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Affirmations., Louise Hay, Single Parents, Wisdom, Working moms

Wisdom in a Box

Mona Alvarado Frazier

Do you ever have those “what’s it all about Alfie?” days. You’re feeling slightly off, unbalanced, tired. 

About ten years ago I went through too many of those days. Single parenthood, hustling kids to school, careening to work, dealing with inmate and staff problems, repeat…you get the picture. 

Too many of those days took their toll, and I didn’t have the correct change. 

During one particularly stressful day I spent my lunch hour wandering through a bookstore–a micro vacation for me. And that’s when I found my wisdom in a box, a set of 64 colorful cards written by Louise Hay, metaphysical lecturer and author. 

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The back of the box read “A Deck of 64 Affirmation Cards to Help You Develop Your Inner Wisdom.” A few colorful cards decorated the box. 

 Hmm. Can one buy wisdom? I loved the crown in the center, the colors made me smile, so I decided it was worth a shot to purchase the box. A souvenier of my micro-vacation.

Sitting in my car I unwrapped my new little treasure, shuffled the cards, and pulled one out. 

“Okay, what do you want to tell me,” I said. 



“Really? ” was the first thing that came out of my mouth. “This is the way it’s supposed to be?”

And then I flipped the card over.



That imperceptible shift that turns the “Ugh” into an “Ah-ha” moment came. I was doing, because that’s what working mothers do. I wasn’t envisioning the garden motif in the card. I wasn’t cultivating a garden.

My picture had a blurry Ford Explorer passing a blurred elementary school, with three fuzzy kids at a school gate, and me in the drivers seat, putting on makeup, the dim job site in the distance.

Rereading the card led me to think about my attitude. I extended my micro-vacation in my car, for a few minutes, and asked myself: 

What can I do to enjoy my life, right now, as is? 

I thought about how life is but a brief moment. There is an ebb and flow, ups and downs. My kids will grow up in a flash, this particular time in my life will come to an end.

I came up with a couple of ways, primarily shifts in attitude, to “enjoy the process,” of my life. It’s okay to start small, as long as you start somewhere, I told myself.

The last line on the card echoed in my mind: I choose to enjoy the process. 

The feeling stayed with me for a couple of hours, and it made a difference. I repeated the quote often. It was a new beginning. 

Ten years later I still shuffle the cards, pick one up and reflect on its message. More often than not I find value and pertinence to whatever I’m doing that moment.  

You can find wisdom in many places: from a child, a book, a trial in your life, an event or from a colorful box at the bookstore. 

Where do you find wisdom? 






Birthdays, Chingona, Death, Family, Parents, Strong Women

A Meaningful Life

Mona Alvarado Frazier
alvaradofrazier.com




It’s my mother’s birthday. She’s on the other side of her early 80’s. 

Still a rebel with a cause. A chingona of the first degree, a strong woman.

Loves to eat, tell us stories, have a beer sometimes (only Corona), and laugh. 

We celebrated yesterday at a birthday barbeque in the backyard surrounded by four generations. 

Her favorite menu of carne asada, corn on the cob, chocolate cake with raspberries were among the spread. We forgot her diabetes for one meal. We didn’t want another tussle.


Amidst the talk of another year gone by, she begins counting grandchildren and greatgrandchildren, thirteen in total.  

“Look,” a friend said to mom, “look at all these fires you started.”

Mom leaned back, she looked pleased and nodded.

I heard her whisper, “Maybe my last year.” She’s been saying those words for the last several months. 

She reminds me that she’s glad I wrote down the stories of her childhood four years ago and gave them to my siblings and cousins. 

“It’s a good title, ‘Remembering before I Forget,’ she said, “because I’m really forgetting now.” And that reminds me that I have to revise the stories. Her cousin says that she recalled a few incidents incorrectly.  

She turns melancholy. It’s hard for her being the last sibling alive. We never had grandparents on her side of the family. She was orphaned at a young age. Remembering that she’s the last one alive is hard for me too. Sometimes I feel guilty we still have her and my cousins don’t have their moms and dads anymore. I think about how they feel when they see her.  

Mom looks to a near future of death, preparing for it by making all the arrangements and payments for her plot, selecting her songs, specifying the flowers, writing down her pall bearers (to include her granddaughters), giving me cards for the man who releases the doves. 

“And no crying, celebrate. I want Mariachi’s to play.”

Everytime I hear her say this I choke up. I’m gonna cry. I know it. And I don’t care. Many, many people will cry. And then I’ll remember all the funny stuff she says and does, all the while laughing. We’ll cry and later laugh, loud.  That’s a family thing, we laugh loudly.

We’ll remember her push for college, her feistiness, her marches for justice, persistence, her green thumb, her love of reading, her travels, her stories about her barrio. We’ll remember it all. 

But the time to cry isn’t now. 

We toast to her health and more birthdays to come.