Tag: Arts

Tickled Tuesday

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So it’s Tuesday and I’ve been busy; who hasn’t right? After a long week-end it always seems rough getting things going. But alas we get over it and do what we must. Last night I went to the Henderson Writer’s Group ,the local writer’s group I belong to. I read one of my stories from my new book, Salsa! The Taste of Life which is going live very soon and I was very pleased with the group’s reaction to my story after I read it. There is something wonderful about receiving the approval of your peers.

 

 

 

 

 

Since last night, I’ve been in a great mood so I wanted to pass the cheer along with these funny pictures. Remember this week is a short one so hang in there because Friday will be here before we know it! 🙂

I Like How it Feels!!

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I’ve been pouring over my proof copy of SALSA! The Taste of Life, my new book coming out soon to your local bookstores. It occurred to me that I am in a great place in my life right now ! Then this song popped in my head and so I had to share it with you, my amazing audience. So now I’ll get back to some more weeding out of last minute typos! HAPPY LABOR DAY 🙂

 

SALSA! The Taste of Life

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I was checking the mail today and just guess what I received?  The proof copy for my new book came  to my door! I am speechless and elated and I had to share with you how the book will look. The process is nearing completion folks. I have 30 days to run through my book with a fine tooth comb and weed out any more typos. So far so good; my girls volunteered to lend me their eyes and so we have 4 pairs of eyes looking through it. Do you think we’ll miss anything? I hope not 🙂 Thankfully they all love to read! Oh yes, the ones I still home school will receive school credit for having helped and of course a big hug, kiss and many thanks for their time goes to Elena, Esther and Raxy!!!

 

 

 

 

 

365 Snap Shots of Life: Day 237

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Live!

 

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

 

HAVE A GREAT WEEK-END EVERYONE!!! 🙂

365 Snap Shots of Life: Day 233

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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

365 Snap Shots of Life: Day 227

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I ‘m back! I took some days off to rest after a family ordeal. All’s well that ends well I say 🙂 Where is my book?? That’s what I’d like to know 🙂 Seriously, the last stage seems the longest and the hardest of anything including the publishing of a book. So here is another preview of Salsa! the Taste of Life. This poem I edited out of the book and I hope you enjoy it. Smile and keep smiling because it makes your enemies nuts!

The Five W’s

Everyone has asked,

What are you?

What can you do for me?

Who are you?

Why are you that way?

Where did you come from?

When are you leaving?

 

 

Then you came along,

You didn’t assault me

With all manner of intrusive questions.

You said, “Eres mi hija. You are my daughter.”

That’s all I want from you,

Don’t matter who you are,

You’re one of mine now,

I love you…

Just the way you are.

I know where you came from,

A place of sorrow, torment and pain.

I know so

Because I too have been there before:

Familiar with peace of mind,

Also aware of what it is

To feel like you’re going insane.

I know who you are,

You’re one of mine now;

Doesn’t matter who, what, when, where why or how.

 

 

Thank you for taking me in,

For not bothering me with the five W’s,

For being what I need,

For giving me what I crave:

A feeling of belonging.

Though I’ve buried many things in a grave,

You are heaven sent,

To help me heal, find and restore.

I’ll never ask you

For anything more,

‘cause what you do

Is a perfect gift

From heaven above.

Te amo! Te quiero! Te adoro!

Thank you, siempre, for your unconditional love.

-EVA SANTIAGO copyright 2012

365 Snap Shots of Life: Day 221

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Hello readers! I was away for the past few days and I missed blogging! It occurred to me that the edits I’ve shared so far from my up coming book, SALSA! THE TASTE of LIFE, are mostly poems. I don’t want you to think that this book  is a volume of poems only. It is a volume of mostly short stories and some poetry. I had to edit out more poems and less stories. So I will give you an edited story from my book, to give you a taste of my story telling. This story I wrote based on an experience I had when I was a young teen living with my uncle in Germany.  I look forward to giving you more tastes of SALSA! As you read this keep in mind that I thoroughly look forward to your feedback, so comment away! 🙂

March17, 1981

Dear Diary,

Today, a most peculiar thing happened; we were driving along the road that connects Spangdahlem to Bitburg. Being that it was Sunday, the driver was leisurely meandering to our destination, a heavenly café in Bitburg, for a nice piece of Black Forest cake and refreshments. Spring was fast approaching; the countryside was beginning to be dotted with Holstein sitting on grassy meadows. The snow that had lain stoically for all those winter months was beginning to vanish without a trace.

