The Ritz Project

As the date for my 50th birthday steadily approached, I retreated from life. On the outside, it was business as usual. Ahhh, but on the inside? I felt like I was dying. The fact that I was actually turning 50 wasn't the problem. It wasn't the number. It was the realization that I was not truly happy. Not with David or the family but with myself. So what did I do to turn things around? Nothing. November and December brought more bad news. David got laid off again. Still, on the outside I was chipper and optimistic. I was the cheerleader for everyone else. I felt like I was drowning. But sometimes life will kick you in the ass and make you wake up....make you pay attention.

My wake up call was almost losing David in the new year.

As our Christmas festivities came to an end, Tony went back to Denver and I went back to work. David began to complain about his leg around this time. What made things worse was his refusal to come to my office to get the leg scanned. I of course was thinking he had a DVT...a clot in his leg. By New Years Eve I knew it was bad because he didn't want to go to the party we were invited to. By this time he complained of pain on his right side and seemed short of breath. I asked then insisted we should go to the ER. He flat out refused. On January 2 he couldn't take the pain any longer and when he came down from what I thought was a nap he was gasping for air.

I don't know who I am more mad at...him for not listening to me or me for not being more persistent. Irregardless, it turns out he has 2 clots in his leg and 2 clots in his lungs. He made to the ER in time and started on blood thinners. But even with all that, a week later while in the hospital he starts to complain of chest pain. Now i think back on that day and wonder how he made it through.. One of his clots in his lungs got bigger and he threw a new clot in there, The doctor had told him he would die if this happened again. But it did happen again and thankfully he is still here with me.

Before David went into surgery last week, he said he was not scared to die because he is happy with the life he's led and is good with God. As I anxiously awaited for the surgery to be over, I thought, crap...I couldn't say the same. So instead of a New Years resolution (that I blow off within days)......I'm calling it the Ritz Project.

Whats the Ritz Project you wonder? Well it is allowing yourself to take time to learn something new, explore something you are interested in, or do something out of the ordinary just for yourself. What I hope to accomplish with this project is to better know myself, my true needs and wants. Also to discover what really makes me happy.

I'm calling it a project for a few reasons

1) I need accountability .... I'm including a few close friends and blogging about it every week. Hopefully get some of you out there interested too and we can support each other.

2) Making resolutions...really? Doesn't work for me at all.

3) Sounds like work but in a fun way. I'm approaching it like I do my job, which BTW..I'm great at. I have proof...my evaluation says so.


I am 50 and dammit I am determined to find out who I am and what it is I love. Who's with me? Who wants to learn a little more about themselves, discover a new passion?

Today, I'm am making a thank you card for my coworkers (instead of buying one), making a special dinner and photographing both. This is incorporating three things I'm interested in: cooking, art, and photography.

Your turn...tell me what you are interested in.

Hormones and Meltdowns

Is it that my hormones are out of whack or am I losing it??? In the past few weeks I have gone from teary eyed to downright sobbing. I mean the ugly cry. You know the ugly cry. The face, snot, wailing sounds...yeah, the ugly cry.

It started out of nowhere as me and David ordered burgers. I even had to put my sunglasses on so no one would notice, including him. Yeah..that didn't work. That started the questions, what did he do or say. Gotta love guys, they automatically think they've done something wrong. Which most of the time they have...but not this time. I couldn't even talk as I ate my burger through tears. I thought about it as we rode home on the bike with the sun shining down on us. It was such a gorgeous day.....and I'm in tears. GEEZ!!!! Though I had been crying for a few weeks, it was the first time I had cried in front of anyone and had to explain what I felt.

When we got home, Lucy had some "splaining" to do. Wow, where do I start? I feel like time is running out and I haven't explored the things I want to do. Haven't taken the time to do things I enjoy doing. The kids are grown and mostly out (well, baby girl is back) and my life is still revolving around everyone else. What they are doing and how they feel. Why? Why do I keep doing this? There are things I enjoy but I have no one to enjoy them with. I don't do things by myself. So I don't do them. I'm going to need to learn how to, otherwise I'm never going to do anything, and it will be the vicious circle.

I told David that even though I enjoy music and love watching our kids perform, it's his passion and their passion....not mine. I love art and photography. He use to paint in oils and hasn't in like 20 or more years. He says it's because he doesn't have the time. When we moved from Miami to Lancaster,Ca, he gave away everything, all his art stuff. Though he supports anything I do and gives me constructive criticism, he hasn't been interested in pursuing painting again. I would love for us to share that.

