Tag Archives: Thanksgiving

Thankful

26 Nov

There is nothing more blissful than a rainy Saturday afternoon. Even better, being able to get outdoors during a break in the rain and revel in the beauty of this wet day. Even though my heart is heavy about what’s happening in our country right now, I’m choosing to set my worries aside for one lovely, quiet afternoon and reflect upon all the gratitude I have for my wonderful life.

There is a lovely park near our home that used to be a private ranch but is now a county park open to the public. Numerous hiking paths meander around a small lake filled with all kinds of water fowl. Come along and take a walk with me. Perhaps you will even be able to smell the wet earth…

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I absolutely love the vibrant red of these berries!

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Before long, these grasses will be bright green.

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The dogs (and Rene) are so happy to get out of the house!

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A new tree popping up in front of trunk of a dead tree

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Almost felt like I was in the English countryside!

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Nothing better than the scent of wet Eucalyptus!

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Stow House at Rancho La Patera in Goleta, California

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And because it’s Thanksgiving week, I can’t resist sharing a photo of my wonderful family.

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Autumn

21 Nov

fall 1Autumn color has arrived and all I want to do is curl up into a cocoon of quiet contemplation. And if I can’t swing that amid the chaos of my life, maybe I’ll make myself a cup of tea and pick out a good book to read. I absolutely love this time of year. How lucky I am to be able to live here.

Wishing you all a wonderful Thanksgiving filled with many happy moments and much love and laughter!

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A Dream Come True

26 Nov

The Mireles Family 2012

When I was a  teenager,  I used to dream of becoming famous. I pictured my face splashed across the pages of People or Seventeen and I imagined how it would feel to be adored by millions of fans. My young mind believed that my future happiness depended on whether or not the world knew who I was.

My fantasy usually involved me playing the piano on the concert stage, probably because this was the one area at which I excelled. I couldn’t dance, sing or act, and no matter how much time I spent in front of the mirror tweezing my eyebrows, exfoliating my pores or straightening my perpetually frizzy hair, even then my teenage sensibilities were developed enough to realize that I didn’t have what it took to become a fashion model.

But back then I believed that my fame as a concert pianist was the only way I would be noticed. And I had to be noticed because I believed that in order to find someone to love me I had to be extra special. If I became a celebrity, someone was bound to think I was deserving of that love.

My fantasy always played out pretty much in the same fashion: I would have just finished playing a note-perfect performance. A warm yellow spotlight would be focused on my white organza gown that floated like fluffy meringue across the concert stage. As I took my bows to a thundering standing ovation, I would suddenly lock eyes with a handsome, intelligent and witty man, and the two of us would fall instantly in love with each other. We would marry, have four beautiful children and live happily ever after.

So I practiced the piano for hours each day, thinking that for this dream to come true, I must work diligently. I kept meticulous scrapbooks documenting all of my successes and they grew thicker every year as I won piano competitions and performed in more recitals that I can remember. I believed that all of my musical accomplishments would lead me closer to turning my dream into a reality.

I kept the fantasy alive for as long as I possibly could, or at least I did until my senior year in high school when I lost the fight with the raging hormones that surged through my body. At age seventeen, I confused lust for love and fell for a twenty year-old boy who was exceedingly handsome, but who turned out to love alcohol more than he loved me. Having had lots of practice as a co-dependent with my own family’s dysfunction, I turned it into my mission to fix him.

But like an old Polaroid photograph that fades over time, the image of my once vivid dream of becoming somebody famous disappeared into nothing but yellowed paper. He and I stayed together for five mostly miserable years until I finally grew up enough to realize that I deserved better.

But our dreams often have a way of manifesting themselves in ways that we don’t expect, and about eight months later I found my future husband in a Santa Monica restaurant where he was a cook and I was a waitress. In my stained green uniform and smelling of french-fry grease, I locked eyes over a sizzling grill with one of the cooks, who just happened to be a handsome, intelligent and very funny man. He barely spoke English, was undocumented and uneducated, but he held all of the other criteria of my girlhood fantasy. So I took a chance on him, and he took a chance on me, and surprise—this part of my dream did come true.

