One would think that going dancing should be easy. After my twenties it became harder and harder and complicated. There weren’t Ubers and I didn’t live in the city. That night in 2002 that I danced on a tiny little dance floor, muy pegado con la gente, squished in tight with the folks, in the mountains, dancing merengue and bachata, I was in love with dancing all over again.
I was a club girl, totally. The night club, the Mission in Hartford was a favorite. One of my best friends also danced there too. We probably brushed arms, legs, boobs and butts, we didn’t know each other then, but we reminisce about that time. We were both in love with the music, the people and of course the dancing. I didn’t grow up dancing merengue or bachata or salsa. I grew up with disco and r&b in the background. I won’t get into my musical tastes.
Trying to recreate that feeling of dancing in the mountains of Dominican in Connecticut, well it just didn’t work. I think there are several missing parts, family, open air and just being able to walk across the street to the Colmado, where the dance floor exists is HUGE. During Luis’ first years in Connecticut we tried to find a place to dance and yeah, no success. Let me tell you why… Entrance fee, nope. High priced drinks, nope. Competition dancers (at least in the Latino dancing world), such a turn off for Luis, nope. If we drank, we had to drive home so one of us needed to be careful, nope. People don’t want to dance til 12 midnight, nope. Not the right music, nope. Switching partners, I guess that is an island thing, nope. And on and on!
Sometimes when we come here to DR we don’t get to dance because someone passed away and therefore there is no music, nor dancing. It is the way here and I don’t question it. It is just sad for us as it is our only little coveted time to dance how we like to.
Last night, here in the mountains, I danced, we danced and it was great. And today I am sore! That is funny, as I am working hard on strengthening my bones. I want to dance more but I just haven’t done it. Zumba is not my thing lol. Either way no judgment here, but my source of inspiration showed up last night in great form! Here she is!
Duvina, as she is called, raised her family and has grandchildren who live close by but she mostly lives alone. She has a hike to get to her house but she walks everywhere. She always leaves her little sandals at the door when entering someone’s home. She is then barefoot and is maybe 85. No one really knows, nor does she.
Always a mixed crowd- all ages.Luis dancing with his mom. She loves this!
Berimon, in the red shirt, is a cousin. They both are dancing hard and mostly that is how people dance minus the hard grinding at the end of the video lol. That is the youth, occasionally you will see older folks grinding.
There is a band that plays everything. They were great at keeping the crowd going. They held a competition, best dancer wins 100.00 dollars, not pesos! And Duvina becomes one of the contestants, wow. My hero, everyone’s hero. The contest is something new around here. The guy who hired the band asked them to do it. As it is holiday time many folks who live in USA are here to be with family. Some folks who work all year, hard as hell doing the hard ass jobs that most Americans won’t do, save their money to come back to DR and enjoy it, be generous with it. In some cases it isn’t as sweet as I make it out to be. But in this case, this guy is always generous with the community. He raised the award to 300.00 and basically gave each couple dancing 100.00. I won’t get into how little people make here. As I said, generous.
Duvina and cousin Marino doing their thing!
As Christmas Eve is upon us I wish everyone health, safety, family in good health and some form of happiness even if it is just a good time dancing in your kitchen.
What is the big deal? The big deal is that I have completed 6 classes towards my teacher certification. Both boys are in public school now and yes, I even started a teaching job three weeks ago. I have one more class and the Praxis test and then I will be finished. This past week I finished my final exams for my art classes at Tunxis Community College here in CT. Little did I know that when I signed up for these classes I would find the thing that makes me sing, the artistic impulse that has been tucked away for a very long time. I know I am a good student and I was in “student” mode. On our first day we had to write a note to our selves and the professor gave them back to us this week before our critiques. I had forgotten about the note. Reading my note addressed to myself, I was filled with awe. I wished myself “Lucky” success as if that “y” was an astrick of glitter or sparkle or fairy dust that would grant my wishes. I suppose it was a spelling error, no matter, to my surprise I did a what I set out to do!