Instead of seeing myself as a blubbering idiot once again, I decided to make some changes. I want to create more, take some art classes....I want to take photography classes...I want to....I need to...do more me stuff. Ribfest was my first step. But obviously afternoon festing is not my thing unless there is beer involved. So early festing is the answer. It inspires me and gets the creative juices flowing. It just gives me that feel good high. Add booze and that's just perfection.

The big birthday is around the corner and nipping at my heels. So I want the Canon Rebel as my present. There is a photography studio that holds classes right by work. I'm going to enroll. There is an art studio on my way home from work....going to enroll in some classes there too. I'm tired of just rearranging stuff in my studio and not creating.

Here are some pictures of what I've been doing since my meltdown on poor David. I've also included a picture of how David spent Father's day.....pouring concrete in order to get ready for Tony's arrival (that's a post all on it's own....oh I cried buckets then too, but for different reasons)

Custer's Last Stand Festival - Went with my boss and had a blast. Inspiration galore!!! She is exactly like me and we went early and left as the place was getting packed.

Even though it was sweltering hot....I came home and started these....

Though they only have a few layers and they are not done, at least it's a start.

And it was so worth the sunburn.... OUCH!

We took Desi to the lake...ah to see sand and water through the eyes of a child.

He walked into the water like a man possessed. Isn't there a movie where Bill Murray does that?

And finally....Father's Day in Ritzland.

We now were ready for Tony's arrival.

Moment of Silence for Michael Jackson

It was October 1984. Damien was 4 years old and loved all that was Michael Jackson. We finally were in a good place financially and since we only had Damien and weren't planning on any more kids (HA!), we decided to indulge our only child and take him to his first concert. We didn't tell him where we were taking him, but to see that boy's eyes light up the moment Michael Jackson took the stage is still priceless to me. That's all the boy talked about for weeks.


Both David and I grew up watching the Jackson5 get famous. I loved watching Michael dance, it was truly amazing. On Thursday as we were relaxing in our hotel room celebrating the beginning of our anniversary weekend, we got a call from Tony, who had just left Chicago for the next leg of his own tour, to tell us Michael Jackson had died. Although Tony didn't grow up during MJ's rise, he was a huge fan. He considered him a musical genius.

We sat in our hotel room transfixed to the TV watching CNN and MTV. Unbelievable to think he was only 50 and now he is gone.

Another legend dies.............

The Twins are Pissed But They Got Lovely Parting Gifts

About two months ago, while showering I found a lump on my left breast. I ran my fingers across it as I was taught to do. Yes, it is there, it's not my imagination. I also found another smaller one on the same one. Then, I did the other breast. Okay, there's definitely something there, because the right one is lump-free. I'm quietly freaking out in the shower trying to calm myself down by telling myself that I've always felt something. In my 20's every month I was convinced I had breast cancer. I felt all kinds of lumps. My doctor told me I had fibrocystic disease. Basically, I'm lumpy. So at some point in my 30's I stopped going to see my gyne. I know, I know, I'm stupid. I've scoured the internet to make sure that I did the self breast exam properly. Everywhere I looked, I read the same thing.... From the Mayo clinic on women's health:

"The best time to perform a breast self-exam is about a week after the start of your period. That's when your breasts are least likely to be tender or swollen. Your breast tissue undergoes changes each month during your menstrual cycle. Changes in hormone levels associated with menstruation cause your breasts to swell. Once your period starts, the swelling subsides and your breasts return to normal."

So what happens when Mable stops her monthly visit? Or in my case, comes whenever she feels like, stays as long as she feels like and brings more chaos? When is the right time? Does it make a difference when I do it? Does this mean that since I missed yet another period, the timing for self breast examination is up for grabs?

Last month I made an appointment with a new gyne. Why? Because it had been so long since I've gone, that my old gyne died. New gyne is great, she has wrinkles around her eyes and mouth. She is around my age. She understands everything I'm complaining about, not because she learned this from some medical book but because she is going through the same shit. Yea....I can bitch and complain and she'll get it!!!

She asked me when I had my last period. Mabel? Oh that bitch hasn't come to visit since I think December, or was that November? Hmmm, somewhere around there. But then last month I don't think it was really her, it might have been have evil sister Bertha. The one who drops in for a day, is a lightweight and just makes enough of a mess. I'm sure all of you have met her at one time or another. She tells me I have to count her too. I'm told to diligently keep track of my period. Really? I haven't done that since I decided to do my part and stop contributing to the world population by having a tubal ligation. In order to be menopausal, Mabel and Bertha stop coming around completely for a full year. Time to start tracking again. I'm perimenopausal... a prelude to the big M. So everything I'm feeling can get worse?? Greaaaaaaaaat.