We married and began our lives together and I never did become that famous concert pianist as I once envisioned. But I realized that maybe that this dream of fame was not what I really wanted after all. Instead, I became a piano teacher and started having children, and I can honestly say it’s been a very good life.

I even have documented proof that my life has turned out well for me. We’ve made it a tradition in our family to take a group photograph every Thanksgiving to send out with our yearly Christmas newsletter. The annual photos hang in sequential order along the hallway wall, where each year we add the newest one. As we’ve grown and changed (and we have changed a lot over the years) our history together has been authenticated in one smiling face after another.

This past Thanksgiving, our family once again gathered in our backyard to take a photo. We dressed up, combed our hair and fixed our make-up. It wasn’t the paparazzi snapping photos as I once dreamed of as a teenager— it was just my nephew trying over and over again to capture that one perfect shot. It certainly isn’t easy getting everyone to smile at the same time—especially a wiggly seven year-old, but we managed to find one or two acceptable photos, so it looks like the tradition will live on for another year.

I’m awed by the love that is evident in these annual photographs: A dark-skinned man, a light-skinned woman and four mocha children are all smiling together in one single moment in time. They are clearly devoted to each other. They don’t realize it, but they are without a doubt as stunning and perfect as any celebrity. Not one of them is admired by millions, or even the least bit famous, but that’s all right, because they are absolutely adored by each other.

And that’s the kind of fame that comes only in dreams.

1994 just after Nino was born

1995

1996

1997

1998

1999

2000

2001

2002

2003: Shortly after this photo was taken I became pregnant with Isa

2004: just after Isa was born

2005

2006: The year Nino grew his hair long (not a good look for you, son….)

2007: With Isa bald from chemo–a year we will never forget

2008

2009

2010

2011

2012: A bunch of goofballs

No More Pretending

22 Nov

I wrote this post for last year’s Thanksgiving and I think it’s appropriate to post it again because now I feel even more grateful and blessed than ever before. May you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving filled with love and blessings.

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving and I’m expecting a large crowd at my house. I’ve been baking and cooking and chopping since last weekend, and have made at least five trips to the grocery store in the last three days. The refrigerator is so full of food I can barely get the doors closed. All four of my children are home, along with three of their cousins, and they’re all downstairs making a racket that could wake a dead pilgrim. A few years ago,  under these same circumstances, I would’ve already had a headache with all of the stress. I would’ve worried about the house being a mess; I would’ve been panicked about all the food I had to prepare for so many people; and I would’ve felt resentful about how I’m the only one who does any work and that no one ever appreciates me.

I would not have been thankful.

For many years I pretended to be thankful on Thanksgiving. I sat at our festive dining room table set with sterling silver, ironed cloth napkins and my great grandmother’s floral china heaped with delicious food and I pretended. I spoke the traditional words of gratitude which easily flowed out to those around me like melted butter basted over the browning turkey. I expressed aloud the words that were expected of me and tried to believe that what I said meant something. As I stared out across the table into the candlelit faces of the people I hold most dear to me, I tried to believe that my words of thankfulness were true and heartfelt.

But they weren’t true and they certainly didn’t come from my heart. They were lies—because there was no honest feeling behind them. Over the years I had learned to shut down emotionally and hadn’t allowed myself to feel joy or gratitude anymore. Even with a lavish Thanksgiving bounty laid out in front of me, I couldn’t shake the buzzing sense of dissatisfaction that lingered in my head like a thick, despairing aura. What I had just wasn’t enough.

Then four years ago everything changed. I’ve written about this pivotal change many times in my blogs but I felt that in light of tomorrow’s celebration, I need to talk about it again.

