Stuff I only do when I have out-of-town guests and then remember how much cool stuff there is to do around here.

Okay, so I could be thinking of really cool stuff I can blog about, except for I have other responsibilities this week.  There's nothing like having out-of-town guests who want to see everything they possibly can in the few days they're here.   So, I'm obviously not blogging,
I'm being the quintessential Tour Guide.

"Prima Martica,  show us L.A."

And so I think they might enjoy a tour of NBC Studios where the Tonight Show is filmed and that would have been really great, except for that whole Writer's Guild Strike because Jay Leno is being supportive of the writers, which is really cool, but because he wasn't there, there was no show being taped, so all we got to see was the empty Tonight Show studio and Jay's empty parking space, which was a bummer because of his really super car collection, but that's not important right now.
We were excited to honk and wave in solidarity with the striking writers.
(I had such a Norma Rae moment, there. =D)

So we left beautiful downtown Burbank with all its picketing writers and headed over to Glendale and (insert angelic choir here. . . Porto's Bakery for lunch!!!)
Yes. Cuban food! Cuban bread. Cuban cafécito. Cuban Pastelitos.
Having Porto's as a reward made driving to L.A. almost tolerable.  ;-)
"Hey, why don't we do this more often?"

Next stop:  The Hollywood Blvd. Walk of Fame

Then footprint and autograph hunting at Grauman's Chinese Theatre.

I always forget how much fun this is.

Once again, we had to deal with yet another version of Captain Jack Sparrow.

In fact, we had to deal with a few iterations of Johnny Depp characters. (that's Willy Wonka walking away.)

Fantastic, laugh-out-loud, wow-that's-totally-cool fun was had by all. 
Why don't we do this more often?  (I'm sooo changing that.)

Sorry the blog thing has been so boring these past few days.
It's just that because my big, fat, Cuban family has been in town (obviously) I'm not sitting at my computer trying to come up with witty posts.  I'm just out there in the real world with my adorable cousins and my kids having a blast (except I'm not really sure you can call Hollywood the "real" world, but that's not important right now).

Because there's no "undo" command for REAL LIFE.  ;-)

I've been busy.

You're probably wondering where I've been the past few days.

I've . . .

Traveled from Balboa Island to The Fun Zone on a ferry with my cousins.

Left footprints in the sand of beautiful Laguna Beach.

Visited the World's Largest Thermometer in Baker, CA. (Gateway to Death Valley - what a great touristic selling point!)

Posed for a picture in the middle of the Mojave Desert a mere 517 miles from Salt Lake City, UT.

Been appropriately impressed with the magnificence of the Hoover Dam.

Walked all the way from Nevada to Arizona to meet my cousin there. ;-)

Met a Golden Lion.

Tried to make friends with Captain Jack Sparrow.

Given Eric pointers for putting with Tiger Woods and Arnold Palmer.

Taken a bow with Tony Bennett.

Practiced some talking points with the President.

Needless to say. . .
I've been BUSY.

But these two have been sitting in exactly the same spot for the past two days. 
Right where we left them.

And it appears they've been just as busy.  =D

It starts. . .

I have creative kids and I'm always proud to share their exploits.  This particular film was made by Amy, but the song was written and performed by Adam.  It was the highlight of our family reunion.

I've told you before about our big, fat family reunion which I held here in my home in 2002. It was in that post that I explained about what a "cucufate" is.
I've also told you that the octogenarians are now in their nineties and planning another trip.

I have not told you that the fun begins tomorrow.  I'm picking up my cousin, Maria and her husband, Rufo (whom I adore!) along with my mom's little sister (she'll be turning 90) as we begin what Adam likes to call The Cucufate Olympics - Round 2.

He wrote an original song to the tune of Hotel California but it's Cucufate Olympics in California. It begins on one of our first trips to the airport to pick up my mom's older and younger brothers, one in a wheelchair, which is where Adam got the idea of a race. 
Please enjoy Adam as he musically recaps the week leading up to the reunion where he performed the song and as he tells about all the airport pick ups, all the alcohol consumed, he finds out what exactly is a "boniato?" , he gives a pretty accurate picture of the trip where Amy takes all the old people to Vegas along with Cousin Waldo ("where's Waldo??")  and finally all the out-of-town guests made speeches which were then translated to English. (please enjoy. it will explain so much.)

