My art table waited/La mesa de arte espero

Spinal Recovery V (2026)
Acrylic on canvas
© Deborah Romero

If anyone looks at my my paintings over the years, they will see that I am a self-portrait girlie.  For that reason, this small canvas represents a personal return to myself as a painter. 

Since my body's debilitation from rheumatoid arthritis and spinal compressions, I stopped painting self-portraits. Sure, I have painted other (more decorative) canvases, and portraits of friends,  but more personally meaningful paintings were missing. This type of painting is less about being attractive and marketable. It is work that is distilled through layers of my life experiences, technical training and expression. This is my return to me painting as an artist, at least in my opinion.

At first glance a person might see this as a smiley face, happy painting about spinal healing. But it is so much more. The central figure may be seen as resting, seated passively. But I painted myself as enduring. This spine runs down my center, as a wound. I am rebuilding my relationship with my body, one brushstroke at a time.  

I paint myself as a knot of organic fragments. When your body becomes the center of all your thoughts, movements and fears, you stop experiencing yourself as a seamless whole. You become acutely aware of your different parts: nerves, vertebrae, muscles, surgical incisions etc.  My art is part of my rebuild toward wholeness.

I do not paint myself as broken. My wounds and their pain and misfirings are visible; however a healing aura surrounds me. I heal amid the suffering. 

The overall red palette does refer to blood and pain, but the red flowers floating on a pink background create a feeling of pain and tenderness held together.

Actually, the background took the most time and underwent major changes. Yes, mom and dad, you paid for years of art training, I can draw realistic flowers, lol. I chose to paint simplistic flowers in the end. That was a choice: handing the paintbrush to that child within me that still hopes and remains innocent. Not the medically jaded adult that I have become after so many tangles with the medical "system". It represents me saying "There's so much blood, so much pain" and the child saying "yes, and I will paint flowers". 

A work-process funny: originally I painted more realistic flowers in red and had the centers drip down the canvas as if they were bleeding. One morning I came downstairs turned a corner and saw the canvas and took in a sharp breath. Ah! Macabre vampiric painting. Overkill. That would not do.  But I did save one reference to the blood drips with one flower, if you look closely, lol. The drips were saved for the blues. An obvious reference to tears, grief and emotions. 

There are more thoughts I had in executing this work but I will leave some for curious viewers to piece together. As I was first trained in art history before art studio, you know I love iconography (symbols). I love to tell stories (thus my blogs). So, it is no surprise that my paintings tell stories. I am not one for much abstraction. Again, I like symbolism.

Someone saw this painting near completion and remarked about it reminding her of Frida Kahlo's paintings. Wow, thank you. I realized, yeah, I see it. She also endured a life affected by spinal issues, pain and disability. And she loved a colorful palette; so do I. Her many self portraits reflect what was happening in her life; so do mine. Hmmmm, perhaps future self portraits will include a monkey on my shoulder? Naaa, in mine, it would be a black cat named Bimini!

PS: Frida Kahlo painted several self portraits with her monkey. One famous one can be seen here. Actually, she also created a self portrait that included both her monkey and black cat. I had forgotten about that until I was looking for links for this blog. We are even more artist-sisters. I think this is a sign for my Bimi needs to grace a future self portrait of mine.

Recuperación Espinal V (2026)
Acrílico sobre lienzo
© Deborah Romero

Si alguien observa mis pinturas a lo largo de los años, verá que soy una chica de autorretratos. Por esa razón, este pequeño lienzo representa un regreso personal a mí misma como pintora.

Desde que mi cuerpo fue debilitado por la artritis reumatoide y las compresiones espinales, dejé de pintar autorretratos. Claro, he pintado otros lienzos más decorativos y retratos de amistades, pero faltaban las obras con un significado más profundo y personal. Este tipo de pintura tiene menos que ver con ser atractiva o comercializable. Es un trabajo destilado a través de capas de experiencias de vida, formación técnica y expresión artística. Para mí, este cuadro representa el regreso a mi propia manera de pintar como artista.

A primera vista, alguien podría ver una cara sonriente, una pintura alegre sobre la sanación de la columna vertebral. Pero es mucho más que eso. La figura central puede parecer descansando, sentada pasivamente. Sin embargo, yo me pinté resistiendo. Esta columna vertebral que desciende por mi centro funciona como una herida. Estoy reconstruyendo mi relación con mi cuerpo, una pincelada a la vez.

