Tres Mujeres

Watching my three older kids become young adults has been hugely rewarding, and of course, leaves me a little wistful for their childhood days.  Olivia, our oldest at 23, is now living and working in Bogota, Colombia, after being awarded a Fulbright fellowship to teach English at a prestigious national university.  After completing his sophomore year studying abroad in Salzburg, Austria, and traveling independently throughout Europe, Nico is now back at the University of Portland, excited and focused about his newly declared major in Political Science.  Erica, ever the free-spirit, has decided to forego college and is getting her real life education working a full-time job, living with housemates and (largely) paying her own expenses.  They are, for the most part, “adulting.”  Not long ago, Olivia asked me what I was doing in my life at  her age. I thought about it and realized that my own experience at “adulting” looked very different from hers.

When I was 23 I was working at my third full-time job in the 18 months since I graduated from college. My first two jobs, a receptionist in a commercial production company, and a mailroom clerk for a major television network, left me uninspired, bored, and with little income.  I lived with my parents throughout college and continued to live with them after graduation, but my $250 a month car payment, gas, insurance and all my personal expenses, rapidly cut into my $800 per month paycheck.  When a local television network called and offered me a job making a whopping $320 per week as a production secretary, I jumped at the opportunity.  With the extra money and chance to do some real television production, I finally felt that I was launching my life.

One year later, in an even bigger leap into adulthood, I plotted my escape from my parents’ house and made the fateful decision to marry my college boyfriend.  I loved him enough and we had similar interests so I ignored the doubting voice in my head and dismissed it as pre-wedding jitters. Looking back, I realize that the marriage was a way for me to break away from my parents and assert myself as an independent woman. I find it ironic that I subconsciously believed I had to marry in order to declare my autonomy.  Our newlywed years were marred by sadness and loneliness because I was often left alone, missing my family while my husband worked day and night launching his own business.  Four years later, when I found out those long work hours also involved my husband’s extra-marital affairs, I immediately filed for divorce.  I escaped that marriage a little wiser, a little older, and feeling more liberated. With a marriage and divorce between my parents’ house and my new life, I was firmly planted into ADULTHOOD.

Perhaps that is why I chose not to return to live with my parents when they offered me a place to live while I mended my bruised heart and ego.  Instead, I lived in a series of sub-let apartments while I re-invented my life and applied to law school.  When the sub-let apartments dried up and as I was faced with an enormous amount of law school student debt, I moved in with my then boyfriend for the first year of law school.  My last two years of law school I lived with a classmate, juggling school, a part-time job and my relationship with my boyfriend.  After law school and passing the bar, I married and I landed a job in a small law firm. Finally, I was making enough money to pay my student loans, buy a house with my husband, and indulge in some adult-scale luxuries.

One of those luxuries was the purchase of my first “real” piece of art.  Our law firm had a local school district as one of its clients, and some of the attorneys became friends with the teachers and administrators.  A teacher at the school district was also an accomplished artist who painted in one of my favorite styles of Mexican folk art.  My colleague offered to host an art show to help him further his art career. I attended the show and fell in love with one of the paintings.  The work, entitled “Tres Mujeres” (Three Women) with its bright colors, bold lines and feminine images made me feel happy and nostalgic.

Even though I was making a decent salary, I had a $900 monthly law school loan payment, and paying over $300 for a piece of art was a real indulgence.  I splurged and brought home my new symbol of adulthood. My husband loved the painting too and we proudly displayed it in our newly painted dining room.

The painting has become even more meaningful to me since I first bought it.  When my second husband and I divorced and we divided up our personal property, I quickly claimed the painting.  The painting still hangs in my dining room, but that is one of the only things unchanged since I bought the painting.  In this third chapter of my adult life, I am married to Juan, I am almost done raising four kids, and I am excited at the opportunities and challenges as I contemplate my retirement from my legal career and pursue writing.