It was. . . "una noche inolvidable!"

What would you take?

Adam sent this to me yesterday via his phone with the message:
"3 blocks away."

I recognized the intersection immediately.  My friend, Kristen lives at the end of that street and yes, they had to evacuate their home and are safe and staying with friends. (Thank you, God!)

The story is the same all around us. 
My nieces in San Diego - evacuated.
Helen's in-laws - evacuated.
Friends in the canyon - evacuated.
Friends in North San Diego - evacuated.
What can we do to help? Nothing.
So we pray.

We are besieged by the smoke, but not in any immediate danger.  (Thank you for your prayers.)
It just really hurts to breathe.

I wander around my home disturbed with this unanswerable question inside me:

"What would you take?"

I am immediately detached from the present and remember another time in my life where my parents had to make that decision. 

It's 1961.  We are fleeing our homeland. 

"What would you take?"

For me as a five-year-old, that was a no-brainer.  My dolls, of course!  My most precious possessions at the time.  I can't imagine what that moment must have looked like for my mom.  My dad had already fled the country with an overnight bag and his passport.  She had had to send her only son out of the country on the first Pedro Pan flight.  (What was he allowed to take?)

Faced with the idea of evacuation I try to relate to their situation and the question suddenly feels impossible.

"What would you take?"

The most common answer is:  "My pictures."  I guess that really translates to "my memories, my stories."

I realize that that's exactly what my parents did.  They took their children, their memories, their stories, their hopes, their fears, their love, and a few pictures, too.  In other words, the things that were irreplaceable.

So I rephrase the question:

"What things are irreplaceable?"

• My family.
• My friends.
• My memories.

It's funny how short the list becomes when you have to decide what really matters.
The rest is just stuff.

(It's a little easier to breathe now.)

Learning to say "I love you"

It's funny how our roles have reversed.

I worry about making her meals and making sure she eats.
I help her dress.
I take her places.

Yesterday we spent hours at Armstrong's Nursery. (I think I inherited my love for gardening from her.)

We walk and examine every beautiful bloom.  We are admiring the pictures of the bulbs and deciding together what we will plant now for our spring gardens. 

We laugh. A lot.  I say, "Mira que yo te quiero."  ("I love you so much.")

She stops in surprise and ponders my spontaneous declaration of affection.

"You've always been like that.  Always so affectionate. Your children say it easily too.  I'm sorry,"  she continues, "that I never said it to my own mother."

I am surprised by this intimate disclosure.

"No se usaba entonces."  ("It wasn't in style back then.")

We pay for our potting soil and bulbs and load up the minivan. 
I help her get in.  "Te quiero."  She says it awkwardly, self-consciously.

"Te quiero mas." 

I love you more.

Because I live in a Parallel Universe (in which ninety is the new fifty)

I often get asked these two questions:
"Do you still have family in Cuba?" and "Have you ever been back?"
The answers are yes and no.

In August of 2002 we hosted a family reunion here in Mission Viejo.   Three of my mom's four siblings were able to come - two of them traveling from Cuba and one from Miami.  There was also a childhood (their childhood!!) friend of the family who now lives in Puerto Rico who made the trip for the reunion.

At that time we thought that it would probably be their last hurrah.  After all, they were all in their late eighties.  And the distances and hassles of octogenarians traveling in between the two countries could be quite daunting. . . yada, yada. 

Well, I don't know what kind of wood these people are carved from, but I sure hope some of it is in my DNA because, get this. . .

We're preparing for another Cuban invasion.  They're coming back!  In fact, they'll be here next month.  And they're in their NINETIES now, people!

My mom is super dialed-up and is on the phone a dozen times a day to remind us (again!) of yet another detail she's remembered.  And . . .well . . . she's 93,  you know.  So we end up having the same conversation a few times a day. 