Me pinto como un nudo de fragmentos orgánicos. Cuando tu cuerpo se convierte en el centro de todos tus pensamientos, movimientos y temores, dejas de experimentarte como un todo continuo. Te vuelves intensamente consciente de tus distintas partes: nervios, vértebras, músculos, incisiones quirúrgicas, etc. Mi arte forma parte de esa reconstrucción hacia la totalidad.

No me pinto como alguien rota. Mis heridas, su dolor y sus fallos están visibles; sin embargo, una aura de sanación me rodea. Sano en medio del sufrimiento.

La paleta predominantemente roja sí hace referencia a la sangre y al dolor, pero las flores rojas flotando sobre un fondo rosado crean una sensación donde el dolor y la ternura conviven.

En realidad, el fondo fue lo que más tiempo me tomó y pasó por cambios importantes. Sí, mamá y papá, ustedes pagaron años de formación artística; puedo dibujar flores realistas, jajaja. Al final elegí pintar flores sencillas. Fue una decisión consciente: entregarle el pincel a esa niña que todavía vive dentro de mí, que aún espera y conserva su inocencia. No a la adulta médicamente desencantada en la que me he convertido después de tantos enredos con el “sistema” de salud. Lo veo como yo diciendo: «Hay tanta sangre, tanto dolor», y la niña respondiendo: «Sí, y aun así voy a pintar flores».

Una anécdota divertida del proceso: originalmente pinté flores rojas más realistas y dejé que sus centros se deslizaran por el lienzo como si estuvieran sangrando. Una mañana bajé las escaleras, doblé una esquina, vi el cuadro y solté una respiración sobresaltada. ¡Ah! Una pintura vampírica y macabra. Demasiado. Eso no iba a funcionar. Pero sí conservé una pequeña referencia a aquellos chorreados de sangre en una de las flores, si miran con atención, jajaja. Los chorreados los reservé para los tonos azules. Una referencia bastante obvia a las lágrimas, al duelo y a las emociones.

Tuve muchas más reflexiones mientras realizaba esta obra, pero dejaré algunas para que las personas curiosas las descubran por sí mismas. Como primero me formé en historia del arte antes de estudiar arte de estudio, ya saben cuánto me gusta la iconografía (los símbolos). Me encanta contar historias (por eso escribo blogs). Así que no sorprende que mis pinturas también cuenten historias. No soy muy dada a la abstracción. Una vez más, me inclino hacia el simbolismo.

Alguien vio esta pintura cuando estaba casi terminada y comentó que le recordaba las obras de Frida Kahlo. ¡Vaya, gracias! Me di cuenta de que sí, yo también podía verlo. Ella también vivió una vida marcada por problemas de columna, dolor y discapacidad. Y amaba las paletas de colores intensos; yo también. Sus numerosos autorretratos reflejaban lo que ocurría en su vida; los míos también.

Mmmm... ¿quizás mis futuros autorretratos incluyan un mono sobre mi hombro? Naaa. En los míos sería una gata negra llamada Bimini.

P.D.: Frida Kahlo pintó varios autorretratos acompañada de su mono. Uno de los más conocidos puede verse aquí. De hecho, también realizó un autorretrato en el que aparecen tanto su mono como un gato negro. Había olvidado ese detalle hasta que busqué enlaces para este blog. ¡Parece que somos aún más hermanas artistas! Creo que esta es una señal de que mi Bimi debe hacer una aparición especial en alguno de mis futuros autorretratos.

 

When the Words Returned / Cuando regresaron las palabras (Biligue al final)

Hola again, it's been a minute. I needed to take a break from my personal writing.  I have been very ill the last two years; living with limited abilities and chronic pain. Spinal deterioration left me unable to walk unassisted and with neuropathy. I had five neurosurgeries in less than two years and my body, while improved, is depleted to say the least. I am expecting (wishing, manifesting) for no more surgeries!  

That is it for the medical summary. Perhaps I will go more in depth about what exactly happened medically later, but for now, I don't want my mind to stay in that space. It's just too much and most people do not really want to know about all the different medical traumas I have experienced. It is enough just to know that I have them. 

I stopped writing here because I could not articulate the immensity of what I was going through. Nor could I see around it enough to write about other aspects of my life. I had no insights to share, just a long list of complaints. So, I stayed away from VanGoghChica. 

