I was waiting for a cab in my home office. My house was divided into three: the actual living space, Centro Lyra’s headquarters, and two psychoanalyst’s rooms –one was my husband’s office and the other was rented to one of his colleagues for a while. I was with Nallibi, the housekeeper who had accompanied me in my different homes for more than 30 years –an adorable woman of bustling character from Sincelejo (Colombia) who was always singing. Also, with Yelitza, the faithful and loyal administrator of Centro Lyra, every inch a Caracas native. The three of us shared, without knowing it, my last coffee at House #3. Right before the taxi arrived, I felt the urge to make a desperate farewell tour of my home.

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I am desperate to get on board Delta Flight #2798, which departs Detroit at 8:50am. My watch reads 8:52am. This is ridiculous. Delta is never on time.

Hyperventilating from the sprint to the gate, I find I have no voice. I have to get home. I pound hard on the door and lurch onto the plane.

The Flight Attendant steers me toward 16D, where I fall into my seat, panting.

The young woman sitting next to me in 16F leans over and whispers, “Are you okay? I’m a doctor.”

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One can tell it’s Saint Barbara from sound of the thunder 

The plain has been a part of me all my life. That is where my family comes from and, in some way, I am from there too, though not by birth. It was in the plain where my family´s epic began, where our patriarchy was created; where the Ferrers and then the Lavado and the Vargas were founded. And although I risk sounding too literal by saying that in these lands lie my roots, I have to say that in the plain is that part of me that doesn't change, although

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At 19 I was burning to do it. Not sex. Well yes, sex. But that is another story. At 19, first I had figure out what “it” was. As soon as I did, I was certain my life would unfold in glory and splendor. I sought not a career path, but a calling. Once I settled on the what, I knew the how, where and with whom would be revealed. Miraculously, I did not have long to wait.  

“It” became dazzlingly clear the moment John leaned over my arm rest

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When I was young I dreamed of a tidy house. I dreamed of it as I sat by the river on a wooden platform that never became my playhouse. I dreamed of it when I cleaned the dirty spice bottles in the kitchen. I dreamed of it as I watched piles of mending and books accumulate, as words became shrapnel. In the fall of 1975, when I was 20 and 3000 miles from home, I met Gretchen.

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