Feliz Navidad

Me: Can you guys do a 30-second Noche Buena commercial spot?

Them:  Umm. . . Duh!  Watch this . . .

I want to wish all of you my very faithful blog visitors (whom I totally consider my Big, Fat, Extended

Why we do what we do.

We eat roast pig (lechon asado) on Christmas Eve, which we call Noche Buena.
We have yuca with a garlic mojo on the side.
We fight over the fried, ripe plantains.
We hold hands and give thanks to God for his generous provision.
We draw names for a gift exchange, but end up getting little gifts (we call those "regalos de arbol" - or "tree gifts") for most everyone anyway.  ;-)
We put stockings up on our fireplaces.
We each have a collection of Christmas potholders we hang in our kitchens every year.
My mom used to get Chicken McNuggets for the little kids thinking they wouldn't want to eat the traditional lechon - they all laugh about what a sweet (but ridiculous!) gesture it was.
We make and give and drink gallons of Creme de Vie. =D
Our desserts include flan, apple pie, turrones, and guava pastries.
We set elaborate tables for Noche Buena.
We make a Christmas video every year. (We're really proud of that.)
There is always a kids table.
On Christmas day we eat Arroz con Pollo.

Why?

I can answer that in one word:

TRADITION.

Here we celebrate our Cuban Christmas traditions.
Sometimes I think there's nothing better than being Cuban at this time of year. ;-)

(BTW, I think Amy really outdid herself with this segment - with a nod to Chevy Chase and Christmas Vacation. =D)

Feliz Navidad!

Look at your life through Heaven's eyes

I think of questions for him all the time.
I remember things I want to discuss with him.
And then I remember.
He died.
Eight years ago today.

My dad passed away. And I cried orphan tears. Big, fat, splashing down my face tears.
Papi was gone. And I still miss him.

My kids, Amy and Adam cut together this video with photos and a little bit of film.  The song tells about looking at your life through Heaven's Eyes. 

I cry every single time I see that captured smile at the very end.
He left a close knit and devoted family.
An adoring wife of sixty years.
Five beautiful daughters and one handsome son.
Four devoted sons-in-law. And a doting daughter-in-law.
Sixteen grandchildren ranging in ages from 43 to 12.
Seven great grands, ages 10 months to 7 years.

He was well respected. A man of his word. He didn't survive against all odds. He did not witness the extraordinary. But he did make some courageous decisions at a crucial time in our lives that have impacted all of us, his descendants and our futures.

He was quiet and whip smart. He had a dry and wicked sense of humor. And I always felt completely secure in his love for me - that was his greatest gift to me. It's that legacy I hope will continue to the next generation.

I miss my Papi.

You say you want a Revolution?

My cousin Maria and I were inseparable as little girls in Cuba. Inseparable.
We spent summers together on Varadero Beach in Cuba.
We spent most weekends playing together as our families were very close.
We celebrated every birthday together.
We celebrated every Christmas.
We were as close as sisters.

Together.
Celebrating.
Inseparable.

And then the world turned upside-down.
And the bearded rebels rolled into our hometown and changed both our lives forever.
My family left on a three month trip that turned into exile from everything we knew and loved.  Her family stayed and made a life under a stalinist regime.

We were ripped apart. Inconsolable. Sad.

And we grew up three thousand miles and forty five years apart.
We had not seen or spoken to one another in that lifetime.
That is soo NOT OK.

She and her family have been living in Miami for about the last ten years.  We speak often on the phone, send emails, and we spend as much time as possible together when we are in Miami.

So when she and her husband recently visited and we were driving home from Vegas we had a lot of catching up to do.  A four hour drive through the dry California desert is strangely conducive to truth telling.  We were talking about so many things, jumping to topics here and there, sharing our stories, our lives and finding common ground again.  It was then that the familiar music started playing, "You say you want a revolution. . ."
I was surprised to find they knew every lyric.  They are still both struggling to speak English but they can sing every lyric to every Beatles song ever recorded.  How did that happen?  The Beatles were definitely part of the music of the time that was banned in Havana. 

She told this part bitterly:

They listened clandestinely, behind locked doors and with ears pressed to the stereo.  Some friend would get a record and they would meet together to listen.
And the music was compelling, but it was dangerous. Because it put anti-revolutionary thoughts in their heads. But it felt so freeing to listen and dance to.
It was so wonderful and they were not immune. 
The Beatles.  Singing about peace and love, not motherland or death. 
"All you need is love" being much more appealing to the youth than their everyday "we will be like Che" catechism. 

In fact, you could be jailed for being caught with anti-revolutionary music! Imprisoned. Imagine! ("Imagine all the people, livin' life in peace. . .") Hard to imagine in Havana of the 60's.

But, life finds a way.   And the ridiculous revolution could not keep the message of love out of the hearts of the youth.

