Dripping River Water


Everything on the line April 29, 2012

Filed under: Uncategorized — Maceo Cabrera Estevez @ 8:34 pm
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My husband put up a clothes line for me.  Our backyard is in shambles.  He is demolishing the back unit that we thought we would rent out to pay for most of the mortgage.  Unfortunately, we found so much mold and termites that we could never have someone live there.  Now there are boards and pieces of walls knocked down.  There are nails all over the ground; I have to watch where I step carefully.

I don’t like to be in the backyard right now unless I am drying clothes.  It reminds me of being a child.  In our small apartment in Brooklyn we only had a washer between the sink and the stove in the kitchen.  In the spring and summer I would help my mother dry the clothes by putting them out on the line from the windows of our bedrooms.  In the concrete backyard  there was a big pole that had spokes to connect a clothes line or two from each apartment.

As a child I color coordinated our clothes line.  I pretended to be out in the country somewhere; the sun shining on my face, wearing an apron with a pocket big enough to hold all my clothes pins.  I pretended to be somewhere else and now as I put each article of clothing on the clothes line I am reminded of all those memories.

There is something peaceful when you let yourself be present in your chores.  I stop complaining and start smiling.  I take the moments to hear the birds chirp and the planes go by.  I watch my son play on the small trampoline and enjoy his laughter.  I then want to do more like water the plants and take out the weeds.  Then I imagine a backyard like I always wanted with flowers and vegetables; bunnies and goats; a swing and some toys; the barbecue going and some company.

Alhamdullilah.  I live in a house with my family, I have bad days and good days.  I take showers with hot water and have a fridge full of food.  I have friends who care and parents who I talk to almost every day.  It’s beautiful, really, to be given a life and try to understand what everything means.  My learning lessons are sometimes hard, sometimes I am the one that makes them the most difficult.  I cry a lot, when I think of all the mistakes I’ve made.  Then I try to forgive myself.  Then I try to present.  Drying clothes on the line helps.  Thank you.

The end.




Gratitude and Forgiveness April 20, 2012

Filed under: Uncategorized — Maceo Cabrera Estevez @ 11:18 pm
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Yesterday there was a woman on the corner of my block selling strawberries.  She stood underneath a tree for shade.  She held her son, he was two years old.  I drove into my driveway with my son who is 19 months old.  I ran to her and asked if she wanted a chair for her son.  I told her about mine and she said that they were fine.  She couldn’t find anyone to watch him so she stood there in the midday selling strawberries with him.  I  pointed to my house and told her if she needed anything to just knock.

That night I was thankful that I was on my way home from yoga class when I saw her.  I was thankful to not have to sell strawberries while I carried Omar; I was thankful for my home and family; I was thankful for the nice hot showers I get to take, the meals I get to make, the time I get to spend being grateful.

Today I asked for forgiveness for worrying.  Most of the days I am positive.  I touch my belly as Azalea kicks and moves.  I try to stay focused in the present as I watch Omar smile.  Today as I made him lunch, I cried and I cried.  I went to my new OB today; she reminded me that Azalea could have a genetic defect.  I hate when they remind me of that.  I hate when they tell me she could be stillborn or born premature.  I know this may be the case and I try to accept it.  I also don’t like when people tell me everything will be just fine and she will be great because they don’t know.  No one knows.

So I pray.

Sometimes I don’t even know what to pray for.  Should I pray for her to be healthy and live a long life and if that doesn’t happen will I get too depressed?   I can’t change what is written.  As I sit on my prayer mat I try to find the right words, I try not to ask for too much, I try to maintain my gratitude and contentment.

The imam at my mosque asked me awhile back if I’ve dreamed with her.  I did in the beginning and she looked like my husband’s sister as a little girl.  I haven’t since then and I wonder what that means.  When I was pregnant with my son I had vibrant dreams of ancient Sufis dressed in royal blue with long beards making salat in our mosque.

I want those dreams again and peacefulness in my heart so I could handle things.

the end.