As I re-launched this blog, I looked around my world and scoured the internet for an image that would be a good representation of me and this blog. I couldn’t come up with anything until Juan looked at the painting and suggested it.  Of course! Tres Mujeres.  Three women. The woman I have become over the years, through three distinct phases in my life.  The painting, purchased when I saw it as a symbol of my ascent into adulthood, has become an image of my own life and a reflection of who I am as my own work of art.

Tres Generaciones

This is a picture of my grandmother, my mother and I. My grandmother is 97 years-old and as you can tell from the spark in her eye, she is a firecracker. Lately, she is causing us some worry because she insists on living on her own.  She is independent, stubborn, resourceful and very loving. She has created many happy memories for me and her other 9 grandchildren. I think a lot of what my mother learned about being a mother, she learned from my grandmother.

This is my mother before she married my dad. My mom is the one who looks like she is 12 years-old and too young to be in Vegas with her girlfriends. She has always looked younger than her years.  When I was growing up I don’t think my mom ever weighed more than 110 pounds soaking wet.

In her late 20’s my mom met and married my dad. They started their family right away, with 3 kids  born 17 months apart. I don’t know how she did it. She says there was a time when my older brother, my younger sister and I were in diapers at the same time!  Eight years after my sister was born my dad said he wanted another boy. My mother agreed and 9 months later my younger brother was born. I don’t know how she did that! (Well, I do know how they did that, I just don’t like to think about it.)

When I was growing up my mother was in constant motion. Like many women of her day, she was a stay-at-home mom.  She made it look effortless. On our birthdays she organized parties for us and would invite the entire neighborhood.

We didn’t have bounce houses, clowns or magicians. We had my mom who would organize the games.

She was a soccer mom before there were soccer moms.

My mother didn’t just support my brother’s in their sports, she also supported me and my acting ambitions.  Here she is at one of my play productions, standing by while I sign autographs.

My mom wore many hats, including a barber hat.

Here she is in her laundress hat.

She rarely complained about her many household tasks, except when it came to do laundry. I didn’t understand why she disliked doing laundry for a family of 6. Now that I have my own family and my own endless pile of laundry, I understand.  But, at least I have a clothes dryer. Our family didn’t buy a clothes dryer until I was almost 13 years-old!

Something else happened when I was around 13 years-old, I suddenly knew everything there was to know about life.  Even though I still didn’t know how to do my own laundry, cook my own meals, or even pack my own school lunch, I knew more than anyone in my family, including my mother. Especially my mother. I would never stay home and raise children. I would work in show business, I would become a writer, or maybe even a lawyer. Thanks in part to my mom’s love and support,  I have had a turn doing all those things.  But wouldn’t you know it? I have also become a mom. Like my mom, I have two boys and two girls. Life has played a joke on me.  But my mom isn’t laughing. She is still here, supporting me, loving me and taking care of our family.  It’s something she learned from my grandmother, and something I hope I have learned from both of them. So, to my grandmother, and my mother…thank you and Happy Mother’s Day!

Scitement and Dreadapation: Thoughts on my First Day of the Camino

After months of waiting and training, we finally began our first day of walking the Camino. The night before, we went to bed early so that we could get enough sleep to rise with the sun and begin walking by 7:00 a.m. However, Nico and I were so scared and excited (Scited) and had a mix of dread and anticipation (Dreadapation) that neither of us could sleep. I finally fell asleep but I had the strangest dreams and I woke every hour. When the alarm went off, I felt I had hardly slept. Still, I rose out of bed quickly, did some morning stretches and packed my bag. Even though I had trained with a weighted pack, I never really walked with it fully loaded, including my two flasks of water. It took a few adjustments to make sure the pack weight was evenly distributed and positioned more on my hips than my shoulder. Finally, one half hour past our planned departure, and an hour behind some of the friends in our group, we left our hotel as the innkeeper bid us farewell with, “Buen Camino.”

