Purple Purse -- Pass It On! Help Raise Money For Domestic Violence Victims

This post is part of a compensated campaign in collaboration with Latina Bloggers Connect and The Allstate Foundation. Opinion are my own.

At one time or another, someone close to us has dealt quietly with domestic violence. The fact is that on average, three women die every day as a result of this crime and more than 145 acts of domestic violence are committed every hour. Every. Hour. Change starts at home.

To help raise awareness for Domestic Violence Awareness Month, The Allstate Foundation is sending more than 1,000 purses carrying domestic violence information throughout the country, and I have one of them. These purses are being passed between co-workers, friends, and family, sparking conversations that in many homes might be considered taboo.

Why a purple purse, you ask?

The Purple Purse was created because a purse represents the center of a woman's financial domain and purple is the national color of domestic violence awareness. Purple Purse, now in its third year, helps people start conversations and pass along information about domestic violence and financial abuse by placing the power directly into people's hands with a purple purse.

Help me pass the purple purse ... all we need to do is share.

Source: PurplePurse.com

Facts About Domestic Violence

• Domestic violence is an issue that impacts millions, but few talk about it. Purple Purse helps people carry on conversations and pass information about domestic violence and financial abuse by placing the power directly into people's hands with a purple purse.
• Domestic violence affects one in four women in their lifetime -- that's more women than breast cancer, ovarian cancer and lung cancer combined.
• A majority of Americans agree that domestic violence is tough to talk about. More than one-third of Americans have never discussed the issue with family or friends and Purple Purse provides a conversation starter.
• Lacking financial knowledge and resources is the number one indicator of whether a domestic violence victim will stay, leave or return to an abusive relationship.
• For every purple purse passed through the end of October, The Allstate Foundation will donate $5 to YWCA. We'll give up to $350,000 for programs aimed to help domestic violence survivors and stop the cycle of abuse.
• Visit Facebook or PurplePurse.com for more information.

What's Financial Abuse?

Lacking financial knowledge and resources is the number one indicator of whether a domestic violence victim will stay, leave or return to an abusive relationship. Physical abuse is the type of domestic violence most commonly discussed. But what many people don't realize is that women who are victims of domestic violence are usually subject to financial abuse as well. They often face financial restrictions and are given limited access, if any, to bank accounts, important documents, and information about shared assets. Finances become a tool used by an abuser to control the victim.

If Someone's In An Abusive Relationship, Where Can They Go To Find Help?

Call the National Domestic Violence Hotline at 1-800-799-SAFE (7233) or TTY 1-800-787-3224 for safety planning, assistance and resources in your area.

What Resources Are Available For Those In An Abusive Relationship?

PurplePurse.com provides a multitude of resources including conversation starters, tips for how to spot signs of abuse, steps to gain financial independence and more.

Would you like to learn more about #PurplePurse?

Don't miss the Allstate Foundation Twitter Party
October 9, 2013

#L4LL: Reading LATINA LEGACIES For Hispanic Heritage Month (Week Two)

Did you know we're midway through Hispanic Heritage Month? It's gone by quickly! I'm honored to say that Latinas4LatinoLit invited me and several other ladies to lead book discussions on their Facebook page. Each of us posts weekly questions about the respective book we're reading. All the titles are by Latino authors, some, that like me, you've probably never heard of.

I had the opportunity to chose the title I'd get to discuss, and it probably comes as no surprise that LATINA LEGACIES: Identity, Biography and Community edited by Vicki L. Ruiz and Virginia Sánchez Korrol found its way into my pocketbook. I'm about half-way through this amazing anthology of short biographies. Each chapter is surprising in that it unveils historical facts about Latinas who never made it into our history books, which I think is a shame, because the stories are exactly what history should be made of -- brave, enterprising, and creative figures who positively impacted their communities.

