Press Release for Dr. Margaret Aranda, Author

Announcing a recent, local article about Dr. Aranda's two recent books that are launching nationwide. One is on Christian Living, called Stepping from the Edge. It is the Sequel to No More Tears: A Physician Turned Patient Inspires Recovery. 

The Other is a children's book, Little Missy Two-Shoes Likes a Ladybug. 

Also launching nationwide, her next book will focus on Women's Health from puberty past menopause, and you are guaranteed to learn at least 50 things that you did not know. Wait until February, 2014...

For now, it is good to see women highlighted in the news:

Valley News Group (See Page 3)

Never give up.

Dr. Aranda as Cover Girl, 2014 Directory, Nancy Mills' Spirited DIrectory

by Dr Margaret Aranda

I can't stand up without midodrine, I can't eat without zofran, I get migraines and tinnitus without diazepam, and I would go into kidney failure without DDAVP. To name a few.

Despite all that, I use my fingers, my brain, and my computer to inspire, encourage, and educate doctors and patients alike. I won't forget the bed-ridden or the chronically ill, because I am both.

I am deeply honored that Nancy Mills called me to see if I would accept this invitation: to be in the Nancy Mills' Spirited Women's Directory of 2014. On the Cover, I am joined by 14 other lovely ladies. Launching on 12/12/13, please mark your calendar to see the chosen Spirited Women worldwide, who are bound to make you smile and inspire you to be the best that you can be, no matter your circumstances. It's FREE, for you my friend. Free inspiration from me to you so that you can strive your best to accomplish one baby step at a time. Just one day at a time.

Now what could be better than that? My gift to you this Holiday Season.

The Sequel to No More Tears: Introducing Stepping from the Edge

by Dr. Margaret Aranda

Photo 1. Book  #2, Stepping from the Edge.  It doesn't just happen in the movies. It happens in real life, too. God can move mountains and He can stop airplanes, too. Dr Aranda's Book #2 can be ordered directly from Tate Publishing by going to  https://www.tatepublishing.com/bookstore/book.php?w=978-1-62510-838-8. For author autographed copy, please go to www.arandamd.com or check the Home Page here.

Going through a struggle in your life? Or is every day a struggle? Or do you live with someone who has a chronic illness or has been through a devastating time? In Stepping from the Edge, I take you through that age-old question that so many have asked me in my life, "How do you do it?"

I share some very personal stories, from being a runaway at 16 years old,  being a battered wife, being an abandoned wife in my first month of medical school, and being a single parent with no child support or alimony through medical school, internship, residency, or fellowship.

And then, as most of my friends know, I was in a devastating car crash that left me bed-bound for six years. It was humiliating to sit at a Conference Room table, look up, and see drooling people with head braces and reclining wheelchairs sitting with me at the table. I was one of them, as I had a traumatic brain injury with DI, vertebral artery dissection, dysautonomia, etc. I used to be the one standing up, giving the lecture. I was confused. How did this happen to me? What did this mean?

In 2012, I was finally beginning to get better; even got accepted to Stanford's Advanced Clinical Anesthesiology Program to start in August, 2013. It would have brought my profession back to me.

But God had different plans, and boy did he open the doors that needed to be opened and did he ever close the doors that needed to be closed. I woke up one day in January 2013 with a headache that turned into a migraine, and it lasted for 5 days. When I called my cardiologist and told him that something was wrong with me because I was ataxic and bumping into the walls, he admitted me to the hospital. During a neurologic exam in January 2013, a doctor dropped me to the hard wood floor and there it started all over again, the expressive aphasia, hypotension, and migraines. I developed dehydration and acute kidney injury from DI, barely surviving. My blood pressure was as low as 70/44 mmHg. I was placed on fluids and other spinal cord injury medications, finally leaving the hospital step by agonizing step. Back to Speech Therapy, and Physical Therapy at home.

Since then, I have my own little secrets that I use every day to keep myself persevering. In Stepping from the Edge, there are 10 Lessons and 10 workbook-type assignments for you to do yourself after each chapter.  I received inspiration for this book from one particular scene in the movie, Australia with Nicole Kidman and Hugh Jackman. Watch the movie first, and then read the book. That's your first assignment. Then you will be inspired to Persevere, to conquer, to be a Lion, and to ROAR.

Try to guess which scene inspired me to write the book.

Age 15: The Last Thing I Remember

A Fiction Story by Dr. Margaret Aranda

This is Day 15 of the October Memoir and Backstory Blog Challenge, which is something about a 15 year old.  To catch more on this, please visit  Jane Ann McLachlan.  To start reading Articles from Age 1, Please Click Here: Age 1: Sitting on the Edge

________________

It was Mindy Abrahm's fault.

