A Sunday Funny for all my Miami Peeps

The Voices in My House

So, like everyone else this weekend, we've been watching the Olympics. I missed the Opening Ceremonies on Friday, but spent a good chunk of yesterday watching and again this morning.

I was able to catch the end of the USA v. China basketball game. I was actually excited because I got to hear all kinds of commentary from my dad, who is amazed when the players slam dunk (Look at THAT! Tremendous!).

Anyway, I showed Yao Ming to my dad. I told him he's super tall and he plays for the NBA here, but he goes back to China to represent his country for the Olympics.

Over and over I heard my dad repeat: Yao Ming, Yao Ming, Yao Ming.

A little while later, I heard my mother talking to Patrick: Patrick, do you like basketball? Do you like the basketball players? Do you like Chow Mein?

Ay yay yay.

Meeting Marti

No, not Jose Marti. But someone equally as cool.

During my last visit to Miami, I got to meet fellow blogger, Marti, along with a portion of her great family: son Adam and daughter Amy (aka Kikita). I've had my blog for a few years now, but have never met anyone that reads my words or vice versa. Of course, it's common to be skeptical in a situation like this, but honestly, meeting Marti was so comfortable. She recognized me immediately, fawned over Patrick and asked about Mike: It was like meeting a long-lost friend and picking up right where you had left off. She's awesome, not to mention cute (see, Marti? I told you I would fit that in here somewhere!).

My only regret is not having spent more time with her, sharing some croquettas and Materva. There were so many things I wanted to tell her - most importantly, how much I admire her Cuban-ness and the love for her family that comes with it.

She also signed her cookbook - filled with fantastic Cuban recipes right from her kitchen. So, people, go to her website, and buy it. I mean it, do it now!

Check out photos of our meeting during Cuba Nostalgia:

Cuba Nostalgia 2008 at Tamiami Park

Patrick, the cigar roller

My newest (and coolest) new friend from the internets, Marti

Patrick got along famously with Kikita, Marta's daughter (isn't she lovely?)

All pooped out after a long day of drinking cafe, eating pastelitos, and dancing salsa

This is how your hard-core Commie works...

Like many Cuban-Americans and Cubans in exile, I have always thought the demise of that commie rat would be a painful death. But wishes and desires aren't always granted.

Instead, we're getting a resignation and the passing of the torch the a younger brother.

Not the ideal but what can you do? After nearly 50 years of waiting...

... we continue to wait.

My Mom Rocks

She's only been here a few days and already, Mike and I are spoiled.

Dinner is awesome and plentiful.

Tonight: chicken cooked with garlic and onions, served atop fried potatoes. Alongside, white rice (yes, even with potatoes, we still had rice). Also, a side lettuce salad. And empanadas.

Dad is also helping. He's become the official garbage remover in the house. :)

Could It Be True?

Today I got a special treat from my hubby, who was off. He drove me to the mall, where I walked and walked for a few hours. It was definitely nice to get out and see people in a place other than the grocery store (which has been one of my only means of public visits the last few weeks).

While we were out, my mother called me with news that someone had died. Mike and I were quick to come home and turn on the television. But we found nothing.

Nothing.

What's going on? Is FeeNo going to visit Cuba sooner than we expected?

I can only pray...

The More Things Change...

the more they stay the same.

Here is my post, from a year ago today.

I've not much more to say about it, except that my feelings are the same or possibly even stronger, since I am having a baby this year and wish that my entire family - especially those in Cuba - could partake in this miracle.

More news on FeeNo tomorrow.

Not Making Light of a Death...

But one less Commie is always a good thing.

Read about it here.

FeeNo has rhythm... or something

So we went to the doc yesterday for an ultrasound and check up. Everything looks pretty good so far: FeeNo is over an inch long and is growing right on schedule. Heart beat is really strong too - THUMP THUMP THUMP - at 175.

The only thing is that the kid would not sit still for a picture! Somersaults in my belly! Rolling from side to side. Up and down. The kid was all over the place.

