My Life in Argentina and Beyond

I miss my dogs. I miss Rubio—Rubio, the star German Shepherd, the loyal companion par excellence. Rubio was a dog that should have lived forever. Leo was the dog I had to give up for his own good. Leo was my protector but we had terrible neighbors and they made life very difficult for us. Chiquito—the Pekingese with the soul of an aristocrat. Chiquito, who was a connoisseur of what was beautiful and expensive. Then there was Otranto, my friend Nadia’s older dog. He and I understood each other with just one look. I didn’t even have to say a word—he knew. Niebla, Otranto’s half brother, was such a finicky eater that caviar would not have been good enough for him. They are gone now and I will not forget them. Each brought something to my life that was unique and not to be repeated again.

They couldn't find the vein, so they tried again. I hoped he would survive them. He was a fighter. I kissed him goodbye.

I was sad to learn that Oreo, the miracle pooch that was thrown from a building in Brooklyn a few months ago had to be put down. She recovered from her physical injuries, but the psychological ones were too much and it is said that she became aggressive with other dogs and her handler. The teenager who owned the dog has pleaded guilty and will be sentenced on December 1st. He deserves to be put in jail for a long time. Oreo was not given the chance to be rehabilitated and at 18 months, she was too young to die. A few years ago, I had to leave my dog Rubio, a German shepherd, at somebody’s house for a few months. A well meaning person later told me that although I paid this man and his wife well to take care of my dog, he did not get a blanket to sleep on. The man had him sleep on cold tiles even in winter weather. The man’s wife was sharp with Rubio and may have abused him. My dog had a great heart and when we ran into these people on the street, he treated them as old friends. Animal cruelty in whatever form is a terrible thing. I wish that Oreo had been able to find a home and had been able to trust people. May she Rest in Peace!

Friday, November 13, 2009: Today I am remembering a lost love. He was a priest and I was head over heels in love with him. Frankly, I cared nothing about religion, but because we lived in a Peyton Place type neighborhood, I pretended to. I cared deeply about him and I lost him. I will never recover that love and/or that magical feeling. That only came once in my life and it is gone forever. I hope that one day soon, when a woman falls in love with a priest, she can marry him. And I also hope that she won't have to hide her love and pretend to love someone else--someone who does not exist.Eugenia Renskoff

Thursday, November 12, 2009: Just before I close my eyes at inght, I think of him once more. I see Chiquito as he was when I met him and the blocks that we used to walk stretch out before me. Then I ask him to forgive me. I should have brought him over here to the U.S. almost 2 years ago

I feel tense and my left side—my arm and my neck—hurt. My mother, when we were children in Buenos Aires, must have felt the same way. She must have felt trapped in a beautiful neighborhood with a life she didn’t want. She never intended to be a housewife or a mother of 3 kids. Last night, when I couldn’t buy the things I had the money to buy, I shook just like she used to shake. She wanted to be free and do her own thing.

I don’t want to be poor and deny myself a simple pleasure like yogurt and/or oatmeal. I couldn’t vent with Lauchita. I held her tight and she comforted me in her kitty way. Her body was warm and understanding in my arms. My mother, when she was frustrated, let off steam in a way that hurt me.

People in Argentina are walking on well-lit streets and avenues, where there are lots of people in case of an emergency or robbery. This hasn’t happened before (not to my knowledge and/or not when I lived there). The crime rate did start to be high around November 1997, but this seems to be something altogether more serious and worrisome

A fat man with a well-fed face wearing a three-piece suit walked by our double line at the soup kitchen. He gave us—the women first and then the men—the once over and asked: What are these people waiting for? No one in the line answered. They probably thought ignoring him was the best thing to do. Food, I said. The man walked on with his group of friends. I smiled because I envied his luck. He’s probably never seen a soup kitchen line in real life. The only time he’s come across soup kitchens is in the movies.

Tuesday, November 3, 2009: I know I have to leave Williamsburgh. I know my time there is just about done. Because of the stress it is causing me, I have promised myself never ever to be in such a situation again. I would rather die first. Felling homeless is the worst!

The Office of the Governor

 State of Georgia 203 State Capitol Atlanta, Georgia 30334

October 14, 2009

Re: Mortgage Fraud/Foreclosure Experiences in GA

Dear Governor Perdue,

I have had an extremely bad experience in your state. I was a victim of mortgage fraud and I lost my home in November 2005. I have written letters to the Attorney General of GA and filed a complaint against the broker. Nothing has produced any type of justice and results. A copy of my letter to the Attorney General of GA can be found at www.beccar.wordpress.com. It tells the story of my downfall. I feel very ill used. Now I am not writing to you just to vent and maybe my problem is something that no one cares about because it didn’t happen to them. It happened to me and I am not a person with power and influence. All I know is that when I went to Atlanta, GA I was a person with a nearly perfect credit score of 754 and when I left it I was deep in credit card debt for the first time in my life. The loss of my home because I trusted these two people has had repercussions that I have to live with to this day. I cannot begin to describe to you what it has done to me. It has been the most horrible experience of my life so far and I deeply regret the day that I decided to take the Grey Hound bus going to Atlanta. I never told these real estate professionals to lie about my income or to say that I had my own publishing company. That was done without my knowledge and when I found out about it, I thought it was too late to turn back and that I had to go through with the closing on July 26, 2002. I was naïve; I realize that now after reading about similar cases in newspapers like the New York Times. I have paid a very heavy price for that naïveté and am still paying for it. I assure you that everything I am saying in this letter is the absolute truth and nothing but. Now I don’t believe in people like I once did. I don’t trust anybody, especially realtors and their friends. I have them to thank for it. I was out of the country when my condo foreclosed on November 1, 2005 and I had to way to get back to the United States. Nevertheless, I tried everything I could to stop it and I called the Sheriff’s Office, among other GA government departments. Needless to say, I had no attorney and no money to pay for one. I was alone and far away at a t I tried everything I could to stop it and I called the Sheriff’s Office, among other GA government departments. Needless to say, I had no attorney and no money to pay for one. I was alone and far away at a time when I was going through a terrible experience. I have since left GA. If at this time the statues of limitations for white collar crimes are not too long in GA, I would like to see them expanded to 10 years. No one—no one calling themselves real estate professionals--has a right to put their personal gain/commission ahead of a borrower’s needs.

Sincerely, Eugenia Maria Renskoff