If you have a minute, please visit the Latinas4LatinoLit Facebook page. MY BELOVED by Sonia Sotomayor, UNBREAKABLE by Jenni Rivera, and RITA MORENO: A MEMOIR by Rita Moreno are also being discussed. And feel free to jump in at any time, past and/or current posts. You might find some literacy resources, too.

I'm In New York City

Landed at Penn Station a couple of hours ago and immediately sensed the vibe. You know, the one that energizes you, even if you've only had three hours of sleep. It's not unlike the feeling I get every time I step off a plane in Miami. The only difference being that New York is Miami on speed. Watch out.

I'm here thanks to the help of three friends: Sofia, who's always looking for ways to help her amigas, as I'm now a volunteer at #Latism13, Dania, who invited me to moderate a panel she's on tomorrow at 10 a.m., the Business of Storytelling, and Gina, who I met at my first blogging conference three years, ago.  Overwhelmed with gratitude for their mentorship and friendship.

It's going to be an amazing three days.

In the meantime, enjoy some pictures I took on the cab ride to the hotel. 

If you're wondering, yes, I'm running 100% on adrenalin, at the moment.

Stay-tuned. :-)

Read THE HOUSE ON MANGO STREET For Hispanic Heritage Month

Mexican-American author-poet Sandra Cisneros raises this simple question in her timeless classic The House on Mango Street. This book of vignettes is one that can be opened to any page without having to know what came in the story before, or what comes after, and that invites the reader to reflect on the meaning of its passages that at moments come across as bocadillos de amor, tiny morsels of love, and at others, sadness. It’s a book about gender, tradition, family, neighbors, single parents, latch-key kids, obligation, shame … denial. No topic is ignored in this book, that in all its simplicity and poetry, canvasses life in the barrio in so few pages.

Esperanza, whose name means hope, is a young Latina growing up in a poor Chicago neighborhood, in a dilapidated house, who aspires to a life better than the one she sees the women around her living.

She says about her great-grandmother whose name she inherited:

"She looked out the window her whole life, the way so many women sit their sadness on an elbow. I wonder if she made the best with what she got or was sorry because she couldn't be all the things she wanted to be. I have inherited her name, but I don't want to inherit her place by the window."

The passage that’s stuck with me is from one of the last vignettes, The Three Sisters. In it three comadres come to visit when a young baby dies. During the wake, one of the women takes Esperanza’s hands in hers, and foretells that she will “go very far.” The old woman then asks her to make a wish, after which she says,

"When you leave you must remember to come back for the others. A circle, understand? You will always be Esperanza. You will always be Mango Street. You can't erase what you know. You can't erase what you are ... You must remember to come back. For the ones who cannot leave as easily as you. You will remember?"

Esperanza feels shame because her aunt sees into her soul; it’s obvious what the young girl has wished for. Even though Esperanza does not understand the meaning of her aunt’s words, the day will come when she will.

I’m glad I finally read this book. It is one that I think should be required reading for all freshman in high school for the universality of its themes. It’s one I’ve carried around, rereading, pondering the last few weeks, making me happy, and sad with the wisdom of its words. It raises questions and depicts situations that not only apply to our Latino youth and the challenges they face as they seek to improve their lives, but also to any community that has been forgotten by not only its law-makers, but also those who have left. It begs the bigger question, “What can we do to help?”

Other questions raised by The House on Mango Street:

• How do we ensure that positive role models/mentors are available to youth when their home and/or immediate environment have none to offer?
• What does it mean to have a sense of duty to our “community?” Does it matter how we define “community?”
• How do our sense of obligation, culture, traditions and gender expectations influence our choices? Can we ever be wrong?
• If you have a moment, watch this short video clip in which Sandra Cisneros discusses what inspired her to write The House on Mango Street, where the lines of truth and fiction blurred for her and why she thinks it has resonated so much with today’s youth.

If you're looking for something to read for Hispanic Heritage Month, this is one book I'm certain you'd enjoy as much as I did.

(This post is an edited version of one previously posted on Multicultural Familia in 2011.)