We were getting dressed at her house.  We were all going to go to the Saturday night "50's Dance" at High School.  Mindy said, "Hey, you need to drink some vodka before we go to the dance."  I had never even tasted vodka before.  Mindy mixed it with orange juice, and I had no idea this was called a Screwdriver.  She handed me the glass.  I looked at it.

I was weak.  I didn't want her to think that I was weak.  Slowly, I drank it.  It smelled slightly, but the vodka was drowned out by the orange juice.  The drink was cold, fruity, and wala!  Down it went almost like it was nothing but orange juice.

By the time I finished the glass, she poured me another.  I lost my mind.  I didn't know what I was doing nor did I know what was happening around me.  And by the time I finished the second glass, she poured me another.  Again.  Over and over this ritual continued, until I finished a whole quart of vodka.    I don't remember the last drink.  In fact, I don't remember anything past the first drink.

I don't remember getting in the car.  I don't remember driving to the High School.  I don't remember anything except this, which I do remember quite clearly:

The next thing I remember, I was sitting with Mindy and my other three friends.  We were sitting up on the gym seats in this huge wooden-paneled auditorium, looking down below and to our left, where the band was.  I remember a man playing a guitar.  There were two of him. Come to think of it, there were two of everybody."

"There's two of everybody."

This news apparently spread by wildfire to my friends sitting next to me, then to my friend's friends, then to who knows who.

Flash Forward and the next thing I remember, I was walking down a plain beige school corridor outside in the dark.  One of the Nuns was yelling at me.  I thought maybe she was yelling at me because I wasn't walking straight, but honestly, I was sleepy.  I just wanted to sleep.

Another Flash Forward, and the next thing I remember was in the Emergency Room.  I was a Patient.  I only remember talking to my Father on the phone.  Somehow, I was talking to my Father and he was asking me what I had, what I took, what I drank, anything.  He was mad at me, so I lied.  I told him I didn't take anything and that I was perfectly fine.

They drew my blood.  They took me home.  I didn't throw up.  I slept.

I didn't have a hangover when I woke up, but the white cotton ball and tape were still hanging onto my left arm.  My Father called and said, "You had a lot of alcohol in your blood.  Where did you get it?"  I told him the truth, and I was starting to feel like I shouldn't have let Mindy give me all those glasses of vodka. I was grounded.

I never drank a bunch of vodka again.  I stopped drinking for a long time.

The next thing I remember, I got kicked out of High School.

_________________

For Article on Age 16, Click Here.

January 4, 2013: I Will be a Guest with Stephanie Riggs

This is just delightful!  Stephanie Riggs and her radio station, Divine Calling with Stephanie Riggs, have interviewed and featured so many wonderful books, that I just must have you take a look at her FaceBook page: Click Here.

What a Blessing!

She will be interviewing me on my book,  No More Tears: A Physician Turned Patient Inspires Recovery.

Many of you have known me since the times I was still on iv fluid, and this represents an accomplishment for all of us!  

Onward & Forward for Invisible Disabilities.  Onward & Forward we Go!

Age 14: Too Young to Know

At 14 years of age, I left the solstice and serenity of elementary school to go to a private high school.  We had red and black plaid uniforms with those pleats all around the skirt, and the white shirts with the rounded collars and short sleeves.  I wore Wallabees and bobby socks.  On the weekends, I was still making 35 sandwiches for 7 kids, and still did laundry for 9 people.  I woke up each and every morning and made a full breakfast for all the children.  The only thing I didn't do was to make dinner; my mom did that.  But I was learning how to sautee onions, brown ground beef, cook lasagna noodles, and make lasagna.  I knew how to make a pot of pinto beans, and fry up some great-smelling Mexican rice.

I was getting tired of it all.  I had no one to talk to.  My friends all had two parents, and mine were getting a divorce.  They lived in separate rooms in the house, and my mom left on the weekends.  She said she was going to Grandma's house, but I still remember her phone number and she was never there. When she did come home, she left wearing high heels and mini-skirts that she never wore before. So, she clearly had her own life, and she was living it.  We didn't matter.  I didn't matter.

There was no such thing as a Counselor at school that you could talk to, so I started smoking cigarettes.  I went to meet Andrea in the Girl's Room during First Period, and together we would sit and talk.  She was one year older than me, had already had sex with boys, and she had big breasts that rather mystified me.  I didn't know how she could sleep on her stomach because surely they would get in the way.  I wanted to learn from her so that I could deal with boys in time.  We talked about traveling, wearing regular clothes on the weekends, our parents, our siblings, music, movies, and boys.  And we talked about sex.  Not about real sex, but about kissing, holding hands, feeling a boy's arms around you. We had sweet talks where her voice would get all small and feminine, and she would smile an amazing smile that made you feel her happiness.  I liked to see her smile.