I think it might have something to do with the kid being part Cuban. I think the kid is going to be a great dancer, maybe modeling some people on Dancing With the Stars. Mike swears the kid was dancing the paso doble.

Busy

Sorry I've been absent in my posts - it's been nearly a week since I wrote anything.

Very busy and lots of stuff going on in my neck of the woods.

However, I wasn't too busy to make Marta's picadillo last night. It was tasty! And tonight, I took the leftovers and made pastelitos - both with the picadillo and some guava I had saved for the occasion! Thanks, Marta, for your recipe. It's been a very Cuban household for the last two nights and for that, my Irish husband thanks you!

Weekend in Pictures

I think I've used that post title before as a copout to writing something lengthy and meaningful. Guess what? I'm doing it again.

Here, in no particular order, photos from our weekend in South Florida:

Turtles at Bal Harbour. My mother thought they were fake, so she threw pennies at them. They weren't fake afterall.

A glimpse of Emeril at his restaurant on South Beach. I'd like to think he cooked my dinner that night. He probably didn't.

The obligatory visit to the tios' house: Dad, Mike and Tio. We watched Scarface.

Leaving... on a jet plane

My long-awaited trip to Miami is finally here! And while I really don't like Miami, I am looking forward to getting out of the freezing temperatures and gusty winds.

As far as I'm concerned, the stress of traveling began last night. It was nearly midnight when we finished packing, something I blame on myself due to a long week at work. But anyhow, as I was saying, the stress began last night.

Me: Have you taken out all the things you need for the weekend?

Mike: Like what? I have jeans and t-shirts out already.

Me: How about your suit, a shirt, and a tie that doesn't make you look like the biggest Republican in the place? And your square-toed shoes and dress socks?

Mike: Oh yeah, a suit.

Me: I can't wait to see Little Owen. I'm so excited.

Mike: We're going to see Owen and family? I didn't know that.

Me: Duh? Didn't I mention that we were going to a wedding? The wedding of a former college roommate? A roommate that I had when I was a student at the University of Florida and was a bleeding orange and blue gator? A roommate that was also roommates with my bff?

Mike: Oh, I must have not been listening.

Ugh.

The stress continued when I mentioned that we would be bringing my parents presents. Two carry on suitcases! That I got for free! Because if I actually went to Miami and bought my parents two suitcases, they wouldn't like them. But, since I told them I got them for nothing (FREE! GRATIS!), they are excited to receive them. Actually, I told them I had one, but with my excellent packing and organizational skills I was able to pack one into our regular suitcase and use the other one as a carry on for us.

Let me explain this: the thrill of getting a good quality anything is a success to Cubans, namely my parents. It helps even more if the good quality anything was free (FREE! GRATIS! NO TAX!). The other thing is that both my mother and I feel that the gifts we bring eachother are the greatest, most ingenius gifts ever known to man. We never stop to think that the pajamas my mom brought me could easily have been bought in my neighborhood mall or that the shampoo gift basket that I brought her could have been bought in Miami. We've been doing this for years, including the time I regifted my father a Waterford crystal eagle that I received at some charity dinner (I carried that baby on the plane with me, folks!).

But I digress... what was I talking about? Yes, stress. I am sure it will continue through the weekend. I have already heard word of my father cooking for us and packing his home cooking up in containers for us to bring back to Jersey (we can't get food up here, apparently). And there's no arguing with him, so we'll be eating his specialty dish for a few days after we get back.

I suppose I should just enjoy the attention from the family. Afterall, I'm their baby. And Mike, well, he's the greatest gringo they've ever met. I can't wait for my aunt to hug him and kiss him all over.

More on our adventures next week. And photos of us sweating in the hot south Florida sun and doing the white man's overbite to the Electric Slide!

Have a great weekend, everyone!

The Cold Creeps In

Last night's weather report said that it's finally going to feel like winter in my neck of the woods.

It's about freakin' time. We're talking about lows in the teens and some flurries.

This morning, as I was dressing for work, Mike reminded to wear something warm.