MIERCOLES MUDO: Mamí's Chicken Boots

ONE DOCTOR Examines The State Of Healthcare In The U.S.

As a  member of Simon & Schuster's Galley Alley, I receive promotional copies of books I've chosen to read. I'm not required to write a review. I write and share what I wish. Opinions expressed herein are my own.

Healthcare delivery in the United States is a disaster. Inflated costs by healthcare providers, incentives for non-delivery of services by insurance companies, and the  waning of medical students choosing internal medicine as their specialty contribute to a disjointed system that endangers patients' lives, rations services, and provides the greatest care to a fortunate and wealthy few. Dr. Brendan Reilly's first person account in ONE DOCTOR: Close Calls, Cold Cases, And The Mysteries Of Medicine is an empathetic and disturbing read.

It's empathetic for the medically near-impossible cases Dr. Reilly presents as he rounds with his  students. The reader doesn't meet patients and their families in a detached clinical sense, but as humans, grappling with decisions that no one should have to make. Between these cases, the author discusses his personal struggles in the profession, while sharing family history, as he decides how to manage his own elderly parents' end of life planning. What defines quality of life and when is "enough" enough? 

The disturbing nature of the book has to do with all the mishaps that occur when there's little or no continuity of care. As I read, I started making a list of the things I'll be doing differently moving forward. I learned more than I wanted to know about medical reimbursement, the dying autopsy, the unreliability of diagnostic tests, both positive and negative, the insidious nature of undetectable breast cancer, and the importance of having an advanced directive in place so that my loved ones aren't burdened with making the kinds of decisions presented in this book. Anyone who doesn't have a primary doctor should get one, now.

We Start At A New School This Week

We start at a new school this week. As some of you know, our son attended a small, private school close to home, and when I say "small," I mean K-8-under-one-hundred-students-small, where everyone knows your name. We're moving for a number of reasons, but the only one that matters to us is that our son requested it. He's ready to experience life outside his small brick building. Both Mom and Dad are a little nervous, because this will be a big change, not to mention culture shock for him. There will be no daily chapel, children aren't expected to hold doors open for their elders, he won't eat his lunch at his desk, nor will he be expected to attend eighth grade graduation each year. Having said all that, despite all that we'll miss that made his previous school special, we're proud of him for advocating for himself, stating that he's ready to make new friends, while firmly and confidently letting us know that he is not going to be siting at the peanut table, either.

Today we attend his new school's Fourth Grade Meet-and-Greet, where we'll drop in to the class, meet his new teacher, other parents and classmates. It's a huge fourth grade wing at a school that will be the equivalent of a small high school for a middle schooler used to a small brick building. I'm grateful beyond words for the role the school adjustment counselor, in addition to the other supports, that are being made available to make his transition as comfortable as is possible, for a ten-year-old, transferring to a new school. I can only imagine the anxiety a family must experience if they or their child are new to the country and don't speak the language. What supports are available to them? As a student of school guidance sitting on the other side of the table, I empathize with these concerns, and for that I'm also grateful.

This week we'll be chronicling a lot of firsts. We're not expecting everything to be perfect and we welcome the unpredictability and excitement that starting something new brings. I came across a wonderful article written by Dr. Michele Borba, a renown and multi-book published, parenting expert. The article is titled "Helping Kids Fit In to a New School and Make Friends." She makes some wonderful recommendations you might find helpful if you have a child starting at a new school.

Is there anything special you've done to ease your child's transition to a new school?

Winged Cigars

Learned something new this week I thought I'd pass along, because apparently I don't know much about insects. Earlier this week I noticed a green dragonfly perched on a dry rosebud in my backyard. I crept up to see how close I could get and saw that its tiny jaws chomped on something -- open, close, open, close, its mandibles moved rhythmically. How cute, I thought. The green helicopter is having a snack. Hmmmmm.