So, on hearing about her having endured all this repression growing up, I was surprised to find that in the year 2000, fidel castro himself unveiled this statue in a park in Vedado (my old neighborhood):

That's my uncle sitting with John Lennon.

There is a statue of John Lennon casually sitting in a park in Havana.  (to me this is completely surreal)

You could be imprisoned for playing his music for years, and then, suddenly, oh, gosh darn it, we just changed our minds about the whole subversive lyric thing and now we want to do something to honor him!  [Note to those rotting in prison for the crime of having been caught with his damning music - too bad for you!]

AND EVERYBODY IS OKAY WITH THIS???

I'm not okay.
I want stuff.

I want CHANGE in Cuba.
I want the insanity to stop.  I missed out on a lot of years with my cousin and frankly I'm mad as hell about it. I'm mad for all the families this happened to. I'm mad for all the disaffected youth.

I want the world to know about the destructive apartheid system that is in effect today in Cuba. I want the mainstream media to WAKE UP and smell the Café Cubano.

Today is  INTERNATIONAL HUMAN RIGHTS DAY. And I believe in God, so I am praying. Praying specifically for the protection of Dr. Darsi Ferrer Ramirez, the Cuban dissident who is leading a peaceful demonstration in Havana today at 11:00 am. Whose life and family are being threatened in multiple ways to keep him from demonstrating.  I'm praying for them.

And I'm wearing a white bracelet on which is written the word CAMBIO. It means CHANGE. (thanks Claudia!)  Real Change. Not just as in Hey-let's- change-our-minds-about-John-Lennon-and-the-Beatles today."  But as in apartheid is evil and it must stop.  Wearing this same bracelet in Havana will get you arrested. I wear it in solidarity for the brave Cuban young people who are not afraid of arrest or torture for wearing theirs. They deserve to be heard.

Sadly if the hard-nosed communists had only been listening to the actual lyrics of the Beatles, like most of the kids were, they might have found some hidden meaning in the song REVOLUTION.  (yes, hidden and written backwards you'll find the word LOVE.)

Coincidence? I think not.  I believe LOVE conquers all.  I'm optimistic that way and oh, yeah. . .

I believe in God.

"Cambio."

Revolution

You say you want a revolution
Well you know
We all want to change the world
You tell me that it's evolution
Well you know
We all want to change the world
But when you talk about destruction
Don't you know you can count me out
Don't you know it's gonna be alright
Alright Alright

You say you got a real solution
Well you know
We'd all love to see the plan
You ask me for a contribution
Well you know
We're all doing what we can
But if you want money for people with minds that hate
All I can tell you is brother you have to wait
Don't you know it's gonna be alright
Alright Alright Alright

You say you'll change the constitution
Well you know
We all want to change your head
You tell me it's the institution
Well you know
You better free your mind instead
But if you go carrying pictures of Chairman Mao
You ain't going to make it with anyone anyhow
Don't you know know it's gonna be Alright
Alright Alright

Control issues

"Someone's got to take charge.
And I usually like it to be me."
                                             ~ Marta  =D

When I was still a young woman and living at home, I started taking an interest in helping my mom with the preparations for Christmas.  My mom would decide what her "theme" for that year would be and my sister, Miriam and I would get all excited and brainstorm ways to make everything special.  Because I am creative (and pushy =D) I came up with lots of different things to do on Noche Buena to add a bit of entertainment to the festivities.

We (when I say "we" I mean "me") started doing skits or giving out awards or dressing up the little kids and having them sing Christmas carols.   I know.  A natural born salesperson, or maybe it's just because I'm Cuban. ;-)

After one particularly elaborate Christmas, my brother asked, "Who decided all this?"
Without missing a beat, I answered, "The Committee" (you'd have to understand nonsensical Cuban politics to get the joke, but that's not important right now) and a familial urban legend was born.

From that point on, the illusive Committee (=D) made holiday decisions which included organizing the gift exchanges, setting beautiful tables, sending invitations and adding some entertainment to the festivities. 

We (=D) call ourselves E.L.F. (Entreteniendo La Familia).  This whole family entertainment thing has been an ongoing joke in our family for years now.  Someone always protests that next year they want to be on The Committee, but of course, it always falls to the usual suspects.  (ahem. . .)

This year we decided to mix it up a bit and we (of course, you know by now that when I say "we", I mean "me" - with Helen and Amy as my "hero support") announced that there had been a coup and a violent takeover and that there was now a New Committee.

Okay, so I confess.  It was me (again) and really, I just set up a puppet regime:

Meet The New Committee:  Lucy, Jonathan, Daisy, and Natalie.  (wink, wink)  ;-)

I am . . .

A wife.
A mother.
A daughter.
A niece.
A sister.
An aunt.
A great-aunt.

Incredibly lucky to be related to all these beautiful and amazing women.  =D

We are fa-mi-ly . . .