"Of course. Although next year at this time, we might be sitting in weather that is much more tropical. Or, better yet, you might get to experience your very first Noche Buena," I replied.

As the cold arrives in the Northeast, hellish conditions make their way toward a hospital in Havana.

Not My Words Today

I just read this and had to post it.

I am crying.

Crying because this is a perfect summary of what it's like to have a wonderful example in your life and appreciating it. And I only wish I knew how to express it to my own father. Actually, I think I will.

My best wishes and prayers go out to Val, his immediate family, and the entire Babalu family.

The Year Santa Claus Brought Me a Box of Dirt and a Stick

I'm not sure when I learned there was no Santa Claus - it could have been when I saw pictures of my uncle dressed in a Santa suit, minus the hat and beard or when my two cousins sat me down and told me that Santa was really my mom. Both of those event may have come the same year, but I honestly can't remember.

All I know is that I knew the real truth about Santa at a very very young age.

However, since I was a really smart kid, I knew that I could never let my parents know because that would just ruin all chances of getting really good stuff. So, I never let on that I knew the truth.

In the years that proceeded 'the discovery of no Santa', I managed to figure out where my mom had hidden all my presents. Granted, all the presents were wrapped, but I could always count on finding them under her bed or deep in a closet. One year, I even found presents in the trunk of the car!

Eventually, my mother figured out what I was doing and mentioned it to my father. The following Christmas, I couldn't find a single gift. I searched everywhere - the garage, the basement, the cars, the closets. Nothing.

On Christmas Eve, two presents magically appeared under the Christmas tree. Naturally, I was excited that I hadn't been 'discovered' and that 'Santa' would be making a grand delivery as usual.

Imagine my surprise on Christmas morning when I opened the presents and found a two by four stick and a shoe box filled with dirt. I was devasted. What a terrible thing to do to a kid, right? But no, my parents were all proud of themselves; my father casually mentioned how children should never try to trick their parents, because parents will always find out.

When my tears had subsided, they presented me with loads of gifts, just like all other Christmases (as an aside, the reason I never found the presents is because my mother gave them to my godmother to hide - very clever!). I guess that's why to this day, more than 25 years later, I don't try to keep things from either one of my parents. I definitely learned my lesson.

Against my wishes, I am going to Buffalo

It appears I will be going to Buffalo this weekend, no ifs ands or buts.

I shouldn't complain because it's a great opportunity to spend a weekend with Mike, just hanging out without a care in the world.

But all I can think about is the laundry that needs to get done, the Christmas presents that need to be wrapped, the floor that needs to be mopped, and the bathroom that needs to be cleaned.

I don't know why I worry about all of this, it's not like I am having guests over or anything like that. I'm not even hosting Christmas at my house. So why do I worry?

Your guess is as good as mine, but I am going to bet my anxiousness about my house is somehow related to being Cuban.

If I can't figure it out, blame it on the Cuban-ness.

Cuban Guilt

For those Cubans that read this blog, you will understand what I am referring to when I mention the Cuban mop. It's basically a stick shaped like a T, where you hang a towel on the lower end and mop. Then you take the towel off, rinse it off, ring it out, place it back on the stick, and continue mopping. Then you can easily wash the towel when you are finished. Usually, you use the oldest towel you own to do this type of cleaning.

Cubans beware: I don't own a Cuban mop (the horror! someone call the cops!).

My parents arrived in New Jersey last week for a 12-day visit that included their first visit to my new home and Thanksgiving hosted by their wonderful daughter.

A conversation began the morning after they arrived:

mom: do you have a mop?
me: no. i use the swiffer.

an hour later:
mom: do you have a mop?
me: no mom. i use the swiffer to clean the kitchen.

three hours later:
mom: do you have a bucket?
me: no.
mom: then what do you use when you mop?
me: nothing. i use a swiffer to mop the kitchen floor.

the next day:
mom: do you have a mop? i need a mop.
me: mom, i don't have a mop. i don't have a bucket either. i use a swiffer to clean the floor.
mom: why don't you have a bucket? where do you put the dirty water when you mop?