While I was home schooling our kids, raising our kids all my creative energy went into that. I am a very good multitasker but my creative flow concerning my art, well it was not flowing.
While attending classes, of course I saw myself as a student. Not sure why I feel the need to compartmentalize but being artist and being student where not mutual, not one in the same. I went into my art classes as a student not as an artist. However, my artist self appeared and is here to stay.
Part of this certification process allowed me to take classes in my area of interest. Art classes – YEAH! I wanted in person, not on line, something practical like Electronic Drawing and Painting and something new to me, Illustration. The way I felt about my decision was my willingness to be super open and ready for a challenge, learn something new, just jump in. A prerequisite for these classes was drawing 2. In my undergraduate experience I had taken 6 drawing classes, I think that qualified me. But I had to have a discussion with the enrollment person to verify this… slightly annoying to me. I bring this up to say that after I started to produce work for my assignments and I shared with my peers, friends, family they also forgot that I DO have this experience or ability. Maybe I forgot too.
My life is busier than it has ever been and I somehow found the time to focus, be in art flow, leave my work area…aka dining room table and leave it a mess, spend 5 minutes working, go do life and then come back. I was switching hats, artist, mom, student, wife, friend and back again. I MISSED this so much. The assignments from both classes were every bit of a lot and a little of all of what I needed. My professor, Jackie Decker, was amazing, joyful and was the perfect cure to my missing artist.
I know time and perspective have a lot to do with perception but my youthful art making days were filled with dark, intense, questioning, and provocative artwork all of which I loved. I was even a snob about pretty things, I was anti sweet and beautiful things. We joked about it, I still have a prickly edge going on today but nothing like the past. I didn’t mean to and as you can see below, that edge is still there. But is different now.
Wasteland WarriorEmperor Tamarin as Samurai Aloe Vera-fruit, flower, veggie portrait
I bring all this up to say that not only did I tap into my flow and get into my creative groove but I also found a way into making art that is sweet, and yes, beautiful. I have experienced so much trauma in my life, I deserve to be able to make art that is free of that. In our first critique in the illustration class, I was expecting what I was familiar with- harsh, critical and even brutal. Please do not get me wrong. I thrived on that, like give it to me because I want my work to be the best. However, that is not how this professor works. She moved and spoke from a place of joy and sweetness and she uplifted her students, and more importantly -ME.
All excuses aside I showed up to my final for electronic drawing and painting with what I consider unfinished work. I have an idea that has been in my heart for a few years now and I have not been able to translate it to paper. I decided to attempt the ideas for my final. It took me a while to “just do it”. With starting a new job and the kids’ baseball and life there really wasn’t much time to “finish it”. And without getting caught up in all the art speak, my unfinished pieces were in fact perfectly finished. After hearing the responses from my classmates and my professor I was filled with such emotion I wanted to cry. Not unusual for me but it is a truth. Pure joy – wow.
The details of my ideas are not a surprise to my family and friends. I have been wanting to write and illustrate a children’s book but I was not happy with my ideas. They were not illustrating a feeling that I wanted to portray. However, I never imagined that by the end of my semester class I would be closer to my goal … and well, I am! I have set my summer plans in motion. 20-30 illustrations ? Agent finding me a publisher? Publisher saying yes?
Rio Bakes Cakes. I am a boy and I bake cakes. I made these images in Procreate.
My boys inspire me in so many ways. The baking experience brought joy to our whole family. We learned to love deserts and we even became aficionados, aka desert snobs. This story is about that joy of learning, living, loving and just being. I thank my boys everyday for what they have taught me. Through my art classes this semester I was able to find my way. I am forever grateful. A book is in the works.
