Letters to the Moon....

Today the world has lost an amazing artist, a shining light. Maya Angelou died today. You may not know her name or who she was. Dr. Angelou was an author, educator, actress, singer, civil rights activist, and poet. Born Marguerite Johnson, she  became the first person of color to work as a cable car conductor in San Francisco. She later  began her professional career as singer and actress. In the turbulent times of the 1960s, she worked with Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and Malcom X in the fight for civil rights.  In 1969 she wrote her bestselling novel, “I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings.” In the 1970s she appeared in the epic television miniseries, “Roots.” In the 1990s Maya Angelou was asked to write a poem and recite it at the inauguration of American President Bill Clinton. She was the first female poet to be selected for this honor. In 2011 she received the Presidential Medal of Freedom from President Barack Obama. Late last year, Maya Angelou wrote a poem upon the death of Nels

It has come to my attention that not all of my pages are appearing on this blog, as they had done in the past. So, I decided to write and tell you a little bit about me. My pen name is Esperanza Habla. That is not my real name; that is the name I use to share my writings. In English, this name translates to "Hope Speaks." My real first name is Hope, and I have a lot to say. I grew up in a family with a Mother and a Father and five children. I am the last child, and I am an adopted child. My home is the United States of America. I work in a library in my city and have been with the same library organization for nineteen years. Before working in a library, I went to university and received a degree in Music History and Literature. I began writing four years ago. My friends introduced writing to me as a means of self-expression. I wrote my earliest poems and shared them with those friends. Because some of these friends spoke Spanish, I began learning Spanish on my o

Life is full of meetings and partings, hellos and goodbyes, arrivals and farewells, love and loss. Each day comes with its own challenges. Some days the severity of a loss does not affect you, and you can ride the wave. Other times the wave  crashes on top of you  without warning, leaving you breathless in its wake. There have been many challenges for me this year, this month. I recently shared that one of my family members has died. Yet again there has been another loss in my life. This time I have lost a dear friend. One of my former co-workers at the library died a few days ago. She and I were friends while we worked together; when she retired, she and I drifted apart. We would send one another e-mail messages occasionally, usually on holidays. Even though we did not interact as often as we had in the past, we picked up our friendship just where we left off. I learned that this friend had cancer a couple of months ago. A few weeks ago she entered hospice, or end of life

There was a sad turn of events recently; a family member died. I was not close to this family member, but the loss was felt by all. I traveled with members of my family for the funeral services. In times like these, it is natural to think about our own mortality. At one point my family members asked me if I have made plans for my demise. Yes, I have made plans. I would like to be cremated, and have my ashes scattered in a beautiful place.  I have not decided where yet. Maybe Paris. That way, if I never get to Paris, I will one day. With all this talk and contemplation on death, I am reminded of something one of my online friends, an actor, told me once. He said that artists never die. Our work lives on long after we do. Through our work, we attain immortality. To be truthful, I had never thought about it that way before. But yet I can see that it is true. With the examples of the films of Charlie Chaplin, the songs of John Lennon, the books of Maurice Sendak, the paintings