I was a lot of different people. A traveler by someone else's design. A writer by genetics. A dancer by my mother's past. A speaker of Castillian Spanish and Colombian Spanish and Italian and French. A foreigner in America. An American abroad. A kid with her family overseas and her roots seeking they not knew what.
Two months ago today, my husband, Ray, and I flew home to Florida from Amsterdam, where I'd become critical ill during a vacation.
About a week into the new year, Susie and I were playing when a clod of dirt came flying over the brick wall, narrowly missing Susie’s head. Hey!” I yelled. The wall was too high to see over. I jumped back as another clump of dirt soared into the air. I was getting mad now. “Ma, cosa fai?"
If you're going to break The Christmas Rules, don't settle for a misdemeanor: go for a full-out felony.
My husband is transported by music: a half-hour of vintage salsa refreshes his outlook like little else. Although he doesn't need to analyze the "why" to benefit from the practice, I looked into it. The reason that listening to music makes us feel good dopamine, the same pleasure chemical that encourages us to eat, sleep and…
The nomadic life of my youth taught me four things: 1) be at home where you are; 2) let go when it's time; 3) settle in fast; and 4) forget there's anywhere else to be. This cycle puts you right back at 1) being at home where you are.