But the good news is that I now feel I am on a road to "recovery". What that recovery will look like is still relatively unknown. In large part, it is in the hands of God, biology and medical treatments and therapies. In another large part it has everything to do with my state of mind and spirit. 

Coming out of my last (emergency) surgery and hospital stay,  I felt major tectonic shifts in my thinking and subsequently, in my  decisions and actions. And that is so very interesting and inspirational to me. I hope I can relay these shifts in consciousness in a way that illuminates or inspires others as it has me. I will use my keyboard and paintbrushes to deliver these new understandings. 

Right off the bat, the most noticeable changes in me are my appearance and abilities after several serious battles with cervical and thoracic spinal compression (myelopathy). I am now unable to walk, and even in some cases, stand without assistance. My left hand remains numb and burning. And I have ever present pain and low immunity. The pain is less than before, but still something I need to dance with.

Less visible are the changes to my character. My life viewpoints, spirituality and inner strength have grown so much that I feel I have a new lease on life. It is tremendously exciting, although the price it came with was steep. I am experiencing a LOT of grief and am choosing to work hard for graceful acceptance.

 

I made this " Rise Up" card during the initial hostile ICE frenzy against Latinos across this country.  But I was also telling myself to choose action in order to save myself. Recovery from any devastation requires willful action. Nobody achieves any victory without a committed plan of action. I learned this from my political organizing days. So I had to stop feeling sorry for myself and begin to live differently if I wanted to be happier.

My "rise up" involves staying true to myself in my relationships. Sadly, I had to accept several loved ones falling away. This hurts a lot and I continue to pray for acceptance whether they make their way back to me in a healthier dynamic or if they forget me. This is hugely difficult and painful.

My "rise up" is me showing up to work my body as she is and love her as she is. I need discipline to stick with physical therapy, medical appointments, treatments and discomfort. I can not stress enough how adverse I am to anything medical right now. I am over it!

Finally, my "rise up" needs to be me holding myself upright and visible, without shame. I have not attained this yet. I feel a bit defeated in the area of physical self esteem. I feel unattractive, unfeminine, un sexy... you get the idea. As a result I am constantly wanting to retreat from possibilities for social connections and even the possibility for future romance.

I expect I will "rise up" in the future around advocacy around disability rights. I am learning the hard way just how unaccessible the world is now that I move with a neurological walker and/or a wheelchair.  From physical constraints in public buildings to ignorant minds of people that result in my alienation. My disability is usually only seen as the walking issue but all the other invisible aspects are usually not even registered. I have so much to share on this topic.

So stay tuned. C'mon back, I think you will find interesting reads. 

PS: If anyone is suffering with issues related to spinal injury, autoimmune illness or neurology, feel free to reach out. I am more than happy to share what I know and offer support.

PSS: Last year, we witnessed growing hostility toward immigrant communities in the United States, especially toward Latinos. As the daughter of Peruvian immigrants, I refuse to hide my language, my culture, or my identity. That is why, going forward, this blog will be bilingual (English/Spanish).

Much love to all Spanish-speaking people who call this country home. Our voices deserve to be heard too!

Hola de nuevo. Ha pasado bastante tiempo.

Necesitaba tomarme un descanso de mi escritura personal. He estado muy enferma durante el último año, viviendo con capacidades limitadas y dolor crónico. El deterioro de mi columna vertebral me ha dejado incapaz de caminar sin asistencia y con neuropatía. He pasado por cinco neurocirugías en menos de dos años y mi cuerpo, aunque ha mejorado, está agotado, por decirlo suavemente. Espero (deseo, manifiesto) no necesitar más cirugías.

Y hasta aquí el resumen médico.

Quizás más adelante profundice sobre lo que ocurrió exactamente desde el punto de vista médico, pero por ahora no quiero mantener mi mente en ese espacio. Es demasiado. Además, la mayoría de las personas realmente no desean conocer todos los distintos traumas médicos que he experimentado. Basta con saber que los he vivido.

Dejé de escribir aquí porque no podía articular la inmensidad de lo que estaba atravesando. Tampoco podía ver más allá de ello lo suficiente como para escribir sobre otros aspectos de mi vida. No tenía reflexiones que compartir, solo una larga lista de quejas. Así que me alejé de VanGoghChica.

Pero la buena noticia es que ahora siento que estoy en el camino hacia la recuperación.