Suddenly, we came upon a lone traveler; he grew bigger and bigger the closer we drew to him. The driver lowered his window, and the elderly man approached our orange, 1970s Volkswagen station wagon. The man asked the driver in English laced with a strong German accent if we could take him to Bitburg. We were told to make room for our guest, so we all squeezed tightly like Pringles potato chips in a can, and the nomad sat in the middle between my cousin and me.

I was glad he sat next to me so I could study him. The loan wanderer was around seventy; his hair was white, and he had plenty of it. There was a glimmer in his eyes of azure that made him look almost boyish.

“What’s your name?” My curiosity had overcome me, and I had to ask. He perused my face, and then he answered, “Herr (Mr.) Vogt, and what is yours?”

I responded, “I’m Helena. Why are you hitchhiking?”

He looked at me a bit puzzled, and then he said, “Hitch hiking? Not hardly. I was hiking along this road because I am on a mission.”

Suddenly, I felt my arms getting covered with chill bumps. I had to know more about this mysterious stranger, so I continued, “Where are you from, Herr Vogt?”

“Oh, from all over the place, really.”

“But you had to have started somewhere, right?” I prodded him. He didn’t seem to mind my young inquisitiveness; he answered, trying to conceal a mischievous grin, “Well, let’s just say that where I originated is somewhere far, far away from here.” We rode in silence, and then Herr Vogt offered, “You know, little one, the wind blows here, and it blows there, yet nobody knows where it comes from or where it is going.”

I was puzzled at first, and then I knew what he meant. “Are you one of those messengers that God sends to help people out?”

 He answered, “Yes, I am sent to you today.”

Jokingly, I asked him, “What’s in your suitcase?”

He smiled at me and said, “There are many places I have to visit before I report back to my boss, so I need to look like I fit in.” I settled into a satisfied silence. His presence was as a warm, wool coat around me that made me feel protected. We didn’t say much for the rest of the ride, and when we reached Bitburg, the driver asked Herr Vogt where he would like to be dropped off. He told the driver to stop at the light, and we pulled over so Herr Vogt could make his exit. As he was leaving, he shook my hand, and he looked deep into my mesmerized eyes, right down to the core of my soul. Then he departed. I tried to look for him, but I could not find him. He vanished right from my sight.

I’ll never forget Herr Vogt; his presence is still with me as I write this entry in my journal. I entertained a stranger that Sunday afternoon; he kept me company. I know he is one of God’s messengers who came by my side for a little while. He didn’t have to explain his mission because I’ve always known in my heart of hearts that God sent him to let me know that He loves me. I felt it that day.

-Eva Santiago Copyright 2012

365 Snap Shots of Life : Day 215

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Salsa! The Taste of Life, my new book soon to be released is a volume of short stories  and poems. For the past few posts I’ve shared some of the material I had to edit because it would have made too big of a book to market.  This poem I wrote is about one of the closest friends I’ve ever had. Every once in a while, God will send someone into our lives with such a sweet spirit, that when they are no longer a part of our life, we feel their absence much like a piece of dried bread misses its butter 🙂 As you read this, let your friends know how much you appreciate them!

The Song of the Swallow

This morning I was down,

that is until I heard.

What did I hear?

The song, el canto de la golondrina.

 

What a breathtaking sound!

What sound?

Pues la cancion de la golondrina.

 

 

It lifted my spirit,

soothed my weary soul,

brought peace to my home.

What was that? I heard you ask-

 

 

Pues la dulce cancion de la golondrina.

My restless children heard it,

and peace returned to them at once.

