Summer Arrives in Puerto Rico

Animal Farm Revisited

Many Changes Both Great and Small

Dear Readers, Since this post appeared we have undergone many changes. Our dear Michelle (in the photograph) has died of a liver ailment. We moved to the animated and transformative beach. Benicio del Toro, the perky black dog and Miss Junie are living with us in our beach side apartment. We found a small farm for a few of our adopted dogs, several were placed and the less fortunate were taken to a shelter. It was a painful time. I send you all a most lovely wish for both joy and compassion in your lives. Sincerely, Ms. Oasis (Cynthia)

Oasis Animals: Michelle's Eyes



Michelle, ma belle, sont des mots qui vont tres bien ensemble-

tres bien ensemble...

(The Beatles/Paul McCartney)



What is so compelling about our animal friends? I love Ma Belle, Michelle's, face. I love to press my forehead against hers and send her all my love. Contact with Michelle gives me such a feeling of profound well being. I know this is not unusual. Many people have a special connection with an animal friend.

I also feel great warmth (and sometimes anger) toward Miss Junie. She claims all flat surfaces with a sense of authority that defies all boundaries.

Lately, we have been having a territory battle over the large table that I use as a desk. She determinedly knocks over my pile of research books and brushes her paw across the carefully stacked and ordered mail while she makes herself quite comfortable as owner of the table. But what can I do? She's the queen of the house, and is likely to punish anyone who attempts to constrain her. (These punishments are unspeakably naughty! If you have a territorial cat, you completely understand. If not, it's best not to go into it.

Recently, she has allowed me to pick her up and hold her in a close hug. Her tolerance of my affection has made me so much more permissive about her eccentricities.

This lovely yogi cat (Lionheart, Temple Cat) is from the Seven Centers Yoga Arts in Sedona, Arizona (photo credit and to read the latest newsletter click here.)

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A love song to our animal friends...



Only You by Ringo Starr's quirky video expresses this sentiment! (Click to watch the video!)

Only you, can make this world seem bright.

Only you, can make the darkness bright.

Only you and you alone can thrill me like you do

and fill my heart with love for only you

Only you can make this change in me.

For it's true, you are my destiny.

When you hold my hand, I understand the magic that you do.

You're my dream come true.

My one my one and only you.



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Introducing Benicio del Toro (AKA Beni' and 'Nicio)!

He is the classic dog. Completely loyal. Completely protective. He is our oldest stray. One day, his mother, Ms. Nellie, arrived at our gate and just waited. She waited until the night. She waited until the next morning. She found her way into the fenced in back area and settled in. We fed her and then it was all over. Little Ms. Nellie was pregnant. The following day, she had our little bull- headed, Beni!



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A few words of love by the renowned (and occasionally sardonic) poet, Billy Collins:



Dharma

The way the dog trots out the front door

every morning

without a hat or an umbrella,

without any money

or the keys to her dog house

never fails to fill the saucer of my heart

with milky admiration.



Who provides a finer example

of a life without encumbrance—

Thoreau in his curtainless hut

with a single plate, a single spoon?

Ghandi with his staff and his holy diapers?



Off she goes into the material world

with nothing but her brown coat

and her modest blue collar,

following only her wet nose,

the twin portals of her steady breathing,

followed only by the plume of her tail.



If only she did not shove the cat aside

every morning

and eat all his food

what a model of self-containment she would be,

what a paragon of earthly detachment.

If only she were not so eager

for a rub behind the ears,

so acrobatic in her welcomes,

if only I were not her god.



"Dharma" by Billy Collins, from Sailing Alone Around the Room. Random House, 2002.



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And if that is not enough, here is a story that you can read to your little ones:



I’m a Big BoyIt was time for bed, but Joey was afraid of the dark.

“Go to bed Joey”, his mom said.

The room was dark. A big shadow moved on the wall.

“Mom” Joey yelled, “Mom!”

“What is it son?”

“There’s a big shadow on the wall!”

“A shadow,?” His mom asked “It’s from the big tree outside your window!”

Joey wanted to be brave but when his mom left, the shadow grew!

Joey could not fall asleep and only by holding his stuffed animal, Buster Brown, could he quiet his fear.

The next morning Joey went to the park with his mom. He had dark shadows underneath his eyes. He was cranky.

He met his friend Suzy.” Hey Joey, do you want to play ball?” Joey didn’t answer.

