WAY. TOO. LONG.

January 1, 1959.
Fifty years ago today.
A group of bearded rebels rode into Havana (my hometown) and turned our lives upside-down.

My sisters and me. This photo was taken in early 1961 when we were newly arrived in the U.S. after fleeing the communist takeover.

The details of our exile include:

• constant fear
• difficult decisions
• separation from familiar places and the people we loved.

I think just about every Cuban family I know has a photo like this. 
And a story to go with it.
We've spent fifty years telling our stories.
And every story has those same themes: constant fear, difficult decisions, separation from familiar places and the people we loved.

I know I'm a perpetual optimist, but I sincerely pray that in my lifetime I will get to see a free Cuba.

Because fifty years under communist rule is WAY. TOO. LONG.

Cuba Libre!  Wear it with pride and hope.

More photos and stories from Chantel and Carrie and Marc. And this fabulous piece posted by Anastasio Blanco, written by Cuban author, Carlos Eire.

Cuban New Year's Eve Traditions

I'm sooo ready.

On New Year's Eve, at the stroke of midnight, we Cubans are BUSY.

When the clock strikes 12 we:

1. quickly eat 12 grapes - one for each month of the past year.
2. wash these down with sparkling cider to celebrate the end of the old year.
3. throw a bucket of water out the front door to symbolize getting rid of all the bad juju from the past year.
4. put a suitcase outside if we are hoping to travel in the new year.
5. put some money in the mailbox for prosperity. =D

We did all of this one year ago today.

So I'd like to do a quick recap of this past year based on our Cuban New Year superstitions.

We traveled to all of these places:

• Hawaii
• Mexico
• Las Vegas (twice)
• Yosemite
• Miami (twice)
• Sacramento

It's been a wonderful year for us in so many ways. 

My husband was able to quit his day job and come home and he doubled (yes, you read that right. =D) his income.
I published My Big, Fat, Cuban Family Cookbook.  =D
I got to meet so many of you at Cuba Nostalgia - what a treat that was!
I celebrated my 2 year Blogiversary with lots of give-aways.
Not to mention getting to spend time with three of my favorite Cuban blog-friends, Amanda, Chantel, and Carrie.
I get to be a part of Babalú blog - always an honor.
Of course, we spent lots of time at The Park this year.
I finally got my white picket fence.
I got to cook (and cook, and cook some more) for you.
I had my magical moment with my new friend, Desi.  ;-)
My kids, well... you can read all about their wonderful exploits here.

So, this year, I'm ready with all my Cuban superstitions traditions for the New Year.

And yes, I'll be wearing my red underwear for luck because I'm not taking any chances.

I know. Total over-share, but that's not important right now. ;-)

Hay que lio!

I'm bossy.
I won't deny it.
But I think I have some good ideas and being bossy helps get my people to cooperate.  ;-)  And I'm cognizant most of the year that we will eventually be putting together a video to entertain the family at Christmas.

So when there's any kind of reunion (like this one in Miami this year), I start giving instructions and get behind the camera and just stay out of the way. 

It doesn't take much, really. These people (that I call my big, fat Cuban family) know how to have fun.

All they need is a slight push...

Or maybe just a question (with apologies to my American readers who are surely not familiar with the following)....

The first part starts with a question being debated between my sisters:

"Quien fue el que le dio a Borondongo?"

Okay, so here are the lyrics to Burundanga, sung by Celia Cruz - In case the question ever comes up.  =D