They cheered as they heard the melodic sound.

 

 

Otra vez, caramba! What sound you ask?

Pues la bella melodia de la golondrina.

No se como explicarlo.

All I know is the song of that grace filled swallow

set to flight, ten thousand of hell’s demons,

and once again peace was restored to my heart.

-EVA SANTIAGO Copyright 2012

365 Snap Shots of Life: Day 211

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How is your Sunday so far? Mine is consisting of a little house work, a bit of Olympic games viewing and now giving you yet another preview of my new book coming out SOON!. When I was writing Salsa! The Taste of Life, I was afraid I wouldn’t have enough material. Now, after editing it turns out I had a surplus! I’m so glad too because I get to use this edited material to promote Salsa! before it goes live.

My editor suggested that I save this material I had to cut out for another book. I thought of it and then I realized I don’t have to. Do you know why? because this writer knows that her creative fountain will never run dry. You see, the creative process is a marvelous thing. I write when I have something to say. There are times when I only journal my personal thoughts. So I keep writing. Then after seeping in my own creative juices after a little while, VOILA! The flow starts back up. That’s why I can share my edited work with the world on my blog right now; because I know there’s more coming!

Happy Sunday!

Children No More

The children are at school,

always being taught

to ignore the Golden Rule,

What they learn is for naught.

 

 

The children in school all day,

told what to do every hour,

even told how they can play;

their disposition is quite sour.

 

 

The children in school all week;

they never learn about God.

Taught to be selfish instead of meek,

at home the parents spare the rod.

 

 

The children in school all year;

taught to be good for nothing,

filling them up with knowledge, facts, and fear,

out after twelve years, knowing nothing at all.

From the crib to the daycare,

from the daycare to the classroom,

all they learn is to defy God and swear.

The children are in school…

Today, to be a child is quite rare.

-Eva Santiago Copyright 2012

DISCLAIMER! This poem is in no way meant to offend any teacher who works in the public school system. I have many friends who teach in public schools and I respect them all for the tremendous job they do in a failed system.

365 Snap Shots of Life: Day 209

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Ready for another pre-taste of Salsa! the Taste of Life? It’s my new book going live soon! 🙂 Well here, have a taste!! I wish you a grand week-end and may you stop for a minute and take in a sunset 🙂

 

Am I a Baby or Just a Bump?

Mama, Mama, what am I?

Am I a baby,

or just an ugly bump?

 

 

Some people say I am a baby;

others say I’m just some tired bump.

 

Since when does a human life

get reduced to a bump?

 

 

Every day, I grow inside here. Yet people forget,  because I am little and still being knitted and formed, that I have  feelings. I am reduced to no more  than a bump.

 

 

When God looks at me, does he see a person,

or am I just another lump of clay in His hands?

 

 

When Eve, the mother of all the living, conceived her first child,

was she so figure-conscious as to refer to the life inside her as

just a bump?

 

 

For centuries women regarded the miracle that life is

as something holy and inspiring.

What have we come to now,

that we depreciate and devalue,

and reduce it to nine months

of carrying an unsightly bump?

 

 

Roe vs. Wade-

Gave women the freedom to kill their own babies.

No wonder now young girls,

think nothing of discarding the bump,

into an old garbage dump.

 

 

The opinion of the day is for women,

of all races, ages, and sizes

to deal with the bump!

Get rid of it through c-section surgery;

as fast as you can.

Go back to the gym;

hurry up now, get back to that size two

as fast as you can!

Don’t nourish your baby; don’t give her your best,

because after all, it’s just an unsightly bump!

 

Let’s save the whales, they say!

Let’s save the buffalo!

Let’s throw away human life,

because after all, it’s just an insignificant bump!

 

 

We were all fashioned and created by someone way bigger.

We bear the image and face of almighty God.

Now what did you come from?

A human being made in His image,

or just an unsightly bump?

A heavenly place next to His throne?

Or an obscure garbage dump?

 

Would you throw God into a dumpster?

-Eva Santiago Copyright 2012