Andrea lived a colorful life and with all my responsibilities, I lived my life vicariously through her experiences.  I didn't know if she was lying or telling the truth about her stories, but nonetheless they all served a purpose in getting me to believe there was an outside world out there that had smiles, laughter, childishness, dancing, frolicking, and well, just happiness.  Not people yelling at one another, no fights, no pulling hair, no screaming, no nothing.  Just peace.

So we smoked our cigarettes and we never got caught.  Same time, Same days, just like Batman. The weekends went by and I looked forward to Mondays now, to learn of her escapades.

Except one Monday came by and she wasn't there to smoke a cigarette.  I didn't buy them, so I didn't smoke that day.  I went along with my day, not thinking too much about it.  She must be sick, I thought.  I'll just catch her next time.

Another day went by and again, she wasn't there.  I didn't have her home phone number, because I only saw her at school.  I didn't know it, but her classroom desk was empty, too.  The other kids didn't like her too much as she did not fit in.  So her absence really did not make a mark and everyone went on with their day.  We noticed, but we didn't care.  I can see that now.

On day three, school line-up time was ended, the whistle blew, and they announced that they were taking us all in to the Chapel that day.  Hmm.  Ok.  We all chatted nonchalantly, making our way up the stairs on a cloudy day that promised rain in the afternoon.  We scooted indoors with our sweaters on, glad to greet the warmth of the Chapel heater, and taking in the smell of incense as well. 

The Speaker made his way to the pulpit, and we got ready to fall asleep.  We looked at one another and thought this was going to be boring beyond belief.  Well, it wasn't.

With slow and deliberate words, he told us that Andrea had died.  They told us.  The System, the Church, the School, the Grown-ups, the Establishment all told us that she was dead.  This was their way of doing it. She was never coming back, I thought.  What happened?

She had been thumbing.  She hitch hiked regularly, I knew this. I knew all her stories.  Well, some one picked her up on a motorcycle was all they knew.  Bits and pieces of information stunned me I didn't know how to comprehend, who to think of right now, who to go to, I can't believe it. She would never come back to the Girl's Room.  I would never see her smile again.  I missed her already.  The man's words continued to roll out, louder now and seemingly angry. Yes, he was angry and it was making me angry, too.  I looked to my right and to my left.  They weren't my friends, not like Andrea. Gun shot. Gun shot in the head.  The words echoed louder and louder and I didn't know where any one would get a gun.  They found her in a ditch.  That's what he said.  In a ditch on the side of the road with a gun shot in her head.  I cried. 

It happened too fast. The Funeral was tomorrow.  In a blur, the Funeral was now.  Now I was sitting in the same Chapel with the same Man, the same voice, the same group of people.  Only more crowded, more rain, more incense.  Everyone was wearing black.  We said goodbye to Andrea that day, I said goodbye to Andrea that day, and I felt guilty that I was still alive.  It wasn't fair. This never should have happened.  She was never coming back.  I would wake up and go to sleep and wake up and go to sleep and wake up and go to sleep and she would never ever ever ever wake up again and she would never ever ever go to sleep again and never ever ever would I ever ever ever see her smile or ever ever ever hear her laughter or ever ever ever see her lips curl over her beautiful teeth while she laughed so softly, so beautifully.  Ever.

I was too young to know.  Too young to know what was happening, what had happened.  I never got counseling, and the school never talked about her again.  The big unwritten message was that if we thumbed a ride and left our parents on the weekends, we would end up dead with a bullet in our head and our body in some remote and ugly ditch somewhere, and it would be an awful way to die and our body would just be lying there for days and no one would know whose body it was.

The Funeral was over now, and the classes began to file out.  I remember the big, gigantic doors of the Chapel opening to let us out.  Let me Out!  The two doors opened in unison, and the sun cracked a stream of light into the Chapel.  The stream turned into a door of light as the wood was out of the way.  At first, we filed out slowly.  As the sun began to envelop us in its enormity and warmth, we ran.  Something was still inside us that we wanted to escape.  We all did it at once, and together.

We ran away from the Chapel and into the light.

Age 13: Everything Just So

She swiped mayonnaise on another piece of bread, then looked at the kitchen table, round and covered with a Thanksgiving tablecloth.  It was another Sunday afternoon, turkey leftovers were stripped, the bones were bare, and little pieces of turkey dotted another sandwich. 