I was lucky enough to be given a gift by my youngest child: her diagnosis of cancer. It was a gift many would consider a curse; something so horrendous and evil that no good could possibly ever come from it.  I watched Isa suffer so much during those two years of chemotherapy and I suffered along with her, never imagining how this experience would turn into something so miraculous.

But I’m on the other side now and I can see the wonder of my transformation. I look back on those first days in the hospital and remember that within one day of Isa’s diagnosis, the change in my life became apparent. The darkness that had consumed me started to dissipate like a blindfold had been gently untied from my eyes. The ensuing gratitude I felt toward all of those who helped me and my family began to seep in and metastasize into something lovely and tremendous in my heart.

Through the pain and fear I began to feel again. I began to feel real thankfulness.

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving and I will be sitting at the same dining room table, eating off the same china plates, staring into the same faces of my family as we gather to share our traditional meal together. I will speak the same words of gratitude that I have in the past, but this time, everything is different. My words of thankfulness will be earnest and genuine and heartfelt.

I won’t have to pretend anymore.

 

I am grateful for all of you and I wish you all a joyful Thanksgiving filled with love and gratitude!

No More Pretending

23 Nov

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving and I’m expecting a large crowd at my house. I’ve been baking and cooking and chopping since last weekend, and have made at least five trips to the grocery store in the last three days. The refrigerator is so full of food I can barely get the doors closed. All four of my children are home, along with three of their cousins, and they’re all downstairs making a racket that could wake a dead pilgrim. A few years ago,  under these same circumstances, I would’ve already had a headache with all of the stress. I would’ve worried about the house being a mess; I would’ve been panicked about all the food I had to prepare for so many people; and I would’ve felt resentful about how I’m the only one who does any work and that no one ever appreciates me.

I would not have been thankful.

For many years I pretended to be thankful on Thanksgiving. I sat at our festive dining room table set with sterling silver, ironed cloth napkins and my great grandmother’s floral china heaped with delicious food and I pretended. I spoke the traditional words of gratitude which easily flowed out to those around me like melted butter basted over the browning turkey. I expressed aloud the words that were expected of me and tried to believe that what I said meant something. As I stared out across the table into the candlelit faces of the people I hold most dear to me, I tried to believe that my words of thankfulness were true and heartfelt.

But they weren’t true and they certainly didn’t come from my heart. They were lies—because there was no honest feeling behind them. Over the years I had learned to shut down emotionally and hadn’t allowed myself to feel joy or gratitude anymore. Even with a lavish Thanksgiving bounty laid out in front of me, I couldn’t shake the buzzing sense of dissatisfaction that lingered in my head like a thick, despairing aura. What I had just wasn’t enough.

Then four years ago everything changed. I’ve written about this pivotal change many times in my blogs but I felt that in light of tomorrow’s celebration, I need to talk about it again.

I was lucky enough to be given a gift by my youngest child: her diagnosis of cancer. It was a gift many would consider a curse; something so horrendous and evil that no good could possibly ever come from it.  I watched Isa suffer so much during those two years of chemotherapy and I suffered along with her, never imagining how this experience would turn into something so miraculous.

But I’m on the other side now and I can see the wonder of my transformation. I look back on those first days in the hospital and remember that within one day of Isa’s diagnosis, the change in my life became apparent. The darkness that had consumed me started to dissipate like a blindfold had been gently untied from my eyes. The ensuing gratitude I felt toward all of those who helped me and my family began to seep in and metastasize into something lovely and tremendous in my heart.

Through the pain and fear I began to feel again. I began to feel real thankfulness.

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving and I will be sitting at the same dining room table, eating off the same china plates, staring into the same faces of my family as we gather to share our traditional meal together. I will speak the same words of gratitude that I have in the past, but this time, everything is different. My words of thankfulness will be earnest and genuine and heartfelt.

I won’t have to pretend anymore.

 

I am grateful for all of you and I wish you all a joyful Thanksgiving filled with love and gratitude!