The city of Leon is a beautiful lively place, but the streets were totally empty early on Saturday mornings. Luckily, Nico and I walked to the starting point yesterday so we knew where to go. It also helped that the streets had several seashell markers embedded in the sidewalks. Nico and I were the only pilgrims out for about 30 minutes until we met up with an Italian man from Ravenna, Vanni, who accompanied us on our walk for more than an hour. Perhaps it was our excitement or Vanni’s pace, but we managed to walk a 20 minute mile through some uphill terrain.

Start of our Camino on the empty streets of Leon.

Camino markers along the sidewalk.

We walked for about two hours before our need for coffee and food outweighed our desire to get ahead of the heat. We stopped at a cute cafe and had a light breakfast of Spanish tortilla and a coffee. Then, we headed out and were surprised to learn that even though we had started out an hour behind Mel and our friends, they were only about 30 minutes ahead of us. Energized by coffee and food, we continued to keep a good pace in spite of the rising temperature.

Breakfast stop at Valverde de la Virgen.

Fed and caffeinated and on our way again.

The walk continued to be mostly along a highway until Villadangos, a small town where we veered away from the noisy traffic and walked though quaint streets, and a forested path which emptied into a field of sunflowers. This was what I envisioned the Camino to be so I was happy to walk through this town. I was told that after one more hour or so along the highway tomorrow, the Camino becomes more rural. I am looking forward to that! I was also told we have some pretty good hills tomorrow. I am not looking forward to that. Dreadapation.

Most of today’s walk was alongside a highway.

Selfie in a field of Sunflowers.

After 14 miles and nearly six hours, my body started to protest. I was hungry, tired, and hot. Luckily, I could see our destination of St. Martin in the distance. Even though I wanted to get there as soon as I could, I had to slow my pace. Like a horse heading to the stables, Nico’s pace quickened and he arrived a several minutes ahead of me. Happily, our albergue was right at the entrance to town and we met up with Mel and the others. We checked in, got our passport stamped and sat down to a good meal and cold beer. The albergue was nicely equipped with a pool, laundry facilities and both dormitory and private rooms. We also met up with Vanni and he joined us for lunch. With our first day of the Camino in the books, I feel like I can go to bed with a little less dread and fear, and more excitement and anticipation for tomorrow’s walk to Astorga.

Our albergue for the night.

Backpacks, Buttons and Blessings: Listening to the Call of the Camino.

I can’t really recall when I first thought about doing the Camino de Santiago. Perhaps I was inspired by the idea of a pilgrimage when I read The Canterbury Tails in my high school English Literature class. This seed of an idea probably germinated when I was in college and I did a backpacking trip through Europe. I traveled on trains, slept in hostels, and loved the nomadic experience. It all came together for me when I saw the movie, The Way. The film is the story of a father who loses his son on The Camino and finds himself walking in his son’s place, meeting people, experiencing adventure and processing his grief over the 500 miles from Saint John Pied de Port in France, to Santiago de Compestela in Spain. Maybe that’s when the Camino began calling to me.

On a train in Germany during my big European adventure.

All these years, I kept hearing its call, but the other sounds in life were louder. Work, kids, family life. The demands of all of it, not to mention the expense of raising a family, distracted me from listening to the Camino’s call. Then, the Pandemic shouted above all the noise, stifling the din of our world and changing life as we knew it. In some ways, my life was changed for the better because my life slowed. No more soccer practices, school events, work commuting. I took stock of what was really important and started thinking more and more about my impending empty nest, a milestone birthday, retirement, and suddenly I was faced with the reality of how quickly life could end.

My dad’s unexpected death in June 2020 from cancer was shocking. I knew something was wrong when he began losing weight and complaining of stomach pain in March 2020, but with medical doctors focusing on the COVID-19 virus, the care he needed was delayed. The cancer which started in his liver progressed so quickly that he died two weeks after being diagnosed. My mom’s death in August 2021 was even more sudden.