She had five sisters and one brother, and she was the second oldest.  No one really 'made' her do it, but she liked to cook and bake.  So naturally, she had to make sandwiches for school, 1 1/2 blocks away from their home.  Their home was a former convent for Catholic nuns, she knew, and so she just told herself that it was a good thing that she was doing.  As if the goodness from the nuns still hung around the house.

Turkey meat here and there, separating the dark meat from the white meat, and she inquired of each child which they preferred.  No, that was not possible.  Living in a big family means that you get what you get, and if you don't want it, some one else is looking up with big eyes to eat if for you.  So she didn't know that dark meat tasted different than white meat, and so she just mixed them both up on the same sandwich.  None of the siblings would notice, either.

She opened the freezer.  Thirty-five sandwiches, to be exact.  They were all lined up, one sandwich per day for five days of school.  She peered down at the kitchen floor now, noting all the piles. Red, white, and blue.  And another one for patterns.  She dumped the dryer, loaded the washer with the printed clothes, and added the detergent and softener to the machine.  She knew to use cold water on the permanent press, and certainly and of course she knew one had to add bleach to the white clothes.  Three more hours of laundry for nine people, and she took the load from the dryer and placed it on the living room sofa.

Folding each item was rather nice because it was cold and the wind was howling outside, leaves splashing onto the front steps for her to wipe on another day.  The clothes were warm and soft, mildly scented.  Mostly, they were warm.  It was a side effect that on this cold Fall day, the clothes came out of the dryer and the warmth massaged her soul in a comforting kind of way. 

She placed nine stacks of clothes on the top of the sofa, where the head rests.  Starting from the littlest one, each pile contained the clothes of the respective sibling.  Pants on the bottom of the pile, then shirts, then socks and underwear.  Or, underwear then lastly, the socks.  She rolled them up by matching pair, making sure that the exact sock had its own pair.  She knew that one white sock differed from another white sock, and her Dad's blue calf socks had to be matched just so.  So she did it.

She put the last socks on top of the last pile, finally, and went to brush her teeth, wash her face, and brush her hair. 

Finally, she swiped back her bedsheets and blankets.  It was her turn now.

She gathered three pieces of bread, her favorite, and picked up the Nancy Drew book she was reading. Settling in, she had her own time.  She was tired but pleasantly pooped, and no one could take this time away.  It was hers.

Age 12: Keeping the Best of the 70's

My desk was right behind his.  I think he was the smartest person in the class, and his brown hair was always clean.  It happened the day that the Teacher had us move all our desks.

You know one of those days?  When the Teacher surprises us with wanting to move all our desks. At first, it is surprising and disappointing as we are settled into our chairs, our positions, and our little fiefdoms in the class.

We went to Our Lady of Mary Catholic school, all seven of us kids.  I think that when my brother started First Grade, six of us were there at the same time.  So naturally, I was inclined to note the other big families in the school, and the Marshall family was one of them.

So anyway, back on track.  I had a crush on him.  Brian Marshall was smart, funny, and classy.  He didn't tell stupid jokes or talk loud or laugh too much.  In fact, I think he was rather quiet.  We went on a Field Trip in a bus to a Museum in Downtown L.A.  That was the day that I got close to him because he sat on the bus behind me and Charlotte Winglet.  Charlotte had crooked teeth and greasy hair and she didn't have many friends. But somehow, Brian and Charlotte began singing "...downtown..." over and over again and they were laughing so much that I had to join in.

I remember looking at Brian and thinking, "He is so nice to be kind to her, because she is rather dowdy and not too pretty."  I thought he was being benevolent, but I knew that he was not.  He was just being himself and I recognized that these moments were ones that he cherished not, not as much as I.  For he became human to me that day.  Touchable.  Human.  Not too far away.

And it happened.  I had a crush on him that would not go away.  I watched him finger his Bic pen in class, putting it to his lips in slow motion, and I wished I was the actual pen!  I saw him put it in his mouth and of course I had to imagine what it would be like to kiss him.  I had never been kissed by a boy before, and I thought that my First Kiss should be...well, it should be dramatic and special.

So my friends, a small cluster, ended up knowing I had a crush on him.  I don't think I was much prettier than Charlotte, and I wasn't too developed for my age, either.  Of course we were wearing Training Bras and thinking that we were going to be starting our Periods any day.  We were growing up and becoming ladies, and soon we could wear high heels.