Even though I'm genuinely looking forward to seeing the extended fam again, my mom has an endless "to-do" list for me (because she thinks I can do anything, and yes, it's flattering, but it's starting to tax my energy a bit - and oh yeah! that was a total understatement, but that's not important right now =D).  She'll be with us this weekend which means. . .

well, you can imagine what it means. . .

If you're reading this, please send valium.  Big, Fat Cuban Family-size valium.  Please.  ;-)

on fear and stickiness.

Isn't this a cool piece of art?

Eric got it for me a couple of years ago and I just love it.

That has always been my "mantra." (well, technically, I'm not really sure what a mantra is, but I know it's a form of self-talk, so just go with me on this one. =D)

"I am Fearless."

Okay. It's not really true.

Or at least it wasn't.

I remember the catechism of fear that I learned early on:

• "Don't talk to anyone." 
• "Just keep smiling."
• "Try not to be noticed."
• "Don't cry."
• Do what you're told."

I know those sound bites could be from any mother to any child, and they are pretty innocuous, but when you put them into their original context, the meaning drastically changes.

When you are a five-year-old walking towards an airplane guarded by bearded, military, machine-gun toting personnel, the words become Life or Death.

And they stick. They stick in the stickiest life-defining form.

And so I carried the fear with me everywhere I went, even though I knew I was safe here on U.S. soil and within the arms of my amazing family.
But I started saying this about myself:  "I am fearless."

And somehow, those words have been sticky and life-defining, too.

Because I learned that it takes a lot of courage to face the things you are genuinely afraid of.

So, really, I'm still kind of a whiner-baby and scaredy-cat on the INSIDE.

But on the OUTSIDE: 

"I  (really) AM FEARLESS."

20 - Gato Fino

Of course I'm superstitious.  It's part of my Cuban DNA. 

I come by it honestly.  As a Cuban baby I had the mandatory black azabaché (to ward off the Evil Eye, Envy, Illness, Bad Luck and Violence) pinned to my clothing before I was even able to open my eyes to the world.

I still look at my watch and wince a little when we're at the beach and my kids want to go right back in the water after they've eaten.  The no-bathing-for-three-hours rule is so ingrained into my being that I immediately have visions of them having a patatú - a seizure-like fit. (Or it can also be a quite tasty drink made with Amaretto, Gold Rum, Curacao, orange juice and grenadine, but that's not important right now. =D)

I've told you before about Cuban math and the Charada China. 

Yes.  Superstitions, old wives tales, erroneous and bizarre beliefs, taboos, omens.  It's like a Cuban national pastime. ;-)

And then because Halloween is coming up I kind of started thinking that "Hey! We have a black cat and she crosses my path like a dozen times a day. . .  hmm . . . how is this affecting my life??" 

(I'm just saying. . .)

"Thanks for being a pal and taking that stupid laptop out of this ever-so-comfy hide-a-bed."
~ The Cat Bastet

Rum and Garlic Spiced Pork Chops Recipe - A Discovery

Today was Columbus Day.

Yet another reason to celebrate in our Cuban American household.

If you know your Cuban history, you probably know that Columbus landed somewhere in Holguin, Cuba, in October of 1492, and declared that it was "the most beautiful land human eyes have ever seen."  (My grandmother was from Holguin and this was one of her favorite things to quote.)  Columbus also decided to call the new land "Juana" in deference to Ferdinand and Isabella's son, Juan, but it was already called Cubanacan,  so the "Juana" thing never really caught on and the name was eventually shortened to Cuba.

We'll go ahead and ignore the fact that he was a bit geographically challenged.  But he had all that pressure to discover a new route to the East and make the Spanish queen look good, and yes, he did make that quick declaration that he had indeed landed in India and henceforth all native peoples shall be known as Indians and wow, did that one ever stick, (!!) but that's not important right now.

The important thing was that he discovered Cuba, Pearl of the Antilles, "the most beautiful land human eyes have ever seen."  And that's good enough for me. =D

So I created a pork dish with pork and brown sugar and lots of garlic and RUM (in honor of that whole Pirates-of-the-Caribbean-portion of Cuban history) and I discovered that if you get the rum glaze just right, you will have the "most beautiful piece of pork human eyes have ever seen."   ;-)

"But why is the rum gone??"