Songo le dio a Borondongo
Borondongo le dio a Bernabe
Bernabe le pego a Muchilanga le hecho a Burundanga
Les hinchan los pies
Monina
Songo le dio a Borondongo
Borondongo le dio a Bernabe
Bernabe le pego a Muchilanga le hecho a Burundanga
Les hinchan los pies
Abambele practica el amor
Defiende a tus hermanos
Por que entre hermanos se vive mejor
Abambele practica el amor
Defiende a tus hermanos
Por que entre hermanos se vive mejor
Y nos sigue
Songo le dio a Borondongo
Borondongo le dio a Bernabe
Bernabe le pego a Muchilanga le hecho a Burundanga
Les hinchan los pies
Monina
Songo le dio a Borondongo
Borondongo le dio a Bernabe
Bernabe le pego a Muchilanga le hecho a Burundanga
Les hinchan los pies
Por que fue que Songo le dio a Sorondongo
Por que Borondongo le dio a Bernabe
Por que Borondongo le dio a Bernabe
Por que Bernabe le pego a Muchilanga
Por que Bernabe le pego a Muchilanga
Por que Muchilanga le hecho a Burundanga
Por que Muchilanga le hecho a Burundanga
Por que Burundanga le hincha los pies
Hay que lio!
Burundanga!

Pickles and Madness - an enduring Christmas tradition

I'm Cuban.
I grew up celebrating Noche Buena.

On December 24th we would rise early to decorate the house and put up the Christmas tree while the pig slowly cooked in its garlicky goodness all day long until we kids were driven mad from hunger and completely ravenous by the traditionally late dinner hour, but that's not important right now.

But I'm also American.
I have gradually learned over the years how other families celebrate Christmas Day and have picked up some traditions that we have made our own.

One of those traditions is the hiding and finding of The Pickle Ornament.

Here's the drill:

1) After all the gifts have been opened, the parents hide a pickle ornament somewhere on the Christmas tree. (I swear they exist. Who knew?)
2) Whichever child finds the hidden pickle then receives an extra gift.

My friend, Pam was the one who got me started with this tradition. She sent me a pickle ornament a few years ago and so began A Darby Family Holiday Tradition.

Except for now that they're all older, my kids are all too smart (and a little sneaky) and they can spot the darn pickle from miles away.

So, this year, knowing they'd be looking for the pickle, I fooled them.  I hung a little pearl instead. (See it dangling there on the top of this ornament and yes, I know the picture is blurry - that's because I still don't have my real camera back from Olympus. *sigh* So I'll just have to deal, but that's not important right now either.)

So they hunted....

And hunted....
And Jonathan was right there....

But Adam is the most competitive and snatched the victory right out of Jon's grasp.  (Of course, Amy Kikita was not at all upset....)

The point of this tradition? (Aside from the extra gift thing...)

I figure it's an updated way to continue the Cuban tradition of driving the kids mad on Christmas. 

Does that make me a bad person?   ;-)

"El que tiene hijas..."

My dad was an engineer. 
He was, I could argue, pretty brilliant. (as engineers usually are)
He was also uncomfortable around a lot of people. (as engineers usually are)
He was always known as "Verdés" - as if calling him by his first name would have been sacrilegious. No one called him by his first name.  Not even my mom.

My dad was a quiet man, but quite witty.  He never said much. But when he spoke he commanded attention and often surprised us with a clever observation. He was not overly demonstrative, but always (ALWAYS!) greeted us with a warm hug and kiss.  There was never a day when I wondered if I was loved. He didn't say it. He didn't have to. But he constantly showed it.

To this day, I often wonder how this quiet, reserved, brilliant individual ended up with six offspring.  A son and FIVE daughters.  FIVE!  How he and my brother survived those many years of estrogen dominance in the family, I'll never know. 

I can report unequivocally that he was not prepared for being the punchline of this particular cosmic joke.

Starting with my mom, the women in my family are all noisy, opinionated, passionate and demonstrative. And so, the quiet engineer often came home to noisy discussions and conversations (can you call them that when Cubans - particularly Cuban women - are talking loudly over one another?) and plots and plans as only girls can have. 

He adored (to the point of veneration) his grandchildren.  There were no little people more clever.  None more amazing to him.  And they were his.  He reveled in their presence. 

The scene in my big, fat, Cuban family was always noisy, big, grand.  And this was not counting holidays or parties.
My dad would sit in the center of it all, a fixture, if you will, smoking his puro, and drinking in the ambiance. 

All those girls. All those kids. We were his. And he was quite proud of the family he had managed to bring about.

I lost my Papi nine years ago today.