It was a day I'll never forget.  It was lunch hour, and we were finishing up the last 10 minutes of time.  School kids were running around, people were throwing away the brown bag lunches they would never eat, and we were getting ready to go back into class.  I was standing with a few friends and some how, I don't recall how, one of them dared me to go up to Brian and kiss him.

Wow, I thought.  I really do want to kiss him. 

So in a split second of nonsensical thought, I skipped over to him.  He was standing on the other side of the benches and school tables, talking to some one who was across from him.  I rounded my way about, so that eventually I was standing to his right.  I poised myself just kitty corner to his right elbow, so that I was situated in his peripheral vision.  I waited just two seconds, before I changed my mind.

I took three steps.  I inched up to his soft cheek.  I kissed it ever so softly.

I hardly had a moment to bask in the glory, as I had won the bet!

Immediately, he began to chase me.  He chased me, this Brian Marshall, so fast that I thought he was going to pull my hair and then I don't-know-what-he-was-going-to-do!  In my mind, the thought flashed that he played football and was a great runner who was now chasing me!  I had no glory in this.  I feared for my reputation, my glory of the kiss was not yet gone and never would be, and I wondered how long I could stay ahead of him.

I took a sharp turn to the right when his hand reached for my hair, almost grabbing it.  He stumbled ohhhh such a small bit, putting me one second in front of him further, widening the gap between us.  Oh, but he was fast!  Five more steps later, he was gaining on me again.  So I sideswiped another swerve to the left this time, very calculated to stumble his efforts and gain more distance.  It worked.  He chased me and I swerved over and over and over again until eventually, I was so far ahead of him that he would never catch me. 

By this time, we were away in the distance and the school bell rang its big "Bzzz!  Bzzz!"  We each sauntered over to our respective lines, the boys line for him and the girl's line for me. 

I won the bet.
I kissed Brian Marshall.
He chased me.
I ran away.

But I still kissed him, and that was my first kiss that I gave any one.

I still kissed him.

Age 11: Chasing the First Kiss

My desk was right behind his.  I think he was the smartest person in the class, and his brown hair was always clean.  It happened the day that the Teacher had us move all our desks.

You know one of those days?  When the Teacher surprises us with wanting to move all our desks. At first, it is surprising and disappointing as we are settled into our chairs, our positions, and our little fiefdoms in the class.

We went to Our Lady of Mary Catholic school, all seven of us kids.  I think that when my brother started First Grade, six of us were there at the same time.  So naturally, I was inclined to note the other big families in the school, and the Marshall family was one of them.

So anyway, back on track.  I had a crush on him.  Brian Marshall was smart, funny, and classy.  He didn't tell stupid jokes or talk loud or laugh too much.  In fact, I think he was rather quiet.  We went on a Field Trip in a bus to a Museum in Downtown L.A.  That was the day that I got close to him because he sat on the bus behind me and Charlotte Winglet.  Charlotte had crooked teeth and greasy hair and she didn't have many friends. But somehow, Brian and Charlotte began singing "...downtown..." over and over again and they were laughing so much that I had to join in.

I remember looking at Brian and thinking, "He is so nice to be kind to her, because she is rather dowdy and not too pretty."  I thought he was being benevolent, but I knew that he was not.  He was just being himself and I recognized that these moments were ones that he cherished not, not as much as I.  For he became human to me that day.  Touchable.  Human.  Not too far away.

And it happened.  I had a crush on him that would not go away.  I watched him finger his Bic pen in class, putting it to his lips in slow motion, and I wished I was the actual pen!  I saw him put it in his mouth and of course I had to imagine what it would be like to kiss him.  I had never been kissed by a boy before, and I thought that my First Kiss should be...well, it should be dramatic and special.

So my friends, a small cluster, ended up knowing I had a crush on him.  I don't think I was much prettier than Charlotte, and I wasn't too developed for my age, either.  Of course we were wearing Training Bras and thinking that we were going to be starting our Periods any day.  We were growing up and becoming ladies, and soon we could wear high heels.

It was a day I'll never forget.  It was lunch hour, and we were finishing up the last 10 minutes of time.  School kids were running around, people were throwing away the brown bag lunches they would never eat, and we were getting ready to go back into class.  I was standing with a few friends and some how, I don't recall how, one of them dared me to go up to Brian and kiss him.

Wow, I thought.  I really do want to kiss him. 

So in a split second of nonsensical thought, I skipped over to him.  He was standing on the other side of the benches and school tables, talking to some one who was across from him.  I rounded my way about, so that eventually I was standing to his right.  I poised myself just kitty corner to his right elbow, so that I was situated in his peripheral vision.  I waited just two seconds, before I changed my mind.

