Category: Blog

Blog, Health, Ramblings

Am I Strong Enough?

Alexandra Alessandri

I’m sad to see the end of summer here. Next week, it’s back to work and I’m nervous – because the exhaustion, fatigue and pain are back, because sometimes, I don’t know if I’m strong enough.

I think that’s the rub – I don’t know if I’m strong enough to get through this. On the good days, which I’ve been blessed with this summer, I feel I can do anything: I can go with my son to the zoo, the mall, the pool, to birthday parties; I can play basketball with him (albeit if just for a little while); I can engage him in fun activities. I can stay up for a few hours after both my husband and son have gone to sleep and write. I can clean the house, cook fabulous meals, and run errands. I can be a good wife, mother, and writer.

But on the bad days when I’m so tired I feel this weight on me that keeps me down and drowsy, I worry that I won’t be able to pull through it. I worry that everything my mind wants to do becomes null because my body just doesn’t respond to it. I want to do these things, but I can’t. And I feel useless and a failure.

It always works out somehow, though – right? One way or another, we get through the sludge and pain and emerge stronger.

Blog, Ramblings

Incoherent Musings (or Not)

Alexandra Alessandri

My mind has been a bit depleted of blog topics, what with the end of the summer term upon me (grades due in less than two days!), grading, and working on my own writing for my two classes. I feel a bit scatterbrained, sitting in front of my computer, urging myself to post something, anything, but all I do is stare straight ahead, mouth slightly ajar. I wonder if I can fall asleep in this upright position. I’m exhausted from today’s grading marathon, but I’m still here, urging myself to write. So these might be some incoherent musings.

I’m working on a picture book manuscript for one of my classes. I’m hoping to get good feedback on it and maybe prep it to send out. I love how writing works – much like memory actually, when one memory triggers another then another until there’s a web of memories knitting together your past. Writing works like that for me – I start writing something and then, the ideas start coming. One by one. I jot them down and then tackle them in whatever order is most pressing. It’s not terribly organized, and one of my tasks at hand is organizing myself to focus on ONE project and ONE project alone, from start to finish. Otherwise, I’ll be spinning in circles without ever reaching the end.

So, for the time being, apart from the materials for my classes, I will be focusing all my creative energy around this fiction project, possibly a novel. The characters in this project have hijacked my subconscious and I find myself needing to know exactly how everything plays out. I’ve come to realize this will be a YA novel, and I’m excited by that (and terrified!). The next two courses taken at UCLA’s Writers Extension program will be dedicated to getting my behind in the right gear for this project. Because, damnit, I will get this done. I’ve received some very positive feedback from people I trust who are in the business, so I’m jumping in. All else will have to wait (im)patiently, and I’ll have to resign myself to jotting ideas on margins of documents.

Healthwise- I took another jab at acupuncture and noticed a short burst of energy immediately following the treatment. I’m going to give it the 6 weeks I have per my insurance and see how it helps. The doctor also started me on some natural Chinese herbs to help balance me out. I still haven’t gone to the yoga, though I’m hoping to get myself there soon.

I think that’s as much energy as I have right now. Until later. Chao.

Blog, Health, Ramblings

Acupuncture Virgin – Continuing with the lifestyle changes

Alexandra Alessandri

I’ve been flirting with the idea of acupuncture since I began with this disease and today I had my first session.

I’m not sure what I was expecting, but I wanted to give holistic medicine a chance. I’m hesitant when it comes to chemical drugs because they seem to work at masking the problem, relieving symptoms instead of fixing the problem or they create new problems and come burdened with nauseating side effects. The extreme reactions I had while on steroids (to reduce inflammation) and pain medication were awful, and I’ve gone back to sticking with Advil if the pain gets too bad; otherwise, I suck it up. (Of course, I say this now, during the summer, when I’m feeling overall better thanks to the frequent naps and resting and the lower work load – we’ll see what happens when the semester begins).

