Category: Wisdom

Artist Frida Kahlo, Chingonas, Patssi Valdez, Vogue-Mexico, Wisdom

Wisdom for the Weekend-Frida Kahlo

Mona Alvarado Frazier
googleimages royalty free

The grey clouds outside, weighted with rain, will last through the weekend. I like the rain, but not when I’m feeling a little down and out. Like now.

Because I know that I can’t let the feelings take over or I’ll bury my head under the covers and stay in my PJ’s all day, I’m assembling some indoor activities to keep myself occupied-to keep my head up. 


I came across this Vogue cover. It’s the November 2012 issue in Mexico. 

Frida Kahlo is one of my very favorite chingonas.I feel  sad that I will miss a museum exhibition that this cover highlights. Las Apariencias Enganan ( Appearances Can Be Deceiving: The Dresses of Frida Kahlo) opens on November 22 at the artist’s museum, La Casa Azul in Coyocán, Mexico. Several pieces of Frida’s colorful, unique wardrobe, which set her apart from the women of her time (1930’s-50’s), will be on display.

Frida sits in a tranquil repose on this gorgeous cover. Sitting for Nikolaus Murray, the photographer, must have caused her pain. She suffered from polio, several broken bones including a crushed pelvis from an earlier bus accident, and a spinal cord injury. She was in traction for many months, wore a brace, and limped. And still this woman painted while recuperating in her bed, paintings that are renowned for their surrealist renderings.  

In this photograph, Frida projects a wisdom through her eyes-a knowing. Wisdom has many meanings. A simple yet profound one is from Wikipedia “Wisdom is also the comprehension of what is true coupled with optimum judgment as to action.”  Wisdom is also discernment, insight, lessons learned. 

Some wisdom from Frida Kahlo:

  • Feet, what do I need you for when I have wings to fly?  

  • At the end of the day, we can endure much more than we think we can. 

  • Nothing is worth more than laughter. It is strength to laugh and to abandon oneself, to be light. 

  • I love a woman with cojones.  

  • I used to think I was the strangest person in the world but then I thought there are so many people in the world, there must be someone just like me who feels bizarre and flawed in the same ways I do. I would imagine her, and imagine that she must be out there thinking of me, too. 

 It’s raining now. I think I’ll begin the morning perusing the short stories and poems in my new issue of Huizache. What a gorgeous cover, huh. The art is titled ” The Crying Tree,” by Patssi Valdez. 



The artist notes, in the back of the book, state: “The crying tree is shedding the tears of distress and pain that one endures in a lifetime.”  When I read her quote I think of the wisdom of her words. 

In the picture, there is growth, vibrancy, fruit, seeds, and living plants growing right underneath that crying tree. I am reminded that although the clouds are heavy and I’m going through a sad period, that there is beauty from pain, grey clouds, and the rain. 

Coping with Grief, Death, Hospice, Parenting, Wisdom

How Do You Process Dying?

Mona Alvarado Frazier
Royalty free

Mom yells a lot lately. This is usual and unusual. Usual because she is hard of hearing so she frequently shouts “What?” Unusual because she’s yelling about who didn’t vacuum the carpet correctly, arguing and then dashing to her room crying.  

She has a reason for anger, frustration and tears. Her oldest sister, who has had dementia for four years, is dying and in hospice care. She is not expected to live past six months. 

Mom was orphaned by age twelve. Both her brothers are gone and her youngest sister died of leukemia six years ago. Although no stranger to grief, this news about her sister is incredibly hard for Mom to process and accept.

Growing up with my single parent mom was a lesson in stoicism. Mom talked about strength, not how she felt about circumstances. 

Instead she silently prayed at the bottom of our staircase where a tiny alcove held a delicate figurine of the Virgin Mary in celestial blue robes and gold stars above her head. Moms fingers could work a rosary like a Swiss watch maker works a tiny tool. 

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As I grew up I learned to discuss feelings, tiny step by tiny step, by reading self help books, the Bible, and talking to friends, and therapists. Before I talked to my mom about my aunt, I read some articles about end of life and hospice care.This is not an area I know well and I wanted to combat my mom’s usual “Be strong,” phrases. Advice that resonated with me was this:

“Maybe they don’t feel strong and need to feel like they can be afraid. You need to give them the space for their fears.”

Finding out a way to give my mom space for her fears was difficult to initiate. Her defenses are still agile.  

Yesterday, before we went to visit my aunt, Mom and I had a conversation. I didn’t want her to pretend everything was okay and then blow up at someone. We discussed that fear, anger, and grief are absolutely normal. 

“How do you feel about going to see your sister?” I asked when we were on the telephone. She cried-a lot.  

When I picked her up the next day to take her to visit I asked her again how she felt. 

“Everyone will be gone, I’ll be alone, all of them gone…do you have my living trust? I have to update it this week.” she says.

The switch from feelings to action were that sudden. 

So I talked about how I felt.  Although I have a biological father, I don’t know him or have any relationship with him. My stepfather, who was estranged from us for most of our life, died last year. None of my cousins have their parents any more. Mom listened and nodded.

My aunt’s deteriorating health and imminent death brings my mom’s own mortality right up to my face, telling me to look at the inevitable, which is much sooner than I’m ready for, if anyone can be ready. I know Mom sees it too. 

We went to visit my aunt, who looked 200% better than she did in the ICU last week, but my mom was last to hug and talk to her. She made busy conversation with my aunts two daughters. We prodded Mom to talk to my aunt about growing up and the old times. My aunt rarely talks, so my mom didn’t think that was a good idea. “She doesn’t recognize me, she won’t remember.” 

However, my mom took a few stabs at talking to her sister. After an hour or so we said our goodbyes. My aunt looked at my mom leaving and grabbed onto the edge of the dining table, pushing herself in her wheelchair after my mom. It was heartbreaking. 

“Mom,” I said as I pushed my aunt’s wheelchair towards Mom. I wanted her to turn around and she finally did. 

“Don’t go,” my aunt said. 

It was then that Mom let tears come into her eyes and felt her feelings, just for a brief minute. All the way home she kept in the tears and talked about visiting again. 

There will be no escaping death. Things won’t get easier, they’ll get hardier. We’ll process it and support our cousins and my mother through this time. And I’m grateful that we have family and friends to talk to about dying and death. We won’t be silent about our feelings.