Tag Archives: Yolanda

Santiago, Yolanda and Friends, For Cellpic Sunday, May 4, 2025

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For CellPic Sunday

Addendum 3 Clown Nose Contagion

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Yolanda’s been feeling a bit of congestion. I told her to stay home, but she insisted on coming to work today! Hope she doesn’t pass it on to Pasiano.

How does a Clown Nose Contagion begin? If you’ve missed the earlier part of the story, go HERE.

Intruder Addendum

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Roo as a kitten.

Intruder cat trying to break in.

If you haven’t read yesterday”s blog about my intruder cat, go HERE to read the story before you go on reading this post. This is the happy ending. This morning she was still here, glued to the glass door of the kitchen so I had to nudge her away with the door to get it open to feed the cats. The other two cats rushed inside to get away from her and luckily their dishes from last night’s feeding were still inside. I kept inturder cat at bay while I got a scoop of dry and a packet of wet catfood and filled the dishes, but my cats wouldn’t come to eat even though the door was closed, because they could see the intruder through the glass. So, I had to move their dishes into the living room out of sight of i.c. who continued to yeowl at the door.

I was hoping if i didn’t feed her that she’d go away, but that hadn’t worked. Just then Oscar (Yolanda’s son) got back from walking Zoe and Morrie and Diego and saw what was going on. I asked if he knew the story and he said yes, Yolanda had told them and that she liked the cat. I asked if they had a cat and he said no. Then I asked if he thought Yolanda might adopt the cat and he shook his head enthusiastically “Yes!” So, long story short, I found a small carrier in the garage and drove him home with “their” new kitty. I told him I thought perhaps this kitty was a reincarnated Roo, one of the four kittens left on my doorstep a few years ago. I kept them all but two had disappeared after a year or so. Roo had longer hair, but was white like this cat, so perhaps she’d been reincarnated and had sought us out and that was why she was so insistent re/ establishing contact. If you read my friend Rita’s comment on the other blog, perhaps you’ll be convinced that it is so.  If you want to see Roo breaking in as a kitten, watch this YouTube video:

And if you want to know the ending to the story, go to the link below: https://judydykstrabrown.com/2022/09/26/an-amazing-ending-to-the-cat-intruder-story/

Yolanda for the dVerse Poet’s Pub

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Click on photos to enlarge.

Yolanda

She plucks the dirty clothes
like field flowers from the basket,
her journey to the laundry
another joyful excursion 
from room to room in my house.
Did she enjoy her vacation? I ask.
She shakes her head no.
She’d rather be working,
she insists.

Every task,
fulfilled to perfection,
builds her pleasure in the day.
She dusts the picture frames,
folds the towels,
steals her dusting cloth back from the playful puppy,
then takes the dish sponge from my hand.
Let her, she says,
and you go write a poem!

Y, en espanol. Gracias, Lisa.  oxoxox

Yolanda

Ella arranca la ropa sucia
como flores de campo de la canasta,
su viaje a la lavandería
otra excursión
alegre de habitación en habitación en mi casa.
¿Disfrutó de sus vacaciones? Pregunto.
Ella sacude la cabeza no.
Ella preferiría estar trabajando,
ella insiste.

Cada tarea,
cumplido a la perfección,
construye su placer en el día.
Ella desempolva los marcos de los cuadros,
dobla las toallas,
roba su tela de polvo del cachorro juguetón,
 luego toma la esponja del plato de mi mano.
Déjala, dice,
 ¡y vas a escribir un poema!

A double quadrille for the dVerse Poets Pub, the task set by Lisa is to compose a quadrille on the topic of work. To see the prompt itself and the wonderful poems it quotes to name the task, go HERE. And to read poems that answer the prompt, go HERE.

“Why Don’t You Let Me Iron That for You?”

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“Why Don’t You Let Me Iron That for You?”

When there is a wrinkle, she works fast to smooth it out.
She loves to plug the iron in and move it all about.
Steam wafting all around her, she executes arm action.
She finds it scintillating dealing with each new infraction
of the rule that each garment should hang seamless and true,
without a single furrow dividing it from you.
She feels no reluctance in relieving clothes of wrinkles—
no puckers and no creases. No scrunches and no crinkles.
Because of her I’m faultless. My wardrobe is sublime,
for in Yolanda’s view, a wrinkled garment is a crime!

 

Yolanda has been my housekeeper, accomplice and friend for twenty years now. She rearranges my belongings, leaving little jokes, removes dust and fingerprints and generally rules the roost when it comes to the state of my house. In addition, neither I nor any houseguest can leave the house without meeting with her discerning eye. and if she spots a wrinkle, you can be sure she’ll whip the iron out and insist that it be dealt with. I’ve never yet won an argument to the contrary.

