I am girl from Caracas who followed her heart, moved to the United States and ended up falling in love with it (and a handsome American gentleman, too). You are welcomed to peek into what I see through my foreign eyes.
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Valentina Vitols
Intersecting with Intersect: "An afternoon of pie making"
“All peach pie lovers are men, if only on the inside. I met a peach pie lover from Seattle once. She told me that adding cayenne to cinnamon and consuming it in a peach pie will make you grow hair on your palms. Some people are scared to love peach pie for this very reason. Those that aren’t afraid join a long line of people who know that there is nothing more delicious than loving what you love. Even if desire makes you undesirable. Even if it grows a beard on your high five.”
Poem by Kate Lebo
I began to write as a beta user for Intersect a few months ago. A Seattle-based startup company with a very interesting vision, Intersect is based on the idea of bringing together storylines and intersections, all via community-sourced content that lead people to find others with interests in common.
I enjoy people's stories (especially those with historical content), and I am deep in love with the "Thank You" button--you'll have to visit them to find about this fantastic feature. The community in Intersect is supportive, charming and always willing to comment others lines and photographs.
Intersecting with Intersect
I am embarking on several new adventures at a time, and one of these is this blog, My Foreign Eyes. I've been caressing the idea, playing with it, putting it back to the memory chest for a few months, and then letting it come back to poke me. Finally, I'm letting it come out to life.
I'm going to be feeding this little project with content made for it, and also with the contributions and posts I'm writing at other outlets like Intersect. My latest story in there, "An afternoon of pie making", features photographs and texts about Kate Lebo, a Seattle-based poet and pie maker. In the course of three hours, I documented one of her creative crust-fruit filling whirls. Also on this entry, I talk about the concept of American pie being foreign to me, until a group of fine ladies in Seattle unveiled its warm and undeniable importance.
To read "An afternoon of pie making" and see the photos of that magic pie making session, please click here.
Last letter to my dog, Rufus
No. It wasn't just a dog, he was a beloved family member.
And I wasn't there to say goodbye.
Dear Rufus,
¡Hola Perrito! Last time I saw you was eight months ago. You were looking good, lean and muscular as usual, your round, black eyes slightly tired but hey, you looked damn hot for a ten-year old English Bulldog.
Two weeks ago, you decided to leave us. You were good enough to wait until I was with part of the family in Florida so we could get the news together. It was devastating but comforting being around my Dad and Eduardo, so we could look at each other with sad eyes, trying to keep it together. I am thankful that you were lovingly taken care of, too, and that you decided to leave without traumatic events or illnesses casting a shadow on your wonderful dog life.
You know, mi amor, now I live very far away from where we used to live, from our home. I left my heart with you, in the gardens of the house where you froliced, slept and pooped for so many years, the same place where I used to sit at for a breathe of air and grow my hundred Bromealiads. That garden where you used to sunbathe at, sitting on your bottom, and where we walked together by my dad's banana trees. That is and will always be one my favorite places on earth, and I know it was one of yours, too. Every time I'm having a hard time, I remember us sitting next to the odd-shaped pool, you laying down, me caressing your back. It soothes me. I wish, doggie, I could do that one more time. Who would imagine that, when I did it back in February, it was going to be the last time.
I used to imagine how your human voice would sound like; you had the smoothest, most elegant barking I've heard in a dog. I daydreamed of you using Skype to talk to me, or using email to keep me posted about your life, your daily evening quarrels with Dora, and your night patrolling adventures. Ever since I left Caracas, I thought about you and Dora every single day. You two have been my morning prayer, and one of the few things that keep me tied to our hometown.
When you passed away, among many other dear memories, I remembered the time when we competed together, and how hours of waiting turned into another opportunity to bond. You were fine with Dog Shows, even bored about them. You kept your cool. You paraded with such graceful pace, it made you into a multi-champion. I was always proud to tears, and aware that that adventure was only a brief one. After all that was water under the bridge, your medals would still fill me with pride, but at the end, what was important to me were our walks, our staring contests, your lack of tail and full body wags, your loving companionship and your sneezes.
Oh, and your tormented begging cries and drooling over forbidden food. You liked telenovelas. I remember when the cook and housekeeper turned them on, you'd walk to the den where the TV was to lay down and watch, and how I'd tip toe to watch you, staring at the screen, head on paw, following how the dark-haired, drama-driven-let's-call-him "Alejandro" was telling the thin, trembling, mascara-messy-face-let's-call-her "Marjorie" how much he loved her. My giggles would draw your attention away for a second, but just that. You'd look at me briefly, lift an eyebrow, sigh and go back to the culebrón.We will never forget when you arrived to your new home, gorgeous, scared pup who wouldn't come out of the crate. We let you get used to the new environment, and waited for you to come out. Once you stepped your paws into our home, we warmly welcomed you, puppy. You were our first dog. I was already a lawyer, and my brothers had graduated from college, too. And we begged for you, like little kids. You fulfilled our childhood dream when we were already grown-ups, and it was one of the best experiences of our lives.
You were then and for ten-and-a-half years, our poised, clever, snoring and loving brindle and white puppy with tens of nicknames. Then you just kept flying above and over any expectations we had. You were simply the best.
It breaks my heart I was there to see you when you first arrived to our lives, but not to say goodbye. We are thinking about making the Caribbean Sea your forever home. I love you, and will always love you, unconditionally, profoundly and tenderly. I hope you are having fun in heaven because, for dogs like you, heaven DOES exists. All my love to you,
Valentina