Yesterday, I had my mammogram. The technician was sweet and helpful. She showed me how the new machine is now digital. Well that's cool but does it still squish the boob? That's all I cared about. Yes, it still does. I wasn't too pleased that after I was contorted into an uncomfortable position (and humiliated when she had to push my belly fat out of the way) I had to go through a redo, because I didn't relax and muscle obscured the image. Relax??? Are you *&($#@# kidding me?

Well, I got through it. I will get my results next week. Unlike my husband, I'm not too worried. I had my freak out, now I'll deal with whatever comes my way. My advise now is to follow the rules. Have a yearly checkup, mammogram and pap smear. Early detection is crucial.

The highlight for me? They now give you pasties. Well, the technician called them something else and what they were for. Please......whatever, they are pasties in my book. I couldn't wait to get home and flash my husband. Yes, of course I left them on. And of course I had to take a picture. Okay, maybe not of me actually wearing them, (cause besides my husband, who would really wants to see natural 49 year old boobs that breastfed three times?) but close enough.

Not Ready to Be a Proud Card Carrying Member

The envelope came this week. To be honest, it came as a bit of a surprise. I really thought the mailman made a mistake.....till I saw my name on it. Wait a minute here, I'm not 50 yet. I haven't wrapped my head around the fact yet.... that I'll be 50 in September. WOW! It's not that I don't KNOW I'll be 50 this year and in some ways I've been preparing for what I want to do for my birthday. But there is a difference between planning a getaway to a spa and a boozy filled weekend with the girls and shoving a "Hey yo, yeah you, you're old" card in my face. Nope, I'm not ready for that.

I stared at the envelope. I didn't open it, just stared at it. Then, as if it was some secret letter I had to hide from everyone, I quickly shoved it in my purse without even opening it. There it sits, hidden between my checkbook and my make up bag.

Getting older isn't a big deal to me or so I thought, until a few months ago when I missed my period. Since puberty I've been like clockwork. Hence, when each time I got pregnant I knew right away that I was. Before this happened, I couldn't wait till menopause came so I wouldn't have to deal with that anymore. It's not like I was going to have any more kids, I got my tubes tied years ago so I saw no point in having my life interrupted every month with cramps, bloating and spending money on tampons.

The day that I realized that I actually missed my period, I cried. Instead of being thrilled as I always imagined I would be, I mourned my loss. My forgetfulness and foggy brain these past few months weren't stress related as I had thought it was. It's the beginning of menopause.

Through tears, I told David I missed my period. I needed him to wrap his arms around me and tell it me it was okay and that it didn't make a difference. Instead, he looked like I had just hit him over the head and he asked me..." Are you pregnant?" Dude, seriously? If that was the case I would be happily planning how we would be spending all the money we would get from the lawsuit for a screwed up tubal ligation. GEEZ!!

There are changes to body that I've accepted. The wrinkles on my face let me know that I have always smiled alot. Those bags under my eyes mean I don't rest enough. The grey in my hair is respectfully (for the time being) coming in closer to my scalp, well hidden from view. I can get highlights, I like my hair lighter anyway. It has been a hard winter and my legs and feet, OMG the feet are super dry. I officially now have my mom's disgusting scaly, cracked feet. I'm sure I could cut my husband's legs in his sleep if I didn't apply lotion on them. But last month I discovered something new. I was taking my undies off and I saw all these white little flakes in my black pretty undies. At first I thought it was baby powder, till I realized I don't use any. Then it hit me. WTF....who gets dry ass cheeks? Is it just me? Is my skin THAT dry that even my ass cheeks, who never are exposed to the elements, start sloughing skin like a snake?

These days I apply body lotion head to toe when I get out of the shower. My butt cheeks are now happy.

I've started a new chapter in my life that I'm not so willing to begin, but as my husband says...it's better than the alternative. So today I'm opening up my AARP letter. I hear I can get discounts.

Inauguration: The Cuban Connection

My skin color is not black, it is white. But I am not looked upon as being white. I am Cuban, therefore, I'm really Hispanic. I was born here in Chicago, in the USA but I'm not an American, so I am a Cuban-American. That's okay with me because I am proud of who I am and that my parents came here to this country in search of a better life.

I will be 50 this year and it means I was alive during the Kennedy administration, MLK's
I Have A Dream speech, race riots of the 60's, first man on the moon, and now another monumental moment in history.

Tonight as my husband slept through the recap of today's historic events, I cried as I watched...again.

I cried because I remembered my dad.