You look sad. She asked him, “What’s wrong, Joey?”

Joey said, “I’m sad”.

“Why are you sad?” asked Suzy.

“It’s a secret. I’ll tell you if you promise not to tell.”

Joey told Suzy everything, even the part about the shadow and how his stuffed animal, Buster Brown helped him fall asleep.

“I think I know how to help you, but it’s a surprise. I’ll come over this afternoon.”

Later, Suzy talked to her mother and then, they came over to Joey’s house with a gift.

When Joey and his mom opened the door, they saw that it was a soft fluffy puppy!

“Oh mom, can I keep him? And can he sleep in my room?” Joey asked.

She smiled, “Yes dear, but only if you are a big boy.”

Joy said to his new brown puppy, “I am a big boy, Buster Brown!”And everyone laughed.

Joey knew he was a big boy because he took care of a real puppy and big boys are not afraid of the dark!

Here's wishing you all the puppy love you want!

A Day in Old San Juan, Puerto Rico

Blogland Lane Re-post-View from my Puerto Rican Oasis

Hi neighbors! Will you please excuse the resident of number 70 who has been out of town for a while? I want to share with you some of my everyday summer views of Puerto Rico. Many people think of Puerto Rico in a traditional somewhat nostalgic way, similar to this Sugar Cane painting that hangs on the walls of a local Old San Juan restaurant, Manolin Cafe but the reality is quite different.

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Last week, I went to Old San Juan with Mr. Oasis where he is teaching for the summer and so much is happening at the Esquella Artes Plastica (Art School). The students have joined in with the University of Puerto Rico students to protest the government wide-budget cuts, and they are camped out on the lawn of El Morro. (Click here if you want to read an Oasis post about El Viejo San Juan.) What a lovely place to camp-even if it is illegal! I met my bff, Ms. D, for lunch at Manolin Cafe- a traditional Puerto Rican restaurant that locals frequent. I enjoyed the mofongo and Yaucono cafe served with hot milk. If you haven't tried Puerto Rican coffee, it's time to be adventurous. In my opinion, it is the best coffee in the world. Confession: When I visit state-side relatives, I find the unopened Christmas present coffee still in storage. Why is that? (My Michigan cousin, Tammy, says it's strong and they prefer coffee-tea! Her coffee drinking quirk is to mix instant chocolate into a cup of weak morning coffee, which apparently gives her more wake-up power.)

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My friend, Ms. D, knows where to go and how to spend money wisely. She suggested lunch at the Manolin Cafe because it has the best local food at the most economical prices. However, the value is not a secret! We had to wait at the door for a few minutes to be seated. And of course we ran into a friend because Puerto Rico is small, and you run into friends everywhere. Deeply immersed in conversation with our former co-worker and now world traveling friend, Mr. G, we completely forgot to compete for our place in line. After noticing we were still not seated, I took the initiative to be the rude one and excused us from an extended talk about the political situation and policy at the University of Puerto Rico. Finally, we were seated and it was well worth the wait. The photo is a half serving of mofongo, served with white rice and a mixed salad. I recommend that you do not order the rice with mofongo. It's too heavy. What was my waiter thinking? I find that being a vegetarian in Puerto Rico is a challenge. Often perfectly nice servers will give me starch with starch served with a side of starch. My growing middle may be blamed on such eating experiences as these!

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Aside: Friends you have to try making mofongo. It's not too difficult as long as you have access to green plantains. Yes, you have to peel them with a knife, but it's worth it to try. Yes, they have to be sliced in one inch pieces, fried in oil until both sides are golden, and then briefly cooked again-but here is where you change your tostones to mofongo.

Place the fried plantain in a container and smash them with lightly roasted garlic until they are broken down into a nicely textured rounded pile. Flip unto a plate and serve with a little salad and Spanish olive oil. Delicious! (Click here if you want to try a more traditional recipe that includes meat.)