I took three steps.  I inched up to his soft cheek.  I kissed it ever so softly.

I hardly had a moment to bask in the glory, as I had won the bet!

Immediately, he began to chase me.  He chased me, this Brian Marshall, so fast that I thought he was going to pull my hair and then I don't-know-what-he-was-going-to-do!  In my mind, the thought flashed that he played football and was a great runner who was now chasing me!  I had no glory in this.  I feared for my reputation, my glory of the kiss was not yet gone and never would be, and I wondered how long I could stay ahead of him.

I took a sharp turn to the right when his hand reached for my hair, almost grabbing it.  He stumbled ohhhh such a small bit, putting me one second in front of him further, widening the gap between us.  Oh, but he was fast!  Five more steps later, he was gaining on me again.  So I sideswiped another swerve to the left this time, very calculated to stumble his efforts and gain more distance.  It worked.  He chased me and I swerved over and over and over again until eventually, I was so far ahead of him that he would never catch me. 

By this time, we were away in the distance and the school bell rang its big "Bzzz!  Bzzz!"  We each sauntered over to our respective lines, the boys line for him and the girl's line for me. 

I won the bet.
I kissed Brian Marshall.
He chased me.
I ran away.

But I still kissed him, and that was my first kiss that I gave any one.

I still kissed him.

Age 10: Mr. Bubble

Taking a bath with two sisters was fun. There was the warmth of the water, and nothing was more special than pouring in those flakes from the pink box of Mr. Bubble.  The flakes were really light in the box; it wasn't a heavy box at all, and you really could not spill it.  When the flakes poured out, some of them stuck in the bubbles as an intact flake, just sitting there in a little piece that would not dissolve.

Perhaps this is where her interest in chemistry began.  She got into the tub and the bubbles departed, moving left and right to dispel their presence from her invasive steps. Once she sat in the water, the two sisters would be talking and yacking and throwing things.  They always wanted to play one game or another.  Hide toys under the water, fill the toys with water, or float them on top of the water.  She didn't want to do that.

If she was the first one in the tub, something she tried to be since the others were slower and not really aware of her goal, she could be the first on in the tub.  Once she sat down ever so carefully, she simply listened.  She closed her eyes and sat back, head on the cold and rounded edge of the tub.  Ahhh. Shhhh.  

Glistening.  Popping.  Microscopic pops.  So tiny, so minute were these pops, and there were so many of them that there must have been thousands and thousands of them popping in one accord, each off step yet still on beat.  Pop Pop Pop Pop Pop.  Mmmmm.  It was the only time she could be by herself to listen to the relaxing and mesmerizing sound.  Pop Pop Pop Pop Pop  Pop Pop.  It just went on and on and on, like a thousand stars in the mountain air on a fall night with the wind softly howling.  It was comforting and stimulating at the same time.

The sound reverberated in her brain, sending chemical release of encephalons and endorphins.  The morphine-like molecules relaxed her muscles, increased her pupil size, and increased her awareness of her surroundings.  It was as if she were hyperacute in her sensations, listening with wide eyes as thousands of little tiny bubbles danced in the waters, each one clamoring to be the next one to burst.  And over time, the wave of a mountain of a bubble diminished in size. The volume of the bubble bath decreased, and then sound slowed down. Pop  Pop  pop  pop.  Pop.  There were only a few bubbles left now, and the other two sisters opened the curtain and complained that there weren't any bubbles left.

She turned the hot water back on, as the bath temperature was not quite so cozy now.  The bubbles stopped making their Popping sound, the water was tepid, and it was time to restore the mood.  So down went more bubble flakes, tumbling down from the pink box, tumbling down and down and down.  Again, the bubbles were packed with little flakes of flakes of bubbles that did not have either the time nor the inclination to well, to form a bubble.  So bubbles in all stages of life stood still, while other bubbles ending their lives went Pop and pop and soon, once again, there were no bubbles left.

But she knew that all she had to do was to pour the flakes from the pink box back into the hot water, and splash them about a bit to make more mountains form.  It was a cycle, kind of like waking up in the morning and then going back to sleep at night.  The same steps repeated themselves again.  Night and day, morning and night, bath after bath until one day she took a shower instead. It was faster, and she did not have to share the shower with another sister, so she preferred it over time.  Over time, she forgot about the bubbles until one day when the Pop pop Pop pop Pop Pop echoed in some part of her brain again.