Now don’t get me wrong – we need medicine and I am taking some medicine (Plaquenil) for my condition. When we have serious problems that threaten to kill us, they help us stay alive and maintain a relatively normal lifestyle. But, we’ve gotten to the point where we forego general maintenance of our bodies and instead rely on artificial means to return some of what we lost. We learn, too late, that simple lifestyle changes can impact how much disease and medicine we’ll need later on. Some diseases are inevitable – they’re genetically ingrained in us and the triggers are too common and bountiful. But lifestyle changes, true lifestyle changes can help lessen the severity of some diseases.

I’ve noticed this with food. With all this process junk we have in the supermarkets (though I have to admit it’s delicious junk!), we’re feeding our bodies the wrong foods. It’s not optimum fuel and we’re killing ourselves with it. Reading Michael Pollan‘s books has been enlightening; he gives some clear and concise rules on what we should be eating, and really, it’s all common sense! If something has a shelf life of several years, it can’t be that good for you! And what about  the ingredients. MSG, pesticides, artificial sweeteners and artificial food colorings are toxic! I’ve noticed a direct correlation with ingesting these things and pain. I was a huge diet-soda drinker. Huge. It’s all I drank. And I haven’t touched one in almost a year. Correction – the one relapse I had, I paid for with barely being able to walk the following day. I’ve gone through my pantry and taken out all things with MSG, which left it quite bare as MSG has made its way into almost everything, from seasonings to take out food. I’ve also tried to incorporate more veggies (especially dark, colorful ones) and fruits into my diet, really focusing on anti-inflammatory foods, like pineapple, blueberries, chia seeds,  broccoli, mushrooms, celery. Even though I’m not crazy about some of these (mushrooms and celery – eh), I’m finding creative ways to consume these foods.

But I went off on a tangent. The acupuncture session today. It was good. Weird, but good. It’s funny because just entering into the room, I felt the change of energy. The soft music, the incense (which  I don’t always like, but today it felt just right), the soft colors on the walls, and the Buddha in the corner – it all came together in a peaceful manner. We started with a consultation where the doctor went through all of my medical history and asked me questions about my physical and emotional health. She gave me some feedback and suggestions, and then we started the session.

I never really liked the idea of sticking needles in my skin, but everything I read said it was painless. Not quite so. It hurt many times and I definitely felt the needles going in! There were some areas that hurt more than others, which she explained was normal. Once all the needles were in, she dimmed the lights, put on a small lamp near my feet, and left me to my thoughts and sensations. I felt a sort of tingling (which, she explained, was the energy moving through), and some I had some aching specifically around my right ear and left arm. I think she said the ear was emotions. But don’t quote me on that.

The thirty minutes were up quicker than I anticipated, and when I got up, I felt somewhat dizzy. Soon after, however, I was feeling good. Not perfect, not 100% pain-free (and my stomach was as upset as before), but I felt a little more energy which, over the last few days, had been declining again.

I can’t say it was a great experience, but it wasn’t bad, either. It was different. And I think I’ll be repeating it for a few weeks to see if I notice an improvement. I hope to also take up yoga in that center. I really liked it.

A quick side note: my husband also went and had a session. Instead of feeling more energized, however, he left feeling groggy, exhausted, dizzy.

 

Blog, Health, Ramblings

Sleep Paralysis – A (literally) rude awakening

Alexandra Alessandri

A few months ago – I think it was towards the end of April – I had a pretty freaky experience.

It was early morning, around 6:00 AM. My husband had just kissed me good-bye on his way out to work; I was still in bed, in that half-asleep, half-awake state where all I want to do is surrender to sleep once more, but my consciousness is telling me my son is likely to wake up with the beep-beep-beep of the alarm being deactivated and reactivated.

Sometime in that in-between state, I start hearing a hish-hish-hish; I feel a presence near me and someone with a deep, male, husky voice is speaking to me, only I can’t understand what he’s saying. It sounds like parseltongue from Harry Potter! I go to move my head, and I can’t; I’m frozen in the bed, unable to move arms, legs, head or trunk, and I’m seeing but I’m not sure if my eyes are open. My chest thumps harder; I shiver and feel the prickling on my arms as the hairs rise. I try to move again, but it’s no use. Finally, I am able shake this thing off and move. I turn, sit up on the bed, and look around. I see nothing; I hear nothing. I want to go back to sleep because I’m still drowsy, but I’m too afraid what just happened. I feel lost, uncertain. What the heck just happened?!

