The Most Beautiful Beach in the World

Most of the decor in my home is bright and colorful and Cuban-esque.

My "theme"? I was originally going for Cuban Beach Cottage. (Our home is small.) And so, I have collected posters and art and maps and things that are a throwback to the simple days of my Cuban childhood.

These three framed postcards, for example, are of 3 places that I remember vividly: (from top to bottom) Varadero Beach, The Hotel Nacional de Cuba, and the Malecón.

 

I've shared with you before about my fascination with the Hotel Nacional and the amazing gift I received from my friend, Ody.

I've written many times about how many of my earliest memories are of the beach. Specifically Varadero Beach in the Cuban province of Matanzas.

I have been to some beautiful beaches in my lifetime, but I still believe (as do most Cubans that I've met) that there is no beach on earth that compares with Varadero.

I vividly remember digging my toes into the soft powdery sand. I can practically smell the sea air. The water was walk-right-in warm. It's one of those perfect sensory memories that is seared into my brain.

Ah, Varadero! How can anything compare with the memory of your perfection? The most beautiful beach in the world.

Amy Kikita brought back some souvenirs from her Cuba trip. Some were gifts from the cousins and uncles. Some she chose herself at one of the flea markets.

 

There was a baseball hat from Los Industriales, some goat-skin maracas, a baseball bat & ball for Jon with his name carved into it, some jewelry for Lucy, wooden cooking utensils (how apropos!), an unusual wine-bottle holder.

How much fun we were having! We opened gifts and she told us the stories of how she came to acquire each one and who and where they were from. We laughed and celebrated the thoughtfulness of each item.

In the midst of this rowdy exchange she pulled out one last bundle which reduced me to tears...

It was a container made of heavy marble. (I have an extensive collection of small boxes/containers from all over the world, but that's not important right now) This one was from the amazing Hotel Nacional.

 

I thought this was "el colmo." ("the ultimate.")

Until she handed me the ziplock bag full of sand from the most beautiful beach in the world.

I am still speechless. Gracias, Mimi.

I'm the little girl in the white dress, all Shirley Temple curls and big red airplane-size hairbow. Please go back in time with me to the Varadero of my childhood.... (bring tissues...)

Getting Back to Reality

Today is Saint Patrick's Day. That is the reality.

I'm not in Cuba anymore. That is the reality.

I, Kikita, have no idea if I will ever be able to go back even though I would love to. That is the reality.

I am behind on all the work I missed while I was gone and I need to get caught up . . . yesterday. That is the reality.

But every time I drive South on the 405 through Irvine, the rolling hills remind me of the drive to Pinar del Rio.

 
 
 
 

Every time I get home to my apartment complex, I am struck by how new the building looks. In fact, I was so struck by it I asked my roommate if there was a fresh coat of paint or something.

Every time I reach for a glass of water, I have to remind myself that it is ok to drink it.

I feel a sense of relief when I walk into the bathroom and there is a toilet seat.

I still check for cucarachas before I put my feet down when getting out of bed.

I wake up and the silence of my house feels lonely. I miss the sounds of my abuela and her siblings noisily starting their day.

Do you know about Saint Patrick? That he was taken captive and made a slave in Ireland, escaped, and then God called him to go back and "save the Irish" and he was fairly successful.

But what a beginning!

The drinking became involved because it is a feast day, a holy day of obligation, it is like a day off from Lent.

Today is a day of celebration. It's about loving and embracing the Irish culture. It is their day of pride. That is the reality.

So, this is me, trying to get back to reality:

 

Happy Saint Patrick's Day!!

Keeping My Promise

I used to visit my parents at least once a week.

My dad was confined to a wheelchair and in his late 80's, but his brain was sharp as ever.

We would sit at their kitchen table and talk about anything, everything, and nothing. You know, like you do with the most familiar people in your life. Even though the kids would visit with me and be in and out of the room, he always asked very specifically about each one.

He was an avid reader and especially loved books about adventure. I mentioned that I was reading Treasure Island to Adam (who was young then and loved to be read to) and we both agreed that Robert Louis Stevenson was a genius.

It was in the midst of this discussion that he looked at me very seriously as if something had just occurred to him, and said, "I want you to do something for me."

Imagining it had to do with going to the store to buy him some fresh bread or some such errand, I quickly agreed. "Of course. What can I do for you?"

"There's a poem by Robert Louis Stevenson that I love. When I die, I want you to take my ashes back to Cuba and scatter them in Pinar del Rio. And read this poem."