~ Captain Jack Sparrow, Pirates of the Caribbean - The Curse of the Black Pearl

Marta's Rum and Garlic Spiced Pork Chops Recipe

• 8 large garlic cloves, peeled
• 1 yellow onion, quartered
• 1 tsp. salt
• 1 tsp. coarse ground black pepper
• 1/4 cup chili sauce
• 1/2 cup dark rum
• 1/4 cup brown sugar
• Juice of three large limes (or 1/2 cup lime juice)
• 1/4 cup olive oil
• 2 -3 lbs. pork chops (the fat, boneless ones)
• garlic powder

1) Put the garlic, onion, salt, pepper, chili sauce, rum, brown sugar, and lime juice in a food processor.

2) Process until finely chopped, then drizzle with olive oil and pulse gently to mix.

3) Sprinkle pork chops with garlic powder and brown in a bit of olive oil.

4) Put chops in crockpot and pour sauce over them - it should just cover them.

5) Cook on low for 6-8 hours or high for 4-5 hours.

OR 15 minutes on high pressure in a pressure cooker.

What the hip chicks are saying.

I was nine years old when I became an aunt for the first time.  It was because of the birth of the first grandchild (who was in California) that my parents made the decision to move from Miami to the Left Coast.  My dad's reasoning was that if the bearded dictator couldn't keep our family apart, certainly a simple thing like Geography was not going to either.

So we moved. And my sisters kept giving birth.
My mom's gift to the new parents was a rocking chair.  "Un balancé." But really, it was kept at our house. Because it was my mom, the new grandmother, who rocked those babies.
Every Cuban baby in my family was rocked to sleep.
She would rock and sing, rock and sing, until that baby sighed deeply, which was the signal that they were asleep.

She would sing about how the beautiful baby who was born in the morning wanted to be taken to the bakery. Or the beautiful baby who was born at night wanted to be taken for a stroller ride.  (In Spanish "dia" rhymes with "dulceria" and "noche" rhymes with "coche.")  She sang about the sound the little chicks made when they were hungry and tired.  "Los pollitos dicen, pio, pio, pio. . ." 

She didn't have an amazing voice, but the rhythm of the rocker along with the sweet lullabies was incredibly comforting. (Here she is with my newborn Amy in 1983.)

When my own babies were born, it was a given that the first thing I needed (besides Agustin Reyes Agua de Violetas!) was a rocking chair, and almost unconsciously, I, too rocked and sang, until they sighed deeply and let me know they were sound asleep.
Being a mother, to me, is synonymous with holding and rocking and rocking and singing.  I would sing, too, about those hungry and tired little chicks saying, "pio, pio, pio." 

Imagine my delight to find that there was an inspired and talented Cuban company out there called Los Pollitos Dicen that had baby tee designs that captured those sweet Spanish baby sounds! (Just like the lullaby! How cute is that??)

I got to know Carrie via the internet when she Googled "Cuban baby tees" and found me and Cuba To GO!  were her competition. (I use the word "competition" very lightly.  Los Pollitos Dicen offers a unique and high quality product. I am awed by the simplicity and beauty of their designs. My stuff is more silly and fun in a more generic Cuban way. =D)  We have forged a friendship based on mutual respect and the familiarity of being raised in our inimitable Cuban culture and of being intimately acquainted with the Cuban-nagging sport of "el tiki-tiki." ;-)

I'm so proud to tell you that (our VERY FAVORITE place to shop, EVER!) Target (in their online Red Hot Shop) is featuring Carrie's onesies and bibs this week in honor of Hispanic Heritage Month. 

[WARNING: Shameless plug ahead:]

If you have a little Latino baby anywhere on your radar, or you just want your baby to be culturally hip =D, please go to this link.   

By the way, I'm still rocking and singing, but that's a story for another day. ;-)

(Note to Carrie:  you owe me leche condensada for this. =D)