Prompt words today are scintillate, smooth, waft, reluctant and fast.

After Four Hours Sleep

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After Four Hours Sleep

Her key quietly turning in a lock three rooms away
rarely meets my consciousness at this time of day.
She must think me a layabout when she arrives at nine
and finds me soundly sleeping, blissfully supine.

The dishes that I washed last night, she places on a shelf
(The ones I didn’t find the time to put away myself.)
She sorts clothes from the hamper, each color in its mound,
and takes them to the laundry room, all without a sound.

What time she arises I’ve never thought to ask,
but before she climbs the hill to this thrice-weekly task,
she has her family duties and the morning meal to fix.
Surely she must start her busy day at least at six.

When finally at nine-thirty she hears me leave my hive,
she must give a prayer of thanks to find I’m still alive.
And though she doesn’t find me to be demanding or haughty,
nonetheless this sleeping-in must seem to her most naughty.

How can she know I lay awake until four hours ago?
She cannot know the truth of it unless I tell her so.
No book will ever tell the tale of how I tossed and turned,
immolating castoff words in midnight oil I burned.

Words can be a blessing when they find a way to sort themselves—
lining up on paper where they’ve learned how to comport themselves,
but making lists of words to use did not bring on sleep.
Instead, I lay with open eyes, my thoughts all in a heap.

And when I finally sorted them, deciding which to reap,
knowing which to throw away and which ones I should keep,
(a wordsmith’s substitution for merely counting sheep)
I closed up my computer and finally fell asleep.

 

Prompt words are layabout, haughty, sure, immolate and book.

Leslie’s Flowers

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My friend Leslie gave me a huge gorgeous bouquet when she left to go back to the States. When Yolanda came to work the next day, she was admiring it. I asked what her favorite flowers were and she said the lilies, so I split the bouquet in two. Here she is with her half. I’ll show you mine tomorrow.

IMG_7578

For Cee’s flower of the day.

Birthday Reflections

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What person doesn’t, as they approach and then enter the year in their life that marks the year a parent died, feel some trepidation? My father, my grandfather and even my husband died at the age of 70, and some little perversity of my mind has feared all year long that I would join them.  All my life, I have avoided black cats who crossed my path and walking under ladders. When I spill salt, I throw a bit over my left shoulder, just in case. It is not that I believe, necessarily , in these superstitions, but nonetheless, I avoid them. So it is with dangers in my seventieth year.  I stayed home more.  Avoided crowds and travel. I wrote more. Got my house in order—to a degree. I lavished attention on my animals, hoping they would remember me fondly, found surrogate parents for all but the cats. 

Poor cats.  I think those cats, however, represented that sane part of me who knew I would survive this milestone. I would be here to care for them for a good many years.  Perhaps twenty-one. Perhaps twenty-six.  My mother died at the age of 91, my paternal grandmother at 96. Perhaps it would be their genetic makeup in me that would determine my lifespan.  All ridiculous meanderings of a mind left too much in solitude, by choice.  Today I turned 71, riddled by amoebas as I was last year in the week approaching my birthday, but battling back.

Last night one of my best and oldest friends called to talk me into my birthday.  As we talked, Forgottenman sent a Happy Birthday message precisely at Midnight. I opened the cards sent by my sister.  She said they were pre-birthday cards. I await the official one. 

When my alarm went off at 8 this morning to awaken me for my morning dose of antibiotics, dogs and cats remained silent. A strange occurrence.  Usually, at the first signs of my stirring, they set up their morning cacophony. This morning, however, all remained silent.  It was fifteen minutes later, after I’d read Facebook greetings and checked blog statistics, that they set up a terrific clamor.  I heard a gate creak open, although no one was scheduled for work this morning.  A key turned in the front lock. My bedroom door opened.  It was Yolanda and family: Juan Pablo, Oscar, and Yoli, with chihuahua Bryan in arms. Oscar carried flowers. Juan Pablo a gift. It was a surprise early-morning birthday visit before they all drove Yolanda to work in La Ribera. I made coffee, poured fruit juice for the kids and small shots of a special pistachio mescal for the adults. Not me, as I’m on antibiotics. We took photos, tried to introduce Bryan the dog to my dogs.  Oscar cracked open the door to the doggie domain just a bit. My dogs, sniffing and curious, were friendly.  Bryan, the runt, snarled to assert his authority, there in the arms of Oscar, his protector.