I still mark this anniversary and make some space amid all the Noche Buena and Christmas preparations to remember and celebrate and grieve.  I'm glad (for lack of a better word) that if he had to die in December, it was in the first half.  I don't feel like I can comfortably begin my celebrations until I've pushed through this particular day.

When my sisters and I are together, I inevitably think of him and how he used to often say at this time of year:
"El que tiene hijas, celebra la Noche Buena."
("He who has daughters, celebrates Christmas Eve.")

Me, Alina, Miriam & Papi. circa 1977

I think it was his way of celebrating the abundance and life that having so many women (life-givers) in his home gave him.

I am still proud to be one of the Verdés daughters. 
No matter what my last name is, that will never change.

Te extraño, Papi.

Mr. Prieto goes to Washington

I don't usually get political on my blog.  (Even so, you don't have to guess too much about my beliefs, but that's not important right now).

• I am a Cuban refugee.
• I am an exile.
• I am a (very proud) naturalized American citizen.

Those three things are as much a part of me as my blue eyes and sense of humor.

The Universal Declaration of Human Rights was adopted by the General Assembly of the United Nations 60 years ago today.

While attending a U2 concert two years ago, the words to this declaration were projected on giant screens around the concert venue.  The tears flowed freely as I thought of how differently my life would have been if we had not fled our homeland when we did. I read the rights that my compatriots still in Cuba are routinely denied and I wept harder.

I still have family in Cuba. Family whose human rights have been violated daily for the past 50 years.

President Bush has invited a group of bloggers to the White House today to meet with him.  The President is using this historic day to highlight and support people who use modern day technology - bloggers - to help the people in countries where civil and human rights are violated.

He'll be meeting with a small group of bloggers that focus on the violations of human rights in China, Iran, Burma, Venezuela, Egypt, Belarus, and of course, Cuba.  

Representing Cuba in this historic meeting today is my friend, Valentin Prieto, founding editor of Babalú blog.

I get choked up just thinking about it.

 

Excellent choice, Mr. President.

(Val - Godspeed. I'm sooo proud of you, my brother.)

Happy Birthday to You! And you!

The following is a "dual-post." Meaning simply that Kikita did the first half while Marta did the second half. A lovely example of mother-daughter teamwork. ;-)

Kikita: Today is a very special day. I want to tell you about my favorite Tia, Carmen. She is the Quintessential Cuban Woman. She does it all and does it with class.

It's kind of a bummer for me that she lives all the way out in Texas, but what can I do?

I can text. She is one of my regular texting buddies. I love it. We catch up on family news, Cuba news, or no news at all. She is the one who likes to hear about my adventures in dancing and with my Cuban friends.

And today is her birthday. So instead of sending her a text, I thought I'd write about her . . .

But what can you say about someone is beyond words?

I know! Te quiero mucho, Tia! Felicidades!

Marta: My nephew, Rafa, has three adorable kids.  His first-born, The Adorable Alex is 5 today - I think it's so cool that he shares a birthday with my beautiful sister-in-law, (Happy Birthday, Carmen! Love you!!) but that's not important right now.

Five! What a magical birthday...

Do you know what I love the most about this age?
Umm... EVERYTHING.

But I especially love that I'm not just "Auntie M" anymore - I'm Great Aunt Marti.  =D

Happy Birthday, Alex! 

I'm a fool. *sigh*

I know it's been a while since I've written anything, but I trust my first-born kept you entertained while I was gone. (thanks, Amy Kikita!)

I have so much to tell you that I don't know where to start....

Okay, so my husband Eric had to go to Las Vegas to work.  And because I can be opportunistic sometimes (=D) I invited myself along.  Since Adam didn't have to work, I invited him along to keep me company.

So, I mentioned this to my online/blog friend, Amy Arnaz, and she invited us to come visit her and Desi in Boulder City (not far from Vegas).  Yes, I realize the story is taking a kind of surreal turn here, but that's not important right now....

Which is how Adam and I found ourselves in Boulder City, Nevada at the Historic Boulder Theatre watching Miss Amy and her ballerinas rehearse for their upcoming performance of The Nutcracker. 