After that “episode,” I called my husband and told him what happened. I sort of laughed about it, but the experience kept nagging at me. What had I experienced? Was there some other-world being in the house with me? Was it a spirit, a ghost? Was it a hallucination spurred on by the meds I was taking? (At this point, I was taking prednisone to help with the connective tissue thing I have going on). I didn’t google it then. I brought it up at my rheumatologist’s appointment and she wrote it down as a side-effect of the prednisone and ordered me to stop taking it.

Life went on as usual, and I didn’t experience that hallucination – or whatever you want to call it – again. I figured yep, that was the prednisone and that was that. Until yesterday morning. This time, I was in my son’s room. Again, it was in the early morning hours, but this time before my husband left for work. I was curled up, uncomfortably, at the foot of my son’s bed (he’s been having sleep/nightmare problems again – another story for another time). I remember turning over on my right side when it started happening again. I heard the hish-hish-hish sound (again – like parseltongue) but this time, a lower, childlike pitch. When I heard it, I tried to turn over, but like last time, I was frozen, stuck in that fetal position on my right. I felt the tightness in my chest, the fear swiftly covering me. There was somewhere there with us, with my son, and I couldn’t move to help either one of us, if needed. So what did I do? I started chanting, in my mind, my Our Father’s and Hail Marry’s and Glory’s I could fathom. I found it somewhat ironic that in my current state of crossroads when it comes to my religious faith, I should resort to the familiar prayers taught to me.

Like the last time, the sensation passed, and though drowsy, I was awake. I looked around my son’s room, looked up at my late-father’s crucifix over my son’s door – the same crucifix that had accompanied my father during his years in the priesthood, a present from his mother on his ordination – and heard nothing, saw nothing. My son was oblivious to anything and sleeping soundly. I returned to my room and told my husband what had happened. We both looked at each other with that “that’s weird” look, but said nothing. He left to work, and I sat in my bed, laptop on lap, and turned to Google.

I have to say what I found was interesting and had nothing to do with the spirits my mind was conjuring up. Apparently, there’s this thing called Sleep Paralysis that happens either right as one is falling asleep, or right as one is waking up. The symptoms are: inability to move limbs or trunk, a feeling of crushing or suffocating (didn’t really have this one), and sometimes, hallucinations, either auditory or visual. I definitely had the auditory ones! Here’s an article I found on About.com regarding this sleep disorder. Before the first episode, I’d never (EVER!) experienced something like this, though I did walk in my sleep when I was younger and I did (and sometimes still do) talk in my sleep.

I guess I’ll be bringing this up to my doctor, though I hope it doesn’t happen again. It’s not a very fun experience.

Has this happened to anyone else?

Blog, Writing

The Writing Process

Alexandra Alessandri

It’s always fascinating for me to listen to authors talk about their writing process, the way they reach that creative catharsis that results in a book. Or a story. Or an essay. Or a poem.

Some authors start with a character. This character can appear in a dream, or she can seep into the author’s subconscious, stalking the author until the author has no choice but to write her into existence. There is no plot yet, no specific outline of a story – just a character. Once this character is written, she takes the author by the hand (hypothetically of course) and leads her into the story. The result is the plot, the what happens, and it’s as much of an adventure for the author as it is, later, for the reader. It’s a process of discovery.

Other authors have the seed of a plot in their minds. They heard from a friend, or from a stranger, the intricacies of an event that were captivating, and that started the writing process. They explore the importance and ramifications of said event, look at the “what happens” and “how it happens” and then build characters to fit this plot. It’s still a process of discovery because even though the skeleton of the plot/story is known, the words that make the story real for the reader are discovered as the authors write their stories.

And then there are those authors who simply sit at a blank screen, or a blank page, and just start writing, letting their muses take them into the worlds they’re creating, without so much as a single preconceived notion of the final product.