My dad and I in healthier days.

My mother came to live with me and my family after my dad died, and together we formed our own Pandemic Pod. We enjoyed each other’s company, grieved my dad together and began planning future travel and adventure after we were vaccinated and the world began to open up. When my mom’s arthritic ailments seemed to cause more than their usual pain, I took her to the urgent care, then the emergency room, where we learned she had a mass on her kidney and near her pancreas. Eight days later she died.

One of our family game nights during the Pandemic after my mom came to live with us.

My parents’ deaths hit me hard. Even though they were well into their 80’s they had the energy and youthfulness that allowed them to live independently and travel. Moving my mom from the house she and my dad lived in for 37 years, then buying and selling a new house for us gave me little time to process my grief from my dad’s death. My mom’ death only added to the already mounting grief. Suddenly, my 27 year career as an attorney seemed less important. In the next year my youngest child would leave home for college and my 60th birthday loomed on the horizon. All of these losses and changes impacted me. I began to think about what this last part of my life would look like and I wanted the Camino to be a part of it.

As fortune or fate would have it, I learned that Mel, a friend from church, was forming a group of people who were interested in walking the Camino from St. John Pies de Port to Santiago. Mel had done various Caminos over the years so he organized monthly Zoom meetings to discuss Camino preparation. He covered everything from travel arrangements to music, books and language. I signed in and signed on and in January I resolved to listen to the call and walk the Camino. Since Diego would just be finishing up his senior year in high school, I decided I did not want to begin walking in June, Instead, I chose to meet up with the group in Leon, Spain and begin walking from there. Even walking from that stage of the Camino, I would be covering nearly 200 miles in two weeks. One thing was clear to me, my daily two mile walk with my dogs would not be sufficient training.

I started walking four miles daily, increasing to seven or eight miles when I could manage it. Since I was walking a 20 minute mile, even an eight mile walk took over two hours. I tried to increase my distance but in the end I just figured I would do the best I could on the Camino and rest when I needed. Two months before my trip I started training with a backpack. At first I used an empty pack and then I started adding weight by filling up soda liter bottles with water. I knew that I wanted to carry my pack rather than use a porter service, which I learned was widely available.

Training with my backpack in my local mountains.

Shortly after I resolved to do the Camino I asked my older son if he would be interested in going with me. Nico, 24, had graduated from college during the Pandemic and had since come home to live with us and pursue his interest in the culinary world. Working in a restaurant turned out to be highly demanding and very physical and caused him to seriously consider this career path. What better way to contemplate life’s choices than to do it on an extended walk? Nico is an enthusiastic traveler and avid outdoorsman with an adventurous spirit and eagerly decided to join me on the Camino. We encouraged each other in our physical Camino training.

My physical training was one thing, but I began to consider what I wanted out of the spiritual side of the Camino. The Camino calls people for many reasons. I felt my calling was not only the adventure and excitement borne from my youth, and the grief brought from my parents’ deaths, but also the possibilities of what lay ahead for me in life after 60.

As the day for Nico and I to leave on our camino approached, I made last minute preparations. I bought the gear I would need, I continued training and I gathered items I knew I’d want to carry and leave along the Camino to honor my parents and ancestors. I gathered prayer cards from my parents and family members recent funerals. I had a button made from a photo of my parents walking together on a family vacation, and I packed a stone taken from my parents’ house before we sold it. I planned to leave the stone at the Cruz de Ferro along the Camino as a symbol of the grief I carried.

I ordered this button on Etsy to wear on my backpack.

One week before our departure, I went to church and asked a priest for a blessing. She laid her hands on my head and blessed me with a safe journey, asking God to bring me, “Restoration, beauty and inspiration.” I don’t know how she knew what I was seeking from this Camino experience, but she summed it up better than I could. And so with those words I can only pray and hope for a Buen Camino.