Now, I cleaned the house right before my parents arrived. Everything was spotless. Yet, my mother felt it just wasn't clean enough. Thus began the cleaning. Everyday, sweeping. Then the mop conversation. Everyday, people. Everyday. I hate the mop conversation already.

But if I say, 'listen ma, just stop it with the mop. just sit down and relax. there's no need to clean. please stop!,' I'm sure I'll get scolded.

Because in Cuban households, you never tell your parents what to do. Not even if it's your own house.

Ahhhhhh, here it comes. Can you feel it?

The Cuban guilt has arrived.

Giving Thanks

Thanksgiving is really my favorite holiday. I suppose I could thank my father for this, since he has always been an advocate for the United States and thanking the country that did so many things to enhance his life.

I love Thanksgiving because it's a holiday where families get together, eat all day long, watch tv, gossip, fight, and eat some more.

This year, I have taken the task of hosting Thanksgiving at my house. I hope I don't let anyone down with my lack of knowledge on Thanksgiving hosting, or any type of hosting, for that matter. But do know that I'm trying my best.

Since I have offered to host Thanksgiving, it's something I have been thinking about for many weeks now (menu planning, distributing jobs, buying groceries). But I have also been thinking about the things I am most thankful for in my life.

I don't know if I am going to be able to post this on the actual day of Thanksgiving, since my parents are arriving tonight and the rest of the week is full of activities.

And so, I present some things I am thankful for:

• My husband - before him, I really didn't know how happy I could really be. In all it's cheesiness, he is a great addition to my life. And I really don't know how I would function in this world without him.
• My family, both blood and in-law - despite the craziness of both sets of families, I am grateful that I have them. My side: for teaching me values, for giving me everything they never had, for allowing me to be independent, for supporting me, and for sticking by me always (or, eventually coming around) whenever I made decisions that they didn't necessarily agree with. My in-laws: for accepting me as one of their own, for learning with me, and for making me feel the warmth of family when my own is miles away.
• My good friends - for sticking by me through the best and worst. It's a blessing to have friends that will drop everything if you need them. It's also a blessing to have friends that you can drop everything if they need you.

I could be thankful for the material things in my life: my car, house, clothes, etc, but that's not really what this is about, is it?

Happy Thanksgiving to all - I hope you find things in your life that you are thankful for.

Follow the Flamingo

They're okay in my book, dammit.

Read about it here.

I'll get gas there, plus buy a bottle of water, and maybe even a Slurpee.

On Being Cuban...

My cousin sent this to me today. It’s certainly a comical way to end an otherwise stressful week.

Enjoy!

I grew up in a household…

• where coffee, milk and sugar were part of a balanced breakfast.
• where my ADD and ADHA were treated with en cuanto te coja te voy a partir la cabeza instead of Ritalin.
• where all it took was just *ONE* look.
• where we loved white rice and fried eggs.
• where lentil soup was considered comida de presos.
• where Spanish was my primary language.
• where Spanish was my *only* language.
• where I had to go to school open house to translate for my parents.
• where music or TV were never played on Good Friday.
• where we ate bacalao on Good Friday because all other fish were too expensive.
• where we at lechon at Noche Buena, New Year's Eve, birthday parties, and every other social function.
• where malanga and manzanilla were the remedies to end all remedies.
• where I was not allowed to sleep over at anybody's house, but they could all come over to our house.
• where the carpool was el ride, the lunchman was el carrito, and the lunchbox was la lonchera.
• where la carne came from la carniceria.
• where meat and potatoes was literally carne con papas. And it was served over rice.
• where oxtail stew had the colorful name of rabo encendido or translated - fiery tail.
• where people were either blanco, negro, indio o chino.
• where los perros was te dog track, las maquinitas were slot machines, and el juego was anything related to gambling.

I grew up in a household run by Cubans.

I survived in a household run by Cubans.

Happy Friday to all, and especially to my mom and all the other Caridades - Feliz dia de la Caridad!