We took photos and they departed. The amoebas that seemed to be in abeyance yesterday have returned full-fold.  The late afternoon lunch I had planned with friends, (a tentative appointment since they all, too, are suffering from amoebas) will probably not happen after all. My appointment with a doctor will. I’ll see her for relief from this yearly visitor that, when it departs, always leaves me with an increased enjoyment of life and health. A profound appreciation of just feeling normal. 

As I looked for something to remove from my laptop so I could move the photos you’ll see below there to work with them, I found this poem written a few months ago.  I’ve printed it before and then forgotten it, but reading it today as a stranger might, I realized that it encapsulates a lot of what I’ve been feeling this past year; so here it is again, read with a new appreciation of what it means. 

Swimming to Sandy Bottom

Working my way to sandy bottom,
through murky waters growing clear.
Through all the things I daily think of
down to the plain facts that I fear.

Swimming down to sandy bottoms,
down to past truths and future fears.
The daily details float behind as
I face old matters in arrears.

If my whole life should tell a story,
how do the details all add up?
I’ve always thought time was a sieve, but
perhaps I’ll find it was a cup.

Working my way to sandy bottom,
the flotsam of my years floats near.
All the past terrors and past glories,
and future truths I’ve come to fear.

Working my way to sandy bottom,
no oxygen to draw my breath.
Working our ways to sandy bottom,
we spend our lives to buy our death.

All the glories and the triumphs.
All the failures and the fears.
All the trophies we’ve collected,
and all the tattered, used-up years.

Working our ways to sandy bottoms,
will there be gold grains in the sands?
Too late to spend discovered riches,
they slip like lives right through our hands.

Working our ways to sandy bottoms,
our lives lift up as we swim down,
As we leave the past behind us,
we find our future all around.

Yolanda tells me that when Yoli goes to school, they have to be sure to wind her hair up and put it on top of her head as there are people who steal the hair if children and women with long hair to sell it for wigs. Some world.
I was caught by surprise this morning while I was still in bed and so didn’t have time to brush my hair or put on makeup. That is obvious in the photo.

Click on first photo and then on right arrows to enlarge all.

Wednesday with Yolanda and Yoli

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Wednesday with Y & Y

I usually get in a good conversation with Yolanda when she is here every Monday, Wednesday and Friday, but I haven’t spent time with her aside from those days when she’s here to clean since Christmas, when her family joined me for Christmas Eve.  I had noticed earlier that I’d overlooked her birthday on June 3, so when I asked her if she had any other jobs after she left my house on Wednesday and she said no, I asked if she’d like to go on a shopping trip with me to get a belated birthday present and then out for lunch and a good talk.  Happily, she said yes and we decided to ask her daughter Yoli, 6 years old, to go with us since she’s presently on school vacation.

Off we went to pick up Yoli in the village and then off to Walmart, where Yolanda decided she’d like a pair of shoes. I persuaded her to get a cooler pair that the first pair she picked, which looked pretty unappealing.  Yoli was next.  She picked out a ballerina Barbie, clad in her signature pink. She had no need for new shoes, since she already had on the coolest shoes I’ve every seen, complete with bunny ears and tail.

We were then off to the food court at the mall.  Yolanda and I had Trips famous burgers and fries, but Yoli had this rather overwhelming dish of Chinese food.  She ate all the noodles, which she called “Espagetti.”  The rest of the meal went home for her dad to consume, I imagine.

Fun day–away from the computer!  I love talking to Yolanda, who has known me long enough to know how to speak to me according to my limited Spanish vocabulary.  Yoli was much quieter than the last time I’d taken them out to dinner for a celebration.  On that occasion, she sang for most of the meal. When she ran out of songs she knew, she just made up new ones.  I’m sure I have photos of that occasion on my blog.  I’ll see if I can find a link.

The day before I’d planned a different spontaneous outing with my friend Glen.  I’ll tell you all about it in another post. (Yes, I’m trying hard to encourage myself to “step away from the computer!”)

Please click on the photos to enlarge them.

Frannie and the New Toy

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I bought Yolanda one of those new (rather expensive) self- wringing mops at Costco.  It is  microfiber and the strings were looped at the end with a twist handle so you could just circulate the handle and the mop would wring itself without having to put your hands on the wet part.  The other day I asked how she liked it and she said it was fine, but she had cut the ends off so it was like her old mop.  Oy vey!!! At any rate, it is just as good a toy for the cats either way.  Here Frannie does a little dance with Yolanda. Usually, she puts them out when she mops, but thought you’d like to see the fun.

(Click on first photo for larger views of all.)