What I do differently in this recipe: I allow the plantains to get crisp so that when they are mashed, they continue to have texture. Also, I drop the garlic cloves in oil until they are a bit crunchy as well. Both of these changes make even the meat-eating Mr. enjoy the days when I serve his traditional food vegetarian style.

~~~~~~~~~~~ These Spanish looking baked clay tiles are on the floor of the Art School. Above them, an old picnic table on one side, and just behind the table, a scrap pile of boards and disgarded art projects. In spite of their neglect, I find the tile pattern beautifully arranged and pleasing to the eye. Doesn't it give you a feeling of another time? The art school is losing funding-drastically-and the students continue to work on their projects even though it feels as if the roof is caving in. It's a highly competive art school that produces students who can create in both the classical style art and more modern media, such as computer graphics. What a shame that art is the first to go when money is scarce.

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Blogland Neighbors, thank you for sharing a cup of cafe con leche and some traditional Puerto Rican food with me. If you want to borrow a cup of sugar, please stop by whenever you are near Blogland Lane # 70 -or if you prefer azucar mascabada o negra (cane or brown), come over to Oasis !

Reposted from Blogland Lane

Life in Paradise; Where to live? Who to be?

Oasis Feature: A Series of Views #3
Tourist Trying on Identities

You could say I live in the jungle, which is what my son and some of his friends have said about our isolated setting. I have lived in many places in the US, and traveled to many other countries. I realize that this life of movement and travel is not unique to me but a social trend of which I am a part. People are grasping that they can live in new ways. I see that we are becoming open to change and allowing our localized identities to shift. Are you like me when you travel? Wherever I go, I imagine myself living there. (I do that in blogland too.) When I go for walks, I look at homes and people, and imagine myself living that life. I'm part of the sliding group of humans who ask, "Who am I in this place?"

Even within the same country there are so many lifestyles to try on. I've explored country life, small town life, and city life. I'm in the country again and, I feel somewhat situated here. My greatest conflict though is between living in the city or the country. I love the accessibility of culture in the city. I love to sit in coffee houses and write, or to find my own special places in a city such as a restaurant or art gallery, or a favorite walk, or join in special local events. I love the country too, where I can grow things, and watch nature change. Of course, seasonal transitions are available everywhere. It's just that in the country, nature is the strongest character in life's play and consequently, makes the biggest impact. I enjoy being alone all day and having time to think or just clear my rushing mind from intense feeling. While living in the country, I can create my own retreat-like atmosphere. I have the option to boycott the television, the radio, the phone and just float off into silence, whereas there are often intrusions in the city- or depending on your perspective- they may be opportunities to connect. I don't want to become so cut off that I lose the vitality that comes from people.

What place expresses the real way I want to live? I think that the country is my true home, especially when I'm reveling in nature's abundance as it spills out at my feet. You may wonder what is causing this pensive reflection? And I would blame it on the trees.




In Puerto Rico, it's funny how the blazing flamboyan trees, signal the end of summer and the return to school.


This summer as I looked over the mountain side trying to catch a glimpse of red, I understood that when I found the popular draping scarlet curtain blown open by the intense Caribbean heat, it's message would be: It's over. Time to go back to your other life-the lively but more driven life. Like the burning sting of the red fire ant when you boldly walk barefoot across the grass, I realize it's time- the flame tree is ablaze. I reason with myself; it's not the arbol de flamboyan's fault!

Its' blossom is like an abundant bouquet of orchids and the closer you get, the more detailed the beauty. From a distance, you see a Spanish flamingo dancer's skirt twirling open and it's caught in a memory ...














I remember the first time I realized the beauty of this tropical tree. It was in the 80's, and my mother was traveling with me to visit my new husband's family in Puerto Rico. The Flame tree enthusiasm was lost to me- buried as it was in the general over saturation of a new cultural experience. Plus, it was hot! We were driving through the crowded tapon (traffic jam) on route number 2, when the car's tire blew out. Pulling over under the nearest shady spot, we pour out of the car to assess the damage. It would take a while for my husband to change the flat tire so Mom and I began to look around. I find large brown seed pods on the ground. When I start to collect them, I notice they make a sound like a rattle or maracas but softer, and they came from the tree above. The ground is covered in a red carpet, and looking up, I notice that we are stranded under the famous flamboyan tree. I call out to Mom, "Look at this tree!" It connected me to the Caribbean as no other natural experience. Perhaps that's why it's obsessively featured in local paintings?

You can go to Plaza Las Americas any day of the week and find a painting of a flamboyan tree for sale. Puerto Rico, it says to the culturally smitten. And now, here we are driving home to our house in the mountains. Just around the corner, there it stands. I realize that I must stop and attempt to capture this stunning tree. We are Puerto Rican for a time in Puerto Rico, the heat of the dancer's skirt rises from the street in Barrio Achiote. Red flame. Summer's end.