Cómo será exactamente esa recuperación sigue siendo, en gran medida, una incógnita. Mucho está en manos de Dios, de la biología y de los tratamientos y terapias médicas. Pero otra gran parte tiene todo que ver con mi estado mental y espiritual. He sentido cambios sísmicos en mi manera de pensar y, como consecuencia, en mis decisiones y acciones. Y eso me resulta profundamente interesante e inspirador.

Espero poder transmitir estos cambios de conciencia de una manera que ilumine o inspire a otros, tal como me han inspirado a mí. Utilizaré mi teclado y mis pinceles para compartir estos nuevos entendimientos.

Lo más evidente en mí son los cambios en mi apariencia y en mis capacidades después de varias batallas serias contra la compresión cervical y torácica de la médula espinal (mielopatía). Actualmente no puedo caminar y, en muchos casos, tampoco permanecer de pie sin ayuda. Mi mano izquierda continúa entumecida y con sensación de ardor. Además, vivo con dolor constante y un sistema inmunológico debilitado. El dolor es menor que antes, pero sigue siendo algo con lo que debo aprender a bailar todos los días.

Menos visibles son los cambios en mi carácter. Mi visión de la vida, mi espiritualidad y mi fortaleza interior han crecido tanto que siento que he recibido una nueva oportunidad de vivir desde adentro. Es tremendamente emocionante, aunque el precio que la acompaña es alto. Estoy experimentando muchísimo duelo y estoy eligiendo trabajar arduamente para alcanzar una aceptación serena.

Creé esta tarjeta titulada "Rise Up" durante la ola inicial de hostilidad de ICE contra los latinos en todo el país. Pero también me estaba hablando a mí misma. Me estaba diciendo que eligiera la acción para salvarme.

La recuperación de cualquier devastación requiere acción deliberada. Nadie logra una victoria sin un plan comprometido de acción. Aprendí eso durante mis años de organización política. Así que tuve que dejar de sentir lástima por mí misma y comenzar a vivir de manera diferente si quería ser más feliz.

Mi propio "Rise Up" implica mantenerme fiel a mí misma en mis relaciones. Tristemente, tuve que aceptar que varios seres queridos se alejaran. Eso duele muchísimo y sigo orando para encontrar aceptación, ya sea que regresen a mi vida en una dinámica más saludable o que simplemente me olviden. Esto ha sido inmensamente difícil y doloroso.

Mi "Rise Up" también significa presentarme cada día para trabajar con mi cuerpo tal como es y amarlo tal como es. Necesito disciplina para mantenerme constante con la fisioterapia, las citas médicas, los tratamientos y las incomodidades. No puedo enfatizar lo suficiente lo cansada que estoy de todo lo relacionado con lo médico. ¡Ya estoy harta!

Finalmente, mi "Rise Up" necesita ser sostenerme erguida y visible, sin vergüenza. Todavía no he llegado a ese punto. Me siento algo derrotada en el área de la autoestima física. Me siento poco atractiva, poco femenina, poco sensual... ya entienden la idea. Como resultado, constantemente quiero retirarme de las posibilidades de conexión social y de la idea de un futuro romance.

Creo que en el futuro mi "Rise Up" también tomará la forma de la defensa de los derechos de las personas con discapacidad. Estoy aprendiendo, de la manera difícil, lo inaccesible que es el mundo ahora que me desplazo con un andador neurológico y/o una silla de ruedas. Desde las barreras físicas en los edificios públicos hasta la ignorancia de algunas personas que termina aislándome. Mi discapacidad suele reducirse únicamente a mis dificultades para caminar, mientras que los demás aspectos invisibles rara vez son reconocidos. Tengo muchísimo que compartir sobre esto.

Así que sigan atentos.

Vuelvan por aquí de vez en cuando. Creo que encontrarán lecturas interesantes.

P.D. Si alguien está sufriendo lesiones de la médula espinal, enfermedades autoinmunes o problemas neurológicos, no duden en comunicarse conmigo. Con gusto compartiré lo que he aprendido y ofreceré apoyo.

P.D. 2: Durante el último año, hemos visto una creciente hostilidad hacia las comunidades inmigrantes en Estados Unidos, especialmente hacia los latinos. Como hija de inmigrantes peruanos, me niego a esconder mi idioma, mi cultura o mi identidad. Por eso, a partir de ahora, este blog será bilingüe. Mucho cariño para todas las personas hispanohablantes que llaman hogar a este país. Nuestra voz también merece ser escuchada.

