalupe intermittently pushed, pulled, and prayed. The room was a-brim with statues, candles, pictures, and symbols, all of the Virgin Mother of Jesus, the Sacred Heart of Jesus, and other Saints and Catholic images. As Maria worked on Trenie, strewn on an old Indian blanket on the floor, I sat on a low bed, listening to the sounds of men drinking beer outside, roosters crowing, and horses neighing. It was if we had stepped back into time.
After Trenie’s “adjustment” was complete, I told the senior woman that I was ready, but she informed us she only worked on one person per day. I had taken the multi-bus trip on an extremely hot and humid day, while suffering from a fever and coughing like a banchee, only to find out, she couldn’t treat me this day. Though devastated, I determined to return.
I had noticed Maria stretching her legs while working on Trenie, even standing up and jogging in place a bit. She told me that her legs were cramping, and I promised to return with “Quina Root,” a tree bark boiled into a tea and used for many ailments, including cramps, as it contains quinine. She was thrilled, and asked me if I could also bring her “Caramellos de Canela,” (cinnamon candies) form the US. Of course I said that I’d do my best. In the meantime, I had begun rubbing her beautifully sculpted calves. Brown and hairless, they were tight as a drum. I instructed her to lay back on the bed and proceeded to massage her legs and feet. She was elated and relieved, crying,
“Ave Maria! Gracias a Dios para ti!” She was thanking Mary and God the Father for this massage. Her old feet, which probably never saw shoes, were worn and tired. i rubbed and massaged, using her coconut Lubriderm, and realized that this saintly healer had probably not been touched since her husband of 40 years had died 15 years ago. Her grin was wider than a mile, and I was blessed to have served her needs. i cannot wait to return. Trenie? I’m not so sure.
After Trenie’s treatment, Maria told me, in Spanish, that Trenie’s prescription was sex - at least 2 or 3 times if possible. She claimed this would clear out all toxins and remove excess stomach fat. We laughed, and called “Dari” in to ascertain Maria’s “true prescription” for Trenie. I had heard right. Sex. We are still rolling this around in our heads, but are determined to believe in the healing powers of the holy huesera of El Colomo.