I don't think I answered immediately. It was such a shocking request in the middle of what was otherwise an ordinary visit.

"You're serious?"

"Yes. And I know if you promise me, that you'll keep your promise."

"I promise."

He went on to tell me that he wished it could be when Cuba was free, but that he understood that might not be possible and to do what I could.

Then we resumed our conversation about books and the kids and I did go to the store for that fresh loaf of bread.

And I didn't think too much about that conversation, until he died six months later.

My mom would remind me occasionally of the promise I had made to Papi. And I kept trying, but I couldn't find a way to make it happen.

I had scheduled a trip in the spring of 2003 and two weeks before I was to leave, 75 dissidents were rounded up and imprisoned by the Castro thugs in Cuba. I canceled my trip. (That crackdown is referred to as The Black Spring.)

I was discouraged and I felt it would be impossible for me to keep my promise.

Ten long years now, Papi has been gone. His ashes sitting in the back of a closet.

But yesterday, against all odds, my daughter, Amy, made good on the promise I had made back in May of 1999. She went to Cuba. She took his ashes. She made her way to Pinar del Rio. To the beautiful land that saw his birth and where he lived for a half a century.

Yesterday, on March 3rd, 2010, my Papi was finally laid to rest in the Valley of Viñales. Amy will tell that story when she returns from Cuba next week.

 

But for now, I cried a bucketful of tears and I sighed a big sigh of relief. And I think, maybe, so did he.

I love you, Papi. Rest in peace.

Requiem
by Robert Louis Stevenson

Under the wide and starry sky,
Dig the grave and let me lie.
Glad did I live and gladly die,
And I laid me down with a will.

This is the verse you grave for me:
'Here he lies where he longed to be;
Here is the sailor, home from the sea,
And the hunter home from the hill.

Kikita and the Nonagenarians Go To Cuba

"Kikita and the Nonagenarians Go To Cuba" sounds like a good title for a band or a book, doesn't it?  

This is Kikita blogging from Miami. In a few hours I will be on a plane headed for Cuba, "mi patria." Not by myself, though. I'm taking TWO people over 90 years old. Yes, OVER 90. That is 90+.

First there is my abuela, Luza, who just turned 96 . . .

 

And then, there is her OLDER brother who is 99! Tio-abuelo Fernando (we call him Magoo - for obvious reasons) is the most stubborn independent person I know. He likes to do everything himself. He may use a walker, but the man can move quicker than you can say, "Vamonos."

 

I have a cousin who was born in the U.S., but lives in Cuba with his father, Timbiriche, and came specifically to help the "ñinos" and me make the 90 mile puddle jump. (And I was so thankful I wouldn't be in charge of them alone, until I remembered that this cousin was "tremendo" and is bringing a whole new set of stresses with him - along with a 32 inch plasma tv and a wheelchair, but that's not important right now.)

So this isn't exactly a "vacation." This is An Adventure. This is a A Journey. This is A Mission. 

This trip is so important for so many reasons I don't even know where to begin.

The five Perez-Puelles (which is my abuela's maiden name) siblings have not been under the same roof since Noche Buena 1960. Needless to say, this is A Major Event.

For that, I am a simple bystander. I am there to document the wonder that is my heritage.

My abuelo, Papi, asked that his ashes be scattered off the coast of Pinar del Rio, so I have worked incredibly hard in order to make that happen. He had originally asked Mami to do it, but she has passed that mantle of responsibility to me.

Despite the weight that has been placed on my shoulders, I'm walking tall with such an honor. I am going to see where my abuelo grew up. I am going to take my abuelo home.

Luza is not going to be able to make that particular portion of the trip with me because she will be busy with her siblings. The solemn task is mine alone. I think there is a quiet poetry in that because my abuelo was a quiet man who would sometimes seek the comfort of solitude.

Don't get me wrong, he had an amazing sense of humor and was quite a popular man, but there is no doubt he was also very private. Returning him home without a large audience feels appropriate.

 

This is A Historical Moment for my family so I am filled with a sense of purpose.

It is also a historical moment for me and I can't help but wonder how I am going to feel when I take those first steps off the plane, when I'm sitting on the Malecón, when I feel the Varadero sand beneath my feet, when I see my family's old house on Avenida de la Loma . . .