In December of 2002 I found myself in the emergency room as I thought I had malaria. Malaria? Yes Malaria. According to the CDC travel center, I had to take malaria prevention medication during my trip to the mountians of Dominican Republic in the spring of 2002. After meeting peace corp folks while I was there, I decided to ditch the medication at their recommendation. And I didn’t take anymore upon my subsequent trips in June nor November or ever again. I was 32 at the time. After doctor visits and bloodwork, the source of my feverish night sweats and malaise was clear. I was in menopause. And to add to the gut punch, my ovaries were measured, they were tiny the size that belonged to a woman of 45 years of age. Imagine my confusion. I was also told I would never have children. If you know me, I wasn’t going to let anyone tell me what I could and couldn’t do. Never mind the fact that I never wanted to have children, or get married for that matter. For the record, I want to share this as I have never written it down. This is my story.
Me and Luis, summer, 2003. Los Dajaos, Dominican Republic. *before filters.
In the summer of 2002 I met Luis, my husband. In October of 2003 he flew to JFK, NY from Dominican Republic and we began our life together. There are many beautiful details about how our life started but this story is not about that. I did not travel to DR with the intention of falling in love, yet I did and here we are.
I know my story about infertility is not unique. I also can’t say that anything of what happened is scientifically perfect or willed out of desire or mere luck. My heart goes out to all the women whose story is different, I see you. It became abundantly clear that I am my mother’s daughter. She too had early onset of menopause in her 30’s. I never thought it would happen to me too, she didn’t either. There was no one guiding us to say “hey maybe you want to think about this”. Although, I probably would not have listened if someone had.
Even if I had wanted to do the in vitro thing I couldn’t because there weren’t any eggs to use, so I was told. At the time I was into yoga and meditation and my teacher suggested acupuncture. I scoffed at such a thought, I am a wimp around needles. However, love changed my tune. I was married and we wanted children, I wanted children. A long time friend’s sister is an acupuncturist in West Hartford, CT. Soon after my first appointments with her I was addicted to the feelings of energy and calm that became my body. Number one, I was stressed, number two, my menastral cycle was short and number three, my blood was thin. My stress was internal and deep.
I made changes, I began a heavy root, dark greens and stewed meat diet to strengthen my blood. I had been a vegetarian for about 10 years. I will not get into those details nor belittle my life in my 20’s. If I wanted to give my body a chance to produce a baby I had to change. I drank medicinal teas, received acupuncture twice a week and worked on being less stressed. And of course in order to have a baby there is sex. I took my temperature daily, took notes and timed sex to help make a baby, fertilize an egg that was said to not be there. In 2005 I miscarried.
There are very few photographs of me pregnant or things that people do to remember or record a pregnancy, just my words. I am not superstitious but clearly I acted in superstitious ways. And the reality is when I look back on the situation my artistic self, my photographic self wanted nothing to do with the moment. I compartmentalized things, for my safety.
I remember a thoughtful conversation with my head of school, she was genuinely concerned for me and my health and of course for women. She was the head of the beloved all girls boarding school, Miss Porter’s School, her name, Burch Ford. I admired her and her dedication to girls and the school even when I disagreed with her and some of her actions. She truly wanted to know if stress was the root of my situation. She wanted a definitive answer. I didn’t have one to give her. But in 2021, I think we all know that stress is a factor for many ills, and my family has sure had is share of generational trauma, deep rooted stress.
The day that the doctor called me to tell me there was nothing else they/we could do, I had intended on calling them to share that I was pregnant again. Two years in the making, that little heart beating on the monitor was a sight to see. My pregnancy was amazing, I walked on clouds. Mostly, it was regular and uneventful. What helped it stay that way was the doula that we hired to help me. A favorite student of mine recalled that I was a total bitch during my pregnancy, that is not how I remember it.
At the time my mother was in Florida and my mother in law, in Dominican Republic. I wanted to be sure that I had someone in my corner. Luis’ English was ok and all of this baby stuff was so new. There were no close friends who were having babies. The doula was my life line, she helped me not be afraid of a wonderful and natural moment. The day that Rio was born we had dropped my mom off at the airport early in the morning, she missed his birth. She had been visiting for my baby shower.