It wasn't till I started school that I began to learn the English language. I remember crying when my dad would drop me off at kindergarten, not only because I was left there, but because I couldn't communicate with anyone. Though I did learn to speak English eventually, I wasn't allowed to speak it at home. Homework? My dad would make me struggle on my own or ask the teacher. As I grew older and it became apparent that I needed help with a subject, my dad sent me to see my Uncle Rick. My uncle was Mexican by other peoples standard at that time, though his family were Texans since after the Alamo and didn't speak Spanish. My poor uncle had to struggle with Spanish when he met my aunt. Anyway, that's who I could speak English to and get help from.

When I hit the smart ass teenage years, I made a nasty comment to my dad how I was never allowed to speak English at home or get any help with homework. My dad sat me down and explained a few things that night that opened up my eyes and had me remember a few things I either had forgotten or blocked out.

He told me of how my uncle Rick would have to make calls for him to look at apartments only for the landlord to turn them away once he saw what my father looked like, how the only job he could get was as a dishwasher at the Conrad Hilton, and how my mom ate chili at the factory for over a year because she couldn't understand the labels. He reminded me how he would have me read the comic strips to him every night not because he couldn't, but because he wanted me to practice my English. My father loved to read and always read the newspaper to better his English.
I use to laugh at my dad when he said the word funny, because it came out sounding like..fooney.
Chicken was sheeken and ...well you get the idea. The reason I wasn't allowed to speak English at home was because he didn't want me to pick up their accent and then be ridiculed as they had been. He reminded me of the boy in my 4th grade class that called me a "spic", and though I had no idea what the word meant, I knew it was mean by his facial expression, so I clobbered him.
Of course I got in trouble and my father was called in for a conference with the teacher. Though my father didn't condone my behavior he also explained to the teacher what the boy called me. My teacher's reply was that my dad needed to teach me how to control my temper.....damn that Latin temper. The boy? nothing, no staying after school, parents called, nothing. By father just shook his head, walked out and told me not to smack anyone again.

Then my father brought up the boy I had just been dating.
The new boy loved coming over but never took me around his neck of the woods. I had never been to the SW side of Chicago and was curious to see Marquette Park cause I heard it was beautiful. When I finally asked why we never went by his house, he said we couldn't. I just assumed it was too far to come way over to the north side only to turn around and go back to the SW side, to then do it all over again. So I started to ask again and again and again till the truth spilled out. "I can't take you to my house because of my dad" Hmmm is he sick? crazy??
" No, it's your name" Huh?? I know my name is hard to pronounce and the way people say it in English isn't the way it's pronounced but...I don't get it.
Clueless....and as the boy looked down at his feet, my dad explained.
"You're not white..."
Yes I am, my skin is just as white as his...it even says it on my birth certificate.
"You're not in his eyes, once he hears your name ..and it doesn't matter that you speak like him or all your other friends."

Well that was then end of that.

When David told his family I was Cuban..they asked if I was black.
When I got pregnant...they worried if he would be dark. Did they NOT meet my family?

So I cried today. I cried for my dad and what he and my family went through.
I cried because I do understand discrimination first hand. I cried because I am proud to be an American and to see a nation united on such a historic day.

I cried.

Arm Fat...Jiggle Jiggle

OMG..I was taking a patient's blood pressure yesterday as he was on the treadmill and out of the corner of my eye I saw something move. So I turned my eyes to get a peak.

It was my arm jiggling to the beat of the man's footsteps on the treadmill!!!

I quickly took the blood pressure and hid my arm in shame.

Did he see? Did the other tech notice??

Yep...flappin' in the wind.

When I was 20, I remember looking at David's grandmother arm fat flappin' in the wind and being mezmorized. Wow ..had never seen that. I swore then, that I would never have that.

Here I am... hiding my arm fat in long sleeves from now on.

Where are those damn dumbells???

The Start of My Countdown to the Big 5-0

Labor Day

Found the perfect journal for my Countdown to 50 journal



Appropriately titled: 50 things to Know about Me that:
A) you never knew
B) never thought of asking
C) Never gave a rat's ass.

My birthday was wonderful and I couldn't ask for a better day. Well actually we celebrated my birthday today since I was the only one with the day off Tuesday....David made sure anything I needed I got since my present was our trip to Michigan. Tony and Laura gave me a set of White Jasmine lotions and bath gels that have the best CLEAN smell. Not flowerery, which I hate but this aroma of ...I don't know..clean comes to mind. I'm in love with it. He also got me these gret stickers for my journals and a gorgeous Blue pen..perfect for my new journal. he knows I'm so ridiculously picky about the pens I use. Damien and Emilie brought and cooked all the food for the BBQ. Desi was his cute self and Anjelika and Kirby ordered my "surprise" that didn't get here on time. But who cares my whole family celebrated and I was happy and very very full.