So she closed her eyes as she smelled the smell, heard the Pop Pop Pop pop pop again, and she smiled ever so slightly as she put a soft towel under her knees.  Then she leaned over to turn off the water as the little toddler stuck his hand in the bubble that carried the most volume.  Again and again, the toddler smashed the biggest bubble and seemed unaware of the thousands and thousands of Pop Pop pop pops that echoed in the room.

But she did not miss the sound, as she heard it all.  And when the bubbles faded and the water became more cool, she turned the water on again, letting hot water in.  And she poured more flakes from the pink box and watched as once again, the bubbles were saturated and the extra bubbles simply hung on to the biggest bubbles that existed as long as they could.

And she thought, "How fine is this, that her son gets to play in the same bubbles as I did when I was young."

And she poured more flakes into the warm water.

The Book Cover is Completed Today!

Thank you Tate Publishing and Shawn Collins!

Age 9: Sitting on the Edge of the Cave

by Dr. Margaret Aranda

I was in medical school, and it was the summer of 1986.  Besides the fact that I needed money and drove an Ice Cream truck (yes, an Ice Cream truck) that summer, a more important thing happened.  I drove from Tulsa, Oklahoma to Los Angeles, California in my little Chevy Sprint car.  It had 3 cylinders just like a motorcycle and got great gas mileage.  There was not a real gas shortage, but I was short on money. (Hence I drove an Ice Cream Truck ~ a pink one.  No one would do that unless they really needed the money ~ actually it was quite fun but that's another story.)

In California for the summer with my son who was then 9 years old, he had a best friend named Milton.  Milton was two years older than my son, putting him at 11 years of age.  When I drove back to Tulsa go finish out another year at Oral Roberts University School of Medicine, I thought it would be nice for my son to have a friend with him.  So we all drove back from Los Angeles to Tulsa, coursing along the 10 Freeway day and night.  It was a long, hard drive.  Milton started asking questions.

Mountains appeared before us.  In the heat of the summer, one looked to the left and then to the right.  Heat waves glistened their form above the arid desert.  "When are we stopping to eat?" Milton asked.  We stopped to eat, and we stopped to drink.  Then we drove another 100 miles of flat desert as the mountains before us appeared closer and closer.  Just as we passed the next mountain pass, yup.  You guessed it.  Another mountain pass was just in front of us, again.  Again and again we went through this abyss of endless road and mountain passes.  Milton was having a hard time, as this was quite monotonous.  "Are we there yet?"  I couldn't believe it when I heard it, as my son had never asked me that question before.  "Wow, I said, you're not going to keep asking me, are you?"  Well, you would have to know Milton to know what I did to stop him from asking me the same question.

"You Gotta Have Faith".  I turned up the music.  I had George Michael in my car, a tape.  There were no DVDs, no CDs, no movies to watch.  Only music.  So I played the same tape, over and over again whenever Milton asked how long the drive was going to be.  Each, time, I was hoping it was negative reinforcement, but I actually liked the tape so I just turned it up louder and louder each time it played. "Ugh!" they said in unison.  "You are going to thank me for this when you grow up", I said, "because every time you hear George Michael, you are going to remember this trip to Carlsbad Caverns."  They looked at one another, as I peered at them in the rear view mirror.  Shaking their heads no, they were certain this was endless torture and it would never be a funny memory.

We stared at another mountain pass before us.  One could not help but wonder about the frontier, the cattle and the wagons that had to tread across this ground hundreds of years ago.  How did they do it on foot?  It was hot.  It was dry.  It was cold at night.  The pioneers didn't have Rest Stops and hotel rooms, and it seemed like such a hard drive.

To provide some relief on this unending trip, I told the boys that I would take them to Carlsbad Caverns.  I had them look at the map as we turned off the 10 to drive south.  Little Milton was beside himself with "You Gotta Have Faith" and as we neared the Caverns, he threatened, "This better be worth it."  Again, you had to know him.  My son, the ever-patient one, simply took it all in stride.

So we finally arrived at the Caverns, took the staircase and elevators down down, down, and it got cooler and cooler with each step.  A welcome relief from the scorching heat, soon the stalagmites and the stalactites were jutting out in beauty all around us.  "Oh, this is so worth it!" Milton exclaimed.
I just smiled.

At the evening's end, we were sitting on the edge of a cave.  It was time for the bats to fly out.  We waited and waited and you guessed it.  Milton kept asking, "When are the bats going to come out?"  The audience peered at him in frustration and then several people told him to "Hush!"  Just then, we could hear it.  My son sat patiently waiting, trusting me on this one, too.  I'll never forget how much I realized who he was as a person just now.  I really liked him.