 

We were already delighted by the quaintness of the town and the theater, not to mention getting to watch a sneak peek of The Nutcracker Ballet, when we spot one of the tech guys adjusting the lights on-stage. 

"Adam, that's Desi!"

"No, Mom. That's a tech guy."

That was no ordinary tech guy.

I was right. It was my beloved Desi.  Desi Arnaz, Jr.

Amy brought him right over and introduced us. (be still my heart. *sigh*)

And okay, for like about 30 seconds I was a bit nervous, but then... we started talking....

Can I just tell you how funny, and smart and well-read this man is?  I kept forgetting he was the son of Lucy and Desi - okay, well, of course, I didn't forget forget.  It's just that I was so enjoying sharing stories with my new friend, Desi. 

We talked and talked and talked.  About how he and Amy met and how they ended up in Boulder City.  About how his parents met.  About life in their small town.

We talked about his paternal grandfather, whom I knew was kind of a legendary political figure in Cuba.  I remember my parents always telling the story that the elder Desiderio was the mayor of Santiago de Cuba, but that his intention was not to actually run for mayor, but he was so popular that he won as the write-in candidate. Isn't that awesome?

He told me about how his dad left Cuba and kind of accidentally ended up in show business.  I told him my own "how I left Cuba" story.  We talked about Cuba now and about going back there someday. He told me about the time he met Arturo Sandoval and yes, Andy Garcia!!!  (He brought it up. Surreal. Shut up. I know.)

Desi has a wonderful sense of humor and again, I almost forgot about who his parents were since we were talking about so many different subjects (okay, yes, I know they are probably the most famous TV icons EVER, but I got distracted, okay?) until....

He did a dead-on, wild-eyed impression of his dad with that distinctive accent.  Shut. Up.  It was crazy-awesome!

Just when I thought it just couldn't get any more surreal, his friend, Billy, stopped by.....

Mr. Billy Hinsche.  Of Dino, Desi and Billy fame, of course,  and who later played with the Beach Boys!! (who I went to see as often as they played in L.A. all through the 70's, but that's not important right now). 

 

If I had taken the time to fantasize about how my encounter with Desi might have panned out, I don't think I would have been clever enough to add "and then Billy drops by for a visit."  Again, another treat!

Picture me as a young tween seeing these adorable faces of Dino, Desi, and Billy for the first time singing their hit, "I'm a Fool" (I actually even owned this record and wore down the grooves from being over-played - I was TEN, okay??):

Aren't they just FREAKING ADORABLE???  Do you see what I'm talking about here?

Okay. Sorry. I know I'm babbling a little.  I was just so surprised and delighted to meet these guys and to find they were so.... accessible and well....just plain nice.  I had a total personal-time-warp moment when I realized if called upon I could totally sing "I'm a Fool" from memory, but that's not important right now, either. 

They have since re-grouped (and un-grouped) as Ricci, Desi, and Billy.

After many hugs and kisses(!) and lovely parting gifts (an autographed live cd - YAY! and chocolate. =D) we had to say goodbye.

 

I was genuinely sad to go.  I felt like I was leaving old friends "de vida" - you know?

Thank you to the lovely Miss Amy, for the invitation.

 

And thanks to Desi and Billy for making my visit so wonderful and memorable.
You guys are awesome! 

I like to call this photo: Marta, Desi, and Billy.  That has a nice ring to it, doesn't it? ;-)

 

I spent the rest of the afternoon replaying our visit and conversation (while Adam and I wandered about Las Vegas) and thinking once again that I really do lead a charmed life and then just look who I ran into at Madame Tussaud's:

 

That's right. Desi's mom.  ;-)

WARNING: Cubanism can strike at any moment!

My friend Pam lives in the town (hamlet? community?) of Hanford in Central California.

She and her husband, Gene, go for walks in the evening and this is what they see:

It's a toad.  A TOAD, people.
Can you say, "Gross me out in twelve different ways???"  Eeeww!

Eric and I go on a nightly walk and this is what we see here in Mission Viejo:

(Okay, so it's a little blurry.  Disclaimer: Eric had the camera and took the picture and besides, unlike TOADS, bunnies move pretty quickly, but that's not important right now.)