One year recovery anniversary through lens of my art journal

September 19th is the one year anniversary of my emergency hospitalization for cervical myelopathy that resulted in cervical surgery (corpectomy and fusions). Three months after that on December 27th, I again had an emergency hospitalization and that resulted in thoracic spinal sugery (T9-12)

You see, my entire spine has sustained a lot of damage over time; to the point that the spinal compression was severe enough for paralysis and fatality. I ended up having two complicated neurosugeries  (cervical and thoracic) over three months. 

I am coming up on my one year anniversary of my first emergency hospitalization/surgery. I want to share with you two different art journal entries I created this year about my recoveries. To hear a much more detailed story with visuals, check out my You Tube video here. 

This first page was made five months post op from my cervical surgery. As you can see, I felt stuck, angry and sad. This was most optimistic page I created at that time. I tried to envision hope with the yellow at top. But falling over and pain were paramount in my mind. The overall sense in this piece is being unable to break through brick walls, tears, pain and not being able to walk or balance. I felt defeated.

In the second art journal spread, I focussed on the physical realm and the emotional realms. 

Having been to hell and back in both those worlds, I have adopted the phoenix as a special animal symbol for myself. Legend has it that the phoenix re-births itself after being consumed by fire. 

Yes. She swooped up beside me and I felt the wisps of flames licking my skin as she flew by.

You still see tears but I am now releasing some emotional tears (blue), not just the red ones of pain and fury. I incorporated butterflies for transformation and drew on the wisdom of my ancestors through the High Priestess tarot card. 

I only used paper that I had drawn on, painted, stamped or altered in some way. I like working in layers. Can you spot the three hospital bands in each art journal piece? They are white, red and yellow. They were color copies of the actual bands I wore for a month. You can find the white band in the video.  This photo cropped it out.

There is so much to say about this first year of recovery. It is like an onion. But what I take away is resilience, acceptance and yet, still I hold onto hope. And maybe one more . . . gratitude. Yes, I'll leave it at that.

Disabilities SD 480p

How I live with my disabilities.

Palestine inspirational card

 I am currently in a card making certification course. As I am studying different techniques, I am making some cards for myself as well as  my homework.

I am thinking of pulling together small sets of my handmade cards that I will offer on my Etsy store. What I have in mind are cards that might not be easy to find such as the pro Palestine one here. Cards on the side of fairness, kindness, anti-bigotry and overall fun cards as well.

Handmade cards are labor intensive and thus costly. Most solo card makers invest a lot of money to produce these small, popular handicrafts. And there is definitely a craft to card making.

I hope that someday handwritten correspondence makes a comeback. Personally, I have always loved writing and receiving letters from loved ones; and it's something I hope to do all of my days. These days people communicate with the use of technology and often bypass tangible handcrafts. But I do think handmade cards will always remain a niche market because there's nothing like receiving a small handicraft with a loving message that you can display on your counter, over your desk, etc
 

Times of repression call for us to become spiritual warriors. Let your inner bruja out!

 

When times get tough, brujas (witches) start dusting off their wands, potions, banishing salts… And these are tough times.

In case you've been living under a rock, the orange one's xenophobic immigration policies are setting up an Everglades internment camp for immigrant-looking folks - with no due process! I say "immigrant-looking" because the authorities need no proof of your immigration status. They just need to suspect you could be an "illegal" and they can cart you off. This ever expanding camp is close to where I am living, next to the Everglades.

Now, in all seriousness, I am also a good Catholic girl that loves God, Jesus and Holy Spirit. I just believe there are many paths to the divine in our world and I am called by various practices. Essentially, I live with a reverence for the divine feminine that manifests itself in the natural word and within ourselves. I believe my ancestors can be a source of guidance and inspiration spiritually. I cry for Jesus' suffering, just as I cry for all women burned and murdered for being "witches" (or just thorns-in-the-side of the ruling patriarchy of her times).

These days, I cringe listening and reading news. So much suffering and attacks. So much disconnect from what is whole, beautiful, sacred. It has been so devastating to me, that I am shoring up my spiritual strength. Part of that is reinvigorating my spiritual practices and connections with my spiritual community. 