It’s hard to say which is the best method, and I’m sure there are some people who swear by one method or another. I don’t think there’s a perfect method, but rather one that works best for you and for the given project.

In a piece of non-fiction, the plot is already known, so starting with a structure, an outline, might work best. If a character comes and doesn’t leave you alone (I’ve had these), run with the character until you get a clearer picture of the plot, and then go from there. If you don’t have either character or plot, but you want to write something, then write, and see where that writing takes you.

In the end, what’s important to keep the writing alive, the creativity moving, and the muses around, is to just keep writing. For a few minutes, a few hours – whatever. Just write. (INSERT the Nike “Just do it” commercial…) Write it down. Then revise it. Chop it up. Change it around. Add to it, delete from it. Mold it like you’re molding a piece of clay until the end result is just right.

Blog, Writing

I Am

Alexandra Alessandri

I Am – by A. P. Alessandri

I am from the Andes and the Amazon rainforest,
and from the warm sands of SoFla.
A mountain girl in the magic city,
bred with frijoles, sancocho and Burger King.
A speaker of romance whose tongue
becomes a contortionist–
Erre con erre cigarro, erre con erre barril.
Roll your tongue, mija, ole, niña.
A gringa among my people.
A Latina among my people.
Often confused for a stranger.
A hyphen in a world that devalues hyphens.
A hyphen in a world that overvalues hyphens.
A Paisa and Miamian born in Queens,
who celebrates Noche Buena with
buñuelos and natilla and El Niño Dios
then spends Christmas morning
unwrapping Santa Claus under the
six-foot fraiser fir from somewhere up north.

My father used to say in Latin,
de gustibus et coloribus non disputatum,
but we still argued about our differences
and the colors of our people.

I am my mother’s daughter,
a pseudo- perfectionist
who dreams of the Blue Ridge Mountains,
while moving to Cumbia and Vallenato.
I am my father’s daughter,
a seeker of justice
torn between the Ave Maria‘s and
the duplicity of the Church.

I am me.
Broken, idealistic, indecisive, strong, whole.
I am my mother’s mother and my father’s father.
Or my mother’s father and my father’s mother.
I am them, and yet I am not them.
I define binary opposites.

I am.

Blog, Travel, Writing

Another day in a beach town

Alexandra Alessandri

The rain threatens late today. It starts as a low, long rumble as we take an afternoon stroll on the beach. Towards the north, where the land and sea blend together into a solitary line, the dark clouds form shadows of mountain peaks and I almost forget that we’re in Florida’s east coast; there are no mountains here. The rain never comes, though.

The afternoon stroll was a good ending to a good day. I could get used to days like these: taking morning strolls on the beach; building sand castles and watching small shells dig their way back into the sand, far away from us and the birds that feed on them; swimming in the pool, trying out water aerobics; napping after lunch to the sound of the waves coming and going; taking an afternoon drive or walk or just sitting in the balcony, writing. I could absolutely get used to this.

I’ve been productive today, with my writing classes. For my children’s writing workshop, I finished a superhero assignment that I thought would dismantle me. One of my first sketches included Super Mom, whose powers include seeing all (a la having eyes in the back of her head – yes, clichéd, I know) and who constantly battled her nemeses Grumpy Grandma and Know-it-All Friend. A bit lame, and more a platform for a disgruntled mom than a kid’s superhero. Though I might revisit these “characters” even if for a comedic post. What I finally submitted was much better than this. I hope.

In my personal essay workshop, we had a guest author pop in, and it was very interesting. Christine O’Hagan was kind and answered our questions candidly. I always find it helpful to listen to the advice and wisdom of authors who know the ropes, who’ve published in the field I’m interested or tackling. I particularly loved when she said (and I’m paraphrasing) memoirs need to be written with compassion and humor. Compassion and humor – so important. In the process of writing my memoir (and it’s still very much a work in (early) progress), I’ve come to understand that memoir writing is not a vendetta, it’s not the opportunity to get even with someone. Memoir writing is writing without judgement, to understand and make peace with a past and with people in that past. It’s a journey and an exploration about an event (or events) and person (or people) that were significant in life and that, by sharing this experience, others can understand shards of their own lives.

