365 Snap Shots of Life: Day 238

What would  the blogging world do without Pinterest? OMG!! We all have those day when posting funny pics is about all we can do. Laughter IS the best medicine they say; well the way things have been lately, it’s time to take a few spoonfuls ! So I’m glad I can do my share to contribute to our mental health. ENJOY!






365 Snap Shots of Life: Day 237



I find that people who put themselves in a box are blasé and quite boring…

 They spend their drab lives asleep, loudly snoring, while life slips by them…

Then, one day, they wake up and are  upset because they claim that those of us who enjoy our lives are being loud and rude; our busy and productive lives make so much noise, it awoke them! Well, I’ll tell ya- excuse me for stepping on your boring and mundane toes. If my too-much activity stirs you to anger, well then, perhaps it’s for your good. Wake up! Take a chance!

Smell the roses, and I don’t mean the one you’ve picked out to deck your early coffin. Live and let live! Yes, this means you! Praise Him who made you. Stop your whining and complaining. Be glad He chose to keep you alive!

-EVA SANTIAGO copyright 2012



365 Snap Shots if life: Day 236

The River Colored Red

The sound of mighty rushing waters,

elevates the soul,

to another dimension,

a higher plateau.



Walking, step by step on this daily journey,

taking in the beauty

of what Your hands created,

fashioned, designed, orchestrated…




An eternity ago?


With You a thousand years is like a day.

Maybe You put it there for our simple pleasure.



You are mighty in your power,

magnificently majestic.

Only You know the intricate details of,

the sum of all of our thoughts at this very hour.



Those who deny your existence,

who boldly mock your presence;

all they need to do,

is open up their blinded eyes.



Yes, tune in and hear the sounds,

of mighty rushing waters,

cascading, rushing, making way,

bringing healing to the sickly souls.



There is a river,

saw it just the other day;

its flow will never be controlled,

through mere human ingenuity.



For it contains the water of life-

divine intervention.

Sent from up above to purify, banish our defilement.

Open up your heart! Let the river flow!



That amazing Colorado River

runs through the arid desert.

Appropriately named Red,

for its twofold significance.

They dually co-exist:

In the natural, one nourishes the desert dwellers.

Providing them with life’s necessities,

making life bearable amidst a barren land.


Its counterpart—the River of Life

“Living Waters”

Colored Red:

Crimson drops of divine blood.

Open up your dammed-up heart;

get carried away in the torrent!

Be immersed, inundated!

His love: never-ending, everlasting flow!

-EVA SANTIAGO copyright 2012

This is another edited poem that didn’t make it into my new book due out soon, SALSA! THE TASTE OF LIFE.

365 Snap Shots of Life: Day 233

I was just reminiscing as how as a child I had the opportunity to travel to so many places. Back then, I had no idea how much living and traveling in different cultures would come to add so much zest to my writing. The story I am positing today is yet another preview of my new book, SALSA! THE TASTE OF LIFE, going live very soon. Unfortunately I had to edit this story out  because the book was getting to be too big. But you still get to enjoy it here 🙂

I visited this beautiful place in Belgium called Bruges and my one day there as a teen, inspired me to write it. Our minds are amazing! In those days I was unaware that these places I was visiting and all the sights , smells and sounds I took in, would one day make part of a collection of short stories and poems that I am privileged to be able to share with the world. 🙂

The Lace-Maker of Bruges


January 17 ,1981

Dear Diary,

Today I met an eccentric elderly woman of close to eighty years old as I took in the sites in the antique city of Bruges, Belgium. She never told me her name, and I didn’t ask either, so I’ll name her Briguitta.

Briguitta is a native of Bruges. She said she had endured WWII and had been able to keep her family fed through the craft she busied herself with right in front of me as we chatted.

Thank God, I was able to get by on the French I had learned in school, and she knew some English as well. Briguitta’s face was a roadmap of wrinkles, and I believe every wrinkle is a road she has traveled on. Her blue eyes were vibrant, telling me that although she was in the winter of her life, her soul still danced in the summer.

Her most amazing features, though, were  her hands. Arthritis was trying to win the age battle, but Briguitta did not seem to be bothered by it all. She shared that all the women in her family had been bobbin lace-makers. She had learned the craft as a small girl of around seven as she sat at her grandmother’s knee watching her. Lace-making had sustained her through one husband and four children.

I watched in fascination as her hands worked rapidly and seemingly effortlessly. The glimmering white cotton thread flew through her crooked finger and onto the bobbins.  Briguitta knew just where to place the needles. She had an imaginary pattern she was following, and at every turn, she was creating exquisite artwork.

I joked as I asked her if she ever felt like a spider weaving an intricate web, one that would dazzle in the early morning sunlight, when everything is covered with dew.

Briguitta only smiled as she continued with her work. She offered, “You will only find bobbin lace here in Bruges. It’s very expensive.”

Then I asked her, because I was intrigued as I watched her hands defy their age as they flew with inexplicable grace, “So, where do you work?”