See the sweet furry cuteness that is this little cottontail bunny?  We have tons of them around here.  Aaaw, sooo cute....

We live in South Orange County, I'm pretty sure it's against the law for TOADS (eeeww!!) to live here.  Double Eeeww!

When the bunny popped out, my mind went first to Pam's picture and I thought, "what if it had been a TOAD?? Eeeww!!"

And then, my Cuban synapses started firing randomly as they tend to do in moments like this...

Me: "Sapo* is 22."   

Eric (who has lived with me and my Cubanisms for all of these 16 years): "We're going to Vegas in a few weeks."   

And then we just kept on walking as if that was the most normal conversation in the world.

Ay, Dios mio!

(*Sapo means TOAD in Spanish, which corresponds to the number 22 in the Charada China. -  See this post for explanation.)  Or refer to the chart below and leave your questions in the comment section.  =D

 

ADDENDUM:  11/7/08 : Since it seems the toad vs bunny question is digressing into "who's our favorite frog" I'd like to nominate the following classic Warner Brothers cartoon - where Michigan J. Frog sings "Hello My Baby."

Cucufate Explained

The following interactive explanation has been brought to you by the lovely Kikita =D

First, click here (then come back):

CUCUFATE

"Abuela, de donde salio cucufate?"

"Cucufate es un santo."

WHAT?!?!

I asked Señor Google. It's True.

Cucufate is the Spanish version of Saint Cucuphas. Who knew that Saints could be jokesters?

But wait! There's more!

So when my Abuela was young (I'm thinking sometime in the 30's or 40's) there was a Cuban radio show and on it there was a character named . . . you guessed it . . . Cucufate. This "Cucufate" character was hard of hearing and was always confusing things and messing them up.

For example, someone could ask, "Donde esta la linea?" and he would reply, "No, no era tan niña!"

I hope you are getting the picture . . . Anyway, when Abuela would mix something up or confuse something, my Abuelo would call her (and by default - the current confusion) "cucufate."

And the phrase stuck. And it has grown. At this point, it is an all encompassing word for all major and minor mix-ups, messes, and general confusion.

We use it all the time.  My brother Adam wrote a song about the Cucufate Olympics and I made it into a music video.

So, now that you have a general idea of what it means and how we use it, I would like to share the story of "How I won a Gold Medal in the Cucufate Olympics."

Mami's cousin Miguel was visiting from Cuba. It was his first time in the states and he wanted to see as much as possible. Being that we live only a few hours from Vegas, we told him (via his travel agent) that he should fly into Vegas, we would pick him up at the airport, spend the night, and then we would make the drive home together and he'd stay with us for the rest of his trip.

The day we were leaving, a Friday morning, Mami had hurt her back, so she was on some heavy medications . . . I became the designated driver. My Abuela and Tia Helen were joining us. This already had the makings of a fun road trip. We made excellent time, checked into our hotel, and then all piled back into the car to go to the airport to wait for Miguel who was supposed to be arriving at 3pm. I had never met this cousin, in fact, I had no idea what he looked like and HE had no idea what I looked like, so we thought it would be fun if I was the one waiting by the gate with a sign with his name on it. To make it look more official.

(no, I don't know what I was thinking with the thin eyebrows - ah, the mistakes we make when we are young . . .)

We arrived at the airport too early and were killing time in the shops when we found the jester hat and decided it would add just the right flair to the occasion.

As the time approached for Miguel's arrival, Mami, Abuela and Helen went to hide (on some nearby benches out of site) while I walked around with my sign and looked expectantly at anyone who looked Cuban . . . for 2 hours . . .

Finally, we called Miguel's travel agent and asked where he was . . .

"What? He's not coming until SATURDAY? I thought you said FRIDAY?"

It seemed there was some confusion and we had the wrong day . . . TOTAL Cucufate.

24 hours later found me back at the airport . . . in my jester hat . . . holding my sign . . . waiting for Miguel . . . whose flight was late.

Like I said, I'm a Cucufate Olympics Gold Medalist.  ;-)