A Certain Point of View: Writing, Film and Stuff

For more years than I care to remember, my mother was the center of my universe. With a few interruptions (business trips, family emergencies, rare vacations, and one study-abroad stint), we lived together in two countries on two continents for 52 years, four months, and 16 days. We got along amazingly well and shared similar tastes in books, movies, and TV shows. We also had the same temperament; Mom was easy-going and friendly, and it took a lot to get her to lose her temper. I'm pretty much like that; I probably differ in that where she was gregarious and had more patience with the foibles of others, I'm more introverted and don't suffer fools lightly.  There were times when I got restless and told Mom that I wanted to move out on my own and live in my own place. In fact, we discussed this issue several times, but she was never too enthusiastic about the thought of my departure from our townhouse in the Fountainbleau Park area of Miami-Dade County. Her objections to

My mom, Beatriz R. Diaz-Granados, died on July 19, 2015, 1110 days ago. She was 86 years old and was in extremely poor health. She had been bedridden since mid-2010, when a combination of old back injuries, osteoporosis, and old age necessitated an operation to stiffen her spine with a metal rod so she would not become paralyzed. The operation was done in late June of 2010, and although she rallied at first and did well with the initial rehabilitation program ordered by her primary care physician at Leon Medical Center, she suffered several setbacks that inevitably led to her death three summers ago. A nasty - and unnecessary - spill from a wheelchair; a fractured leg that eventually healed but robbed Mom of her self-confidence; the onset of dementia and Sundown Syndrome; depression; anxiety over the growing rift between her two adult children; loss of appetite;  frustration that she was confined to a room that she did not like much; and worry about my future after her passing....a

Looking back at my mother's life, it's amazing how fickle Fate can be. I don't write often about my mom; sometimes I feel as if my heart will break if I even think about her too much. But she was the only parent I really had; my father died in a plane crash not too long before my second birthday, so Mom raised me pretty much on her own. But if I don't write about her and share my memories, she'll probably live on only in the memories of a few people. Mom was an amazingly resilient and adventurous person. After her first marriage failed and she got an annulment from the Catholic Church (there was no divorce in Colombia in the early 1950s), she decided that moving back in with my grandparents and raising my older half-sister as a spinster widow was not for her. Defying convention and my grandparents' wishes, she got a job as a flight attendant in Colombia's flag airline, Avianca. It was not easy for her. My granduncle Bernardo (my grandmother's

Family portrait, circa 1986.  I am happy without toxic people in my life, Part II “Toxic people attach themselves like cinder blocks tied to your ankles, and then invite you for a swim in their poisoned waters.”  ― John Mark Green It’s been nearly six months since I last saw my toxic half-sister, Victoria Pineros, as she made a hilariously melodramatic exit from the waiting area outside Judge Bernard Shapiro’s chambers in a Miami-Dade County courthouse building. I watched her turn her back to me and stalk off, trailed by her attorney and a retinue of supporters that included her cousin Juan Manuel and his wife Barbara. I suppose I should have felt some regret, some sense of loss at the thought that we were parting not as friendly siblings who had lost a parent but as bitter enemies. I also suspect that she sees herself as the aggrieved party who was “robbed” of her rightful inheritance by her selfish, scheming younger half-brother. And I have no doubt, no doubt a

“All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.”― Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina As 2016 – a year that most of us would like to forget – ends and a New Year waits in the wings, memories of the not-so-distant past continue to haunt me. Some of them, naturally, are about my mom’s long illness, mental decline and eventual passing. It’s been less than a year and a half since she died, so the emotional wounds haven’t quite begun to turn into scar tissue. The pain, which was intense in the beginning, has dulled a bit over time, yes, but it’s never truly gone. I suppose that I feel this way in part because I miss my mom. After all, we lived together for more than 50 years, and we had a great parent-child relationship right up to the end of her life. For some reason, she never encouraged me to move out – I have cerebral palsy, and even though I am capable of living semi-independently, Mom felt that it was more mutually beneficial if I stayed at home. She o

Well, two days have passed since Christmas Day 2016, and even though there is still some partying to be done to ring in the New Year, it’s back to the old writing desk for this garbanzo. I have several projects to work on – a novel, a bunch of new book and movie reviews, and a short story set during World War II that I’m trying to develop. In addition, I need to think of topics for the Cerebral Palsy Guidance blog, for which I get paid to write as a contributor. So…yes, there’s a bunch of things on my writer’s to-do list. Today, however, I want to talk about more personal issues that weigh heavily on my mind and heart. You see, even though this Christmas season has been the happiest I’ve experienced in over 20 years, I have been haunted by thoughts about my late mother, Beatriz. To be honest, I consciously try not to think about Mom too much. It hurts me a great deal when I do. I don’t like dwelling on the circumstances of her death, for one thing. The last five years o