That evening my water broke during dinner while we were in the dinning room at Porter’s, my job. It was a surprise to say the least. The moments leading up to this birth were unforgettable. My midwife said to hang tight and she would see me in the morning, ha! Back at our house, Luis was nervous and I was rooting in my bed trying to get comfortable. He offered to make me tea and proceeded to boil water in the serving tea pot not the boiling tea pot. It was at that point I decided we needed the doula. Luis was a nervous wreck. She arrived around 10:30pm. Rolling and rooting in my bed, I didn’t really have signs or contractions to say the baby was coming anytime soon, also no pain. But some time after 11pm I announced the need to go to the bathroom. That moment, me sitting on the toilet, I screamed… “the baby is coming!!”.
The miracle of Rio is that he arrived, I became pregnant against stupid odds. He also came into the world with lighting speed. I couldn’t make it to the birthing center to give birth naturally with the doula and midwife. We rushed to the emergency room at UConn, a 5 minute ride, speeding of course. It was below freezing temperatures and I needed all windows down, I was panting like a dog. The doula pleaded that I don’t push. She was afraid, as she shared with me later, that I would have the baby in the car. It was too cold that night. I was wheeled into emergency and told again “do not push”. The doula was miraculously at my side, poor Luis was parking the car and when the doctor arrived they were ready for me to push. A few pushes later baby Rio arrived. Luis missed his birth while parking the car.
A birth happened and it was incredibly uneventful and yet beautiful. My doula asked the emergency doctors for me to birth in the way I wanted, naturally. As time was of the essence, there was no time to be hooked up, or medicated or anything for that matter. All I could do was deliver my baby, our baby, naturally and in minutes. His name is Rio Jose, named with an earth name and named after the Joe’s in both of our families. Rio arrived that night of January 15th at 11:58pm to be exact, he came two weeks early. As UConn is a teaching hospital, our birth story of speed became the whispered story, many came in to see me and Rio.
Adoni, 5 months old. Farmington, CT on the grounds of Miss Porter’s School, 2008. Photographer, Solangel Patino.
Was there emotional turmoil at this time in my life, sure. But I choose to remember the beauty, trust me this is not easy to write about. We were deeply in love, acupuncture kept me calm and focused, and our doula gave me freedom to know that I could birth naturally. Our second baby came 22 months later. This time we were prepared. When my water broke we drove immediately to the birthing center. This birth lasted 3 hours. My water broke at 6:30pm and Adoni Cedar was born on that night of November 2nd at 9:30pm. So call it what you will, a miracle or two, faith, acupuncture, eating meat, or LOVE.
A room with a view. It was my view inside looking out in June 2015. I was recovering from a surgery, one that thankfully saved my life. I had a colon resection in order to see if the cancer that was found during a colonoscopy had metastasized. It had not. My recovery room had a view of my house, the back of my house. I live a 5 minute walk from Bristol Hospital, where I had my surgery.
I can’t really explain in words, the feeling and comfort I felt knowing I could see my house from my hospital room. I also was on heavy duty pain meds, so my feelings were a bit intense. I swore I had taken a photograph of that view but after skimming back through I regretfully didn’t. I do have a photograph of the plants and flowers from friends and family, in that window, but not the “view”.
Fast forward to the present moment. My view, from my house, from my back porch, from my garden, is of Bristol Hospital. Occasionally, I have a fleeting memory of my time in the hospital but always I am thankful. The building is always there to remind me.
Fernandez Family
This current stay home, stay safe has me seeing the hospital a lot. And my thoughts are full of hope and sadness. I am thinking about all the folks working at the hospital and the folks who have been admitted to the hospital, and everyone all over our country, Dominican Republic and the world. Wow, that is overwhelming.
My family helping out.
On my end of the street there are 4 medical people and several essential people who live here. Once upon a time in my former art life I made several public art pieces, including a banner that was done without permission and I hung it from a building in downtown Hartford. I am still not sure how I really pulled that off. Those were the days when I was more passionate about all things art. This week I felt inspired to make a banner to hang on the backside of our house for all the people at Bristol Hospital and our town of Bristol, CT.
My view. Another view.
From Marlo and the boys, Thank you. Thank you to everyone who is doing the hard work. ❤️
With Love, Marlo and the Boys 