Then I remembered an incident from elementary school, when a young girl approached me on the playground. She held her index finger out in front of her, as if she wanted to say, "Number one." I remember asking her at the time what had happened to her finger, because the ruddy tip was smothered in a glob of a vaseline-like substance. That's when she told me that she'd been bitten by a dragonfly, except, she didn't call it a dragonfly. She called it a cigarrón, dragonfly in Spanish. What did I know? Winged cigars flew around burning people's fingers whenever somebody tried to touch them. Stay away! From that day forward I'd duck a cigarrón whenever one came near.

These days, I smile every time a dragonfly hovers about, mainly because somebody shared with me once that whenever you see a dragonfly, a loved one who's passed is thinking of you. I'd embraced the winged cigars.

That is until I downloaded this picture and upon closer inspection saw that it munched on a fly. Ew.

Turns out dragonflies are carnivorous.

Who knew?

I've Got Chickens On My Mind

You can fool a rooster some of the time, but you can't fool a rooster all of the time. So lemme tell you a story of an urban chick who got it into her head that she wanted to raise chickens. And by "chickens" let me be specific -- I mean two chickens in particular. If you read my Raising Chickens In The Burbs post, you know that my son brought home two baby chicks from his third grade's incubation project. At the time, the sex of the two baby chicks was unknown. I was hoping and praying that Ricki, my white feathered beauty with the rosy comb and waddle, was a hen. It was obvious that my sweet Samantha was a hen. No question. But, Ricki? Welllllll.

I'd convinced myself that I had two egg-laying hens. I so wanted to believe it. That was until a week ago Monday, when at 5:42 a.m. this creepy, croaky sound (like that of an animal being strangled) drifted up from the coop two floors down from my bedroom window. It sounded something like this: cocka-cuu-cu. My eyes snapped open at the strained crow of my Ricki. I knew it was Ricki. Who else could it be? So I waited, holding my breath, watching my husband, hoping he wouldn't wake up. The raspy crowing continued for about fifteen minutes and by six a.m. he was done. This scenario has repeated itself every day since.

5:30 a.m. .... 5:45 a.m. .... 5:20 a.m. I can tell you with certainty that the bird's found his voice.

What's an urban farmer girl to do? Do I keep him and risk having someone call the town to complain about the rooster in my backyard? I decided it would be better for Ricki to go live on a local farm where he'd roam free. I learned later from the friend who arranged the placement that the farm is called BLOOD FARM. Hello. I can't make this stuff up. You don't even want to know what I imagined. We'd decided that the farmer would take Ricki and introduce him to his flock, and in return, I'd get a hen. Then when I learned about the whole business having to do with quarantining a new chicken for up to six weeks to make sure it's not diseased (because it could kill my existing chicken with its bugs), I decided to give up Ricki in exchange for no hen. My Samantha would need to live a solitary life, until I could accommodate quarantine quarters. But then, what about the winter? She'd freeze to death. Even though Ricki bullies her around the coop, they roost practically on top of each other. He's her bud.

Could this story get any longer? So here's what happened next. It was the night before Ricki was supposed to go away, when I had an idea. Why not cover the coop at night and trick the rooster into believing it's still night when he rouses? So I did. With a half dozen Glad trash bags that I taped into the shape of a big blanket. I covered every inch of the coop, leaving the bottoms loose for the free-flow of air, and crossed my fingers. Wouldn't you know it? Ricki did not crow the next morning until I removed the cover from his coop at a more suitable time, like 7:30 a.m. I was ecstatic, jumping up and down in the kitchen in my pajamas, while my husband held his coffee mug and shook his head. He does that a lot.

Later that afternoon I texted my friend and told him I was going to keep my rooster because I'd solved the crowing issue.

Do you think the ruse worked the following morning?

Nope.

Tonight the door into the enclosed part of the coop is closed enough to block Ricki's exit in the a.m. AND the coop is covered with my Glad bag invention.

We'll see what the morning brings.

(Samantha's now laying eggs :-)

MIERCOLES MUDO: Resando A La Luna