Briguitta was sitting at a small, square, wood table in front of a lace shop. All of her materials necessary to make bobbin lace were with her. She looked up for a minute, and then she answered me, “Right here; this is where we do it all.” I was dumbfounded. Then she added, “You won’t see younger women, such as yourself, making bobbin lace. No, most of us are between fifty and ninety years of age.”

“That’s amazing!” I exclaimed.

“You won’t find any of us in a factory. We all work outside of lace shops just like this one,” Briguitta said.

I was so taken in I continued peppering her with my questions in the hopes that I was not impeding her progress.

“Where did this originate from?”

Briguitta informed me that Charles V had made a decree that lace making was to be taught in all of the schools in Belgium’s provinces. She also said that lace replaced embroidery as a fashion accessory because it could be unsewn from one garment and replaced on another article of clothing. Lastly, she said that although many styles and techniques had been developed, almost all of them came form Belgium’s provinces.

I thanked Briguitta for educating me on the trade that, according to her, had been in her family for six generations. The sun was setting lower, and I said good-bye. Then I entered the lace shop to pick out a piece of bobbin lace to take back home.

-EVA SANTIAGO copyright 2012





I’m not the surest of how these awards work, but I think I was nominated for one…so here goes!

What I heard was,

1. Put the award in your post.

2. Thank who nominated you. 

3. Say 7 things about yourself.

4. Nominate more people! (Some say 7 people, others say 3 or 5 or otherwise.)

THANK YOU  : http://jaimeeblog.wordpress.com

Beautiful Blogger Award

I hereby nominate this blog for the Beautiful Blogger Award!





Anybody who is everybody should check out this blog, it’s good reading!

Finally, Seven things about me:

1. I love traveling.

2. My favorite time of day is the early morning.

3. One time when I was little, I flew on a jet by myself when I was 6.

4. I want to go to the next Olympic Games in Brazil!

5. I love to dance!

6. I’m closer to getting my 2nd book published by Tate Publishing, SALSA! THE TASTE OF LIFE

7. I strongly dislike negative people.

365 Snap Shots of Life: Day 229

HOLA!! Here comes yet another edited poem that didn’t make it into my new book, SALSA! THE TASTE of LIFE which will be out in a little while. I wrote this when I was going through a rough spot of feeling as if life were passing me by. I sat down and this poem just came gushing out of my pen and unto the pages of my journal. I felt so good after I finished it because I took it as God comforting me and letting me know He never forgets me. I hope this soothes you as it did me  🙂 HUGS!!!!

Your Tears

The wind howls outside,

“Won’t you let me come in?”

It beckons: “Follow me!

Girl! Get up and at ‘em!

Your life IS passing you by.”



The wind howls outside my window;

Knock, knock, a knocking on my resistance.

Whispers ever so cunningly,

“Surely there is somewhere way better.

Won’t you find out?”



The wind, it blows in my ear;

a strange lover seducing me with sweet songs:

“You are too good for this, Mujer.

You deserve BETTER.

What are you doing just giving your life away,

for the sake of others?

No one does THAT anymore!”



The wind scolds me;

I feel it, a whip stinging my raw emotions—

¡Estupida! When are you going to learn:

In this life, nice never pays!

GO! Find your way.

GO! Get your life back.

You should’ve never thrown it away, ¡Tonta!



“Be still, mi alma!”






Uno, dos, tres…



Here comes the gentle breeze,

the one who doesn’t knock me around,

rocks me gently to and fro.

Sweet, sweet lullaby in the night;

I fall deep in a restful slumber,

only to wake up to your gentle caresses.

The lover of my soul whispering to me,

“You are my girl, the one I lose sleep over.

The one I weep for as I pick up your tears

and collect them in this flask,

and with which I bathe my face.



Your tears are the fragrance I wear.

Never stop shedding them;

I gave them as my gift, so your heart can be healed.

In my world, nothing is wasted,

Not even one single tear.”


One day I will show you

what your tears have done.

For now I will tell you,

every single tear you’ve shed,

since the day your heart broke

for the very first time.

I stored your tears in a safe place;

as a rich man hordes gold.



Your tears have set the captives free,

watered thirsty travelers.

Your tears have nourished dying souls,

and watered many gardens.

Your tears have brought conviction,

turning stony hearts into repentant souls.

Your tears have set one thousand to flight,

and dispelled irksome fears.

Your tears have turned the dry arid desert

into a beautiful oasis where many come,

from near and far, to rest,

before continuing their journey.



And your tears now fill a vast ocean

that teems with life,

because when you gave away yours,

it was so I could give you something better.



From a child they forbade you to cry,

because your tears make people feel-

something people don’t want to do anymore.

I designed you to feel…that’s why you weep,

because hard hearts are dry hearts,

who are all bitter and brittle.

“My daughter, my child,

I gave you a lamenting heart:

A fountain, a reservoir full of living water.

when you weep, my river of living waters flows,

through you…my vessel of honor.”

EVA SANTIAGO copyright 2012