Now, I sit here in the balcony. My son is asleep (finally – no nap today), and my husband is next to me, on his iPad. We’re quiet, and the only sounds that come are from the waves, the breeze, and the keys on my laptop as I’m typing. It’s a beautiful rhythm. Our vacation ends in two days, and I don’t want it to. I want to stay here, in this beach town, indefinitely. I want to get used to this routine.

Blog, Photography, Travel

Satellite Beach in Pictures

Alexandra Alessandri

This time around, I haven’t taken my camera out as much. I’ve been concentrating on relaxing, playing in the sand with my little man, building sand castles by the ocean’s edge, swimming in the pool, napping mid-day. But the few times I did, I got some pretty cool pictures. The best were the coral rocks that jutted out of the coast, at low tide. I had no ideas these rocks existed so close to the shore!

 

Coral rocks by the shore
Coral rocks by the shore
Seashell
Shuttle Launch on Hazy Day
Wildlife
Awe
Crashing Waves
AlgaeAtlantic Ocean – shoreside 
Looking for breakfast
Beachfront property
Surfers in the morning
It's all about perspective
Blog, Travel, Writing

Scenes from a Beach Town

Alexandra Alessandri

The smell of rain is thick and suffocating. It fills my lungs and I gasp a little. It’s that thick.

In the morning, the surfers were out in the water. We watched them from our balcony overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. They formed a jagged line out there, small on their surfboards, and they glided, moving with the same rhythm as the waves. I don’t know whether they spoke or yelled to each other; the waves drowned out any noise outside their own rhythmic whoosh as they hugged the sand, then slowly crept back into the deep.

A soft rumbling of thunder tells me the pool is out of the question, something my son is not too happy about. Instead, we climb into our car and take a small drive, stopping first at Starbucks for some much-needed coffee. There, my son orders a cookie, then pays for it, by himself. He’s almost four and proud of his accomplishment.

My son is hungry, so we head to Pistilli’s Italian Restaurant and New Jersey Style Pizza in Melbourne. We’ve been to this place before and loved it; this time is no different. We scurry from the car into the restaurant; it’s started drizzling by now, a small mist that is enough to dampen but not soak. Inside, the lights are dim, the curtains half-drawn. Large posters featuring The Godfather and The Sopranos frame the entry way. A sign in the front tells us “Welcome – Please Seat Yourself” – and so we do in a booth by the back, near the kitchen.

The decor is simple and Italian – pictures of wine bottles and grapes, Italian chefs, a small decorative sign that says “Good Food, Good Wine, Good Friends.” Tammy, our waitress, rushes from table to table; she’s alone today, but she doesn’t miss a step or mix an order. Soon, we’ve ordered our meal: two slices of cheese pizza each for my son and me, and chicken parmigiana with pasta and a side salad for my husband. While we wait, Tammy brings us some bread, and we sit back, listening to “Shake, Shake, Shake Senora,” which reminds me of the movie Beetlejuice every single time. In the kitchen, the sizzling, clanging, and chopping seems to move to the song.

When the food gets to us, we dig in. Perfection. My pizza is just right: not too much sauce, and it’s more sweet than spicy. The thin crust is not crispy, and the cheese stretches when I take a bite. This is how I like pizza. And the slices are large. My son eats an entire slice; I eat two. My husband likes his meal, too, though he eats half of it, along with half of a pizza.

We are back in the apartment. Our stay is courtesy of family, and we’re grateful. This small break by the beach is what we needed to unwind, to let the ocean sweep our worries and stress and take it back out to sea, so we can revive and renew our energies.

My son, who claimed – “I’m not tired! – in his strong, defiant little voice, is passed out on his air mattress. His soft snores tell us he was, in fact, quite tired. The sliding glass door is shut, but the waves’ rhythmic lullaby reaches us and I think we, too, will take a nap.

Outside, it’s still dark, though the east is showing some breaks of sunshine peaking through puffs of clouds. A solitary surfer remains in the water, sitting on his board. I wonder what he’s waiting for, bobbing with the waves.