Adding insult to injury, last month, a woman who makes her living as a psychic  told me I had some bad mojo hexing me. She created a nightmare scenario and told me I needed (her) psychic protection asap. And get this - all for the modest sum of $6,000! I was very disappointed.  She exposed herself as a scammer, trying to take advantage of what she felt was an easy mark; someone desperate to walk. She told me without this psychic protection I would never walk again and my bad luck, including health-wise, would continue. It spooked me for sure. But I know a scammer when I meet one. Needless to say, this experience only reinforced my knowledge that I needed to reconnect to my center, my divine and practice my spirituality with more concerted efforts.

I do believe that everyone needs psychic protection at all times. Negative energies are all around us; but I also know that I'm not going to pay someone I just met $6000 to do it for me. This was a wake up call. I need to recommit to my spiritual practice and protect myself from harmful energies. 

Around this same time, a friend of mine passed on information about a mutual acquaintance, Z!, that is running a find-your-divinity virtual group. It was sort of an FYI thing and at first I declined. But after the yukky experience with the scammer, I rethought this group. I contacted the host, Z!, and asked questions. Now I am enjoying these weekly zoom gatherings. Z! leads somatic exercises to help us get centered in our bodies and learn how to listen deeply to ourselves for our own truths and divine purposes. The picture to the right is Z! I recommend them as a consultant.

This recent inner struggle over my spiritual authority has resolved into a creative surge. I have been working a lot on creative projects and I have some ideas for paintings I would like to create. But my time is stretched thin these days. I am sure I will get to them. You may see a spectacular tree and/or a rising phoenix in my gallery soon.

(Thanks to Canva for placing my 2024 Halloween bruja in an Everglades detention camp, doing a banishing). 

Baby compassion

I've had many friends over the years ask me how I became an activist. Usually, I tell them about my university days. A period of time when many young people become politicized. But for me, my politicization seems to have been with me as far back as I can remember. As a young child I knew nothing of politics, but I had a heart; and compassion allowed me to see injustices around me and I responded with sadness and a desire to help. 

Around the age of 4 years, my mother and I had a fun lunch ritual. She often gave me one hotdog (which I still love to this day) and I would sit at the top of our kitchen stairs that went down to our basement, my back to her, doing kitchen things. This kept her youngest close to her,  out of trouble.* 

I would peel back the outer layer of hotdog casing and eat the dog slowly, relishing every bite. Everyday, I sat at the top of the stairs and my sightline would look below the stair railing because I was so small. This is not the actual staircase but you get the idea. The railing was held up by hardware that held brackets in place under the railing. Our railing had many more brackets all the way down the stairs. Kind of like this: Now, my baby imagination did not see stair rail brackets. Rather, I saw a row of arms and hands shackled. Can you see the similaritiy? 

I remember so clearly showing my mother over and over and lamenting over all these arms chained in a row. I cried several times. My mother kept trying to tell me that it was just hardware, but my young mind saw people suffering. 

To this day, I am baffled at how I even knew about shackles or people being imprisoned at that young age; but apparently I did. I remember talking daily to the arms and people I thought were attached to them. I would comfort them and tell them I would free them soon. I would lift things to their hands, thinking I was giving them food or drink. 

Once, my mother took a screwdriver out of my hand because I was trying to figure out how to use it. I had asked my mom what was the mechanism that kept them there and she told me the brackets were "screwed" in. And she told me how screws worked. She thought it would make me see them as just hardware. But to me, she gave me an idea for an escape plan.

My many attempts to free them were thwarted and I was doomed to perpetually be sad knowing they were there. I prayed for them. Eventually, as I got into kindergarten and first grade, my mom allowed me to hang out by myself in the next room; and I had my hotdog in front of cartoons. I guess cartoons erased my memory as I do not remember sitting and talking to the "prisoners" much at those ages. I bet my mom was relieved! 

So, I guess I should say, that my activism started around the age of four; when I became conscious of  "injustice" and "suffering" and a desire to help people suffering. Just goes to show that most social movements are run by leaders motivated by love. Not money or fame. True leaders are just able to see clearly. And they react with compassion and a desire to help.

* I also have memories of this same time period where my mom allowed me to "play bruja" - witch - by filling a pot in the sink and I would stand on a chair and concoct potions and tell her fanciful tales full of good-witch magic. Jajaja, even back then, I liked to tell stories.