I am the youngest of six.

We are five daughters.

FIVE.  CUBAN.  WOMEN.

With five strong and sometimes (many times) opposing opinions. Which is totally fitting for Cuban women.

I have a brother who lives in Texas  (I sometimes wonder if he didn't move so far away because he got a little tired of living with so many Cuban women, but then he has a Cuban wife, but that's not important right now. =D) but my sisters all live nearby.

My big sisters.
Which makes me The Baby.

Always The Baby.
No matter what I do or how old I get, I can't shake that.
It's always a part of my familial identity.
I am and will always be their Little Sister.

My sisters are all talented, beautiful, amazing and strong.
They are all wonderful cooks, too. (no surprise there!)
But we have roles that we play in the family unit that cannot be deviated from.

So here is how our Thanksgiving division of labor works:
The two oldest, Ofelia and Helen (back right) will do all the cooking.  Alina (in blue, bottom right) will bake the desserts.  Miriam (far left) who lives in the high desert and has to travel the furthest, brings drinks.  I get to send invitations, open my home, set tables and host.  I won't be called upon to do any of the cooking because that is the job of the two eldest. 

Sometimes I want to protest:  "Yes, but. . ." 

"No."

That is how it's always been. That is how it always will be.

Because I am:

• The Baby
• The Artistic One
• The Little Sister
• The Family Entertainment Unit (=D)
   

No matter what I am capable of in any other part of my life, or what my apron says!   ;-)

Get your own Cocinera apron or tee at my online store:  Cuba To Go!
And check out my Cuban Recipes at Babalúblog.
But, shh!  Don't tell Ofie & Helen I've been doing the cooking.  ;-)

What to pack for a Guilt Trip

I have to confess I've been feeling guilty.
Guilty in that really deliciously tragic Cuban-martyr way.
I haven't spent much time with my mom and visiting aunt. (Say it ain't so!!!)

Because . . .
I've only been shuttling my cousin and her husband All Over Southern California.
And homeschooling my kids.
And cooking gourmet meals.
And running my business.
And designing costumes.
And writing.
And remodeling my studio.
And keeping my household running.
And blogging.
And scrapbooking.
And preparing for Thanksgiving at my house.

See how convoluted the guilt thing is?  Yes. I have been amazingly busy.  But I am still finding the time to feel guilty about everything I haven't done.  (Sick and twisted. I know.)  I think this is a peculiarly Cuban guilt trip and I have got my bags packed and passport in hand! =D

So, because I can't stand the guilt a moment longer, I dutifully go visit my mom and aunt and this is what I find:

They've been having the time of their lives and I don't think they were even aware of my presence!!

Great!  Now I have self-esteem issues!   ;-)

My sweet lort

My Cuban cousins first met Eric about five years ago.  They loved him immediately and, of course, gave him a nickname. (I think it's some sort of ancient mandate originally written into our constitution that all Cubans should have a nickname, but that's not important right now.)

When they learned he was of English ancestry, that did it.  They began calling him "the English lord."

Or "El lor-r-r-tt ingles."

I get such a kick out of if when they call him:  "My lort!"

Here's the cool and crazy part: Eric just flows with all this Cuban-ness. He acts as if it's the most natural thing in the world for them to be calling him "lord" in their thick Cuban accents.  I love that.

And they love him.  LOVE him. He jumped right in when they said they wanted to drive to Vegas.  That kind of spontaneity usually provokes an eye-rolling-you-must-be-mad look.  But not this time.  He actually drove, stopped for pictures in the middle of the desert, and even posed with wax figures when called upon to do so. 

I think he secretly eats it up.  He enjoys the way they dote on him and laugh at his many jokes.  When they call, their first question is always, "Como esta my lort?"   They insist they don't know any Americans quite like him and I have to agree.  I love that he fits right in to my big, fat extended Cuban family.

How do I feel about all this?  Proud.  And grateful. 

You're a good man, my lort.  ;-)

All funned out.

Oh yes, I did.

I had that beautiful pastelito refugiado (that I picked up yesterday at Porto's , she said proudly).

For breakfast!

With a hot cup of coffee.

In front of that delicious crackling fire.

And I sat. And didn't speak.

And just decadently read my book.

And when the kids woke up they joined me.

With their books.

And there we sat.  In silence.

The three of us with our pasteles and books.

Just reading and being and enjoying the fire.

With no agenda.

My Visiting Lovelies are in San Francisco and I had some designs to finish, so I opted out of the No Cal part of the trip.  And gave myself permission to do nothing until about noon.

And my brain was incredibly grateful that I gave it the morning off.

And now that I've come down from that crazy, restless high of frenzied sightseeing madness ("and-on-your-left-is-the-famous-Hollywood-sign") I'm almost a nice person.

Almost.

One more pastelito should do it.  ;-)