Like the ripples of water at a stream, it was smooth and soft at first.  Then as the bats neared, the enormity of their wings en masse revealed themselves.  Whoosh!  A giant swoop echoed throughout.  There they went, just as fast as they came and in an instant or two, they were gone far away to look for food and stretch their upside-down wings from the effects of gravity.

Milton looked up at me and said, "This was Sooooo Worth it!"

I just smiled.

Milton never asked another question the whole way home from there.

Age 8: Selling Cupcakes

In 1968, it was okay to go door-to-door with a plate full of cupcakes.  We sold them for 5c each.  I don't thing we needed the money, but with six girls and one boy, maybe my Mom just wanted us to do something productive.

My older sister stayed home, leaving me with Martha and Louise.  That also left me in charge.  Martha was one year younger than me, and in turn, Louise was one year younger than her.  We were properly dressed with white socks and shoes, sleeveless plaid shirts, and crisp pants that had a line down the middle as my Mom liked to iron.  Our hair had ribbons and bows, our teeth were brushed, and we were ready to go.  We lined up in the avocado green-and-mustard kitchen, waiting for Mom to give us the cupcakes.  We thought this would be fun, although it wasn't clear who would get the money.  Figured it would just go to Mom, but why did we need money, anyway?  We shrugged our shoulders in unison as she walked in the room.

She wasn't tall, but to us, being kids, she loomed above us.  We straightened up.  She gave us a huge plate of cupcakes that we had not even helped to make or decorate.  She did it all.  She gave us detailed information on what to say when the person opened the door, how to sell them, and then she instructed us to give a napkin to each person, too.  So I had two plates of cupcakes, Martha had the napkins, and Louise held nothing, so she opened the door.  We determined that if the house had a screen door, Louise would be the one to open it so that people could see the cupcakes.

So off we went!  The outside air greeted us with anticipation and excitement as we made our way with a variety of cupcakes.  We had two plates, each colored with blue, pink, green, yellow, and then a coconut cupcake.  There were multicolored sprinkles and little red sugar flakes that melt in your mouth right away.  We didn't get to eat any before we left, so we briefly contemplated just eating one or two.  But we quickly discarded that idea because there were three of us and it would be a noticeable difference if we didn't get the right amount of money before we went home.

The three of us went, the three "big ones", walking up the street, then around the corner on a Saturday afternoon in Redondo Beach.  As usual for the month of July, it was overcast and droplets of water were visible in the air as we walked through them with ease.  If we weren't on an official journey, we would have looked for cigarette butts on the ground and pretended to smoke, because when we exhaled, 'smoke' from the mist came out.  It was fun to pretend to be a grownup.

So we went to the first door.  A nice lady opened the door, peered at the cupcakes with glee, and bought a few.  She was wondering what we were going to do with the money, so we just told her we were giving it to our Mom.  It didn't occur to us that we could be making the cupcakes ourselves and saving the money to give to the poor, or to build a treehouse or something.  She took the blue one, the coconut one, and the pink one.  We had 15c.  Off we went to the next house.

We did this again and again.  Several people were not even home, and we had to walk a long way to get from one door to the next.  I guess the houses were farther apart than they looked.  Or maybe the plate was getting heavy.  Three more houses, 7 more cupcakes sold.  The sun was coming out now, heating up the place, and we were getting tired.  And hungry.  The jingle of nickels and dimes in my pocked did nothing to make us feel any better.

I put one plate under the other when one plate sold, because it was easier to carry.  But that made for one heavy package that was getting heavier and heavier with each step.  My arms were tired.  We were really hungry now, and we thought maybe we could lie and say a few of them dropped. We were just discussing the plan, when the next door opened to our knock.  The door was already opened and we looked up to give our speech and ~~~~~~ uhmmmm.....~~~ @P(*%Y(@T)#!*%^_$(@*&!!!

Our eyes opened more than they could open!  We gasped!  The lady had a mustache.  What!?  It was a real mustache!  It was thick and gray and it went up on the ends.  It was a Real Live Mustache on a Lady!  She was old, peppered gray hair and I don't know how tall she was or what she was wearing or what she said, and actually I don't know if she said anything at all.  For an instant we thought we were being punished by God for thinking of lying about the cupcakes.  Honestly, maybe she was a witch!  Maybe she had evil powers and she would try to grab us and pull us into her house and stick us in a brew of some kind!

We glanced sideway at one another.  We didn't say a word.  I simply dropped the plate of cupcakes on the ground as I jetted away, and one cupcake after another was toppling down down smash crumble oh my!  We ran!  We ran and we ran all the way home.  We weren't laughing, we weren't being mean, we were just plain scared.

We ran and we ran and we ran.