I am going to try to see as much as I can, to celebrate life, to be in the moment, to document as much as I can and roll with whatever comes my way. I have no expectations. I have only my camera, my suitcase, and two 90+ year old Cubans. 

¡Que Dios me cuide!

UPDATE 3/1/2010: I received an email from Amy this afternoon:

We're here. We're safe. Everyone is happy. Don't worry. I LOVE YOU! Send love to my hermanos and my dad. My eyes are bugged out. I am exhausted, but it's good. Everyone has been super sweet y atentivo. I can't wait to tell you all about it. :-)

Marta here: I might be able to sleep tonight. *heavy sigh*

Bon Voyage

I'm putting these two on a plane today.

I have super-mixed emotions about them traveling to Cuba, but like Amy said in her post, family trumps politics.

They will be in Miami for the next few days and then fly to Cuba next Monday.

I am FINE* with it. Really I am.

Ay, Dios mio. *heavy sigh*

*FINE - Freaked out. Insecure. Neurotic. and Emotional.

One of a Kind

My mom will be 96 tomorrow and we had a birthday party for her this past Sunday at her home.

There were the usual gifts of soaps and lotions and sweet-smelling stuff that she so loves. And she was delighted by the turnout and the sentiments expressed.

 

She received lots of cards filled with love (and cash!). Because she's going to be spending some time in Miami before going to Cuba, we figured she could use it for her upcoming trip.

But this trip is also a Family Reunion. She and her big brother, my Uncle Fernando (98!), who lives in Miami are going to be reuniting with their other three siblings for the first time in 50 years. Although a couple of them have visited from Cuba at different times, the five of them have not been together in the same spot for half a century.

My mom, Luz (we call her Luza) and her brothers and sisters will probably spend most of their time remembering their early childhood and the games they played as young children in Puerto Padre, Cuba. That's their hometown.

So for her birthday, I made a gift, not just for her, but for all five of them for their upcoming reunion.

 

I made tshirts for each one with the name of their hometown of Puerto Padre. (I also made matching tags out of cardstock, but that's not important right now.) How cool is that? (Thank you. *takes bow*)

I was hesitant at first when I came up with the idea. Tshirts for 90 year olds? I know. It doesn't sound very smart. But I figured these would be a perfect, one-of-a-kind gift for my aunts and uncles, and of course, for my mom.

If I had any doubts, they were quickly wiped away when I saw her reaction and her misty eyes.

She was so excited and proud. She fiercely loves her siblings and their early shared memories are still bright and present in her mind and imagination. She can't wait for all of them to dress alike and be a "clan" once again.

So the Perez-Puelles siblings will be wearing their One-of-a-Kind gifts to their Once-in-a-Lifetime Reunion in Havana next week.

This makes me totally happy.

No Regrets

I don't know how many posts I've started with...."I have my mom for the weekend," but I know there are many.

My mom, Luz, will be 96 next week. She is in good health. She doesn't suffer from any disease other than old age.

Her bones are healthy. She has a great appetite. She repeats herself occasionally (96!), but is completely lucid.

Sometimes she gets tired. And she gets demanding. And she gets unreasonable. And I find myself getting a bit of an attitude. (Like, I've never been tired and demanding and unreasonable!)

You know what I'm talking about. I (internally) roll my eyes and think, "Ay, Mami, por favor."

I confess that I get tired of catering to her needs. Yes. I'm that selfish. (I know. Shut up.)

And then I regroup and remember this: I do not want to have any regrets. 

No regrets.

That's my mantra on the weekends when she stays with us and wants things done her way. 

And believe me, her way can be pretty exacting.

For example, she likes the water in the shower to be body temperature. So I test it before helping her get in, with my elbow, just like I tested the bath water for my babies.

She needs three bath towels. Three. Heated in the dryer so that they are toasty. One for her hair, one for her shoulders, another for the rest of her. 

She likes 3 hot meals. The table must be set with real dishes. No paper or plastic for her.

Coffee or tea cups must have matching saucers. No random mugs for her.

There's a long list of idiosyncratic must-haves. And I go out of my way (and comfort-zone) to provide them.

And sometimes, because of my own selfishness, I balk at her demands. 

But I quickly re-group and remind myself, "She's 95 (almost 96!), show some compassion."

Then I repeat these words: No regrets.

That phrase generally knocks me off of my selfish-throne and allows me to be gracious. 

Because she asks me to do other things that aren't on the radar of most other 95 (almost 96!) year olds.

So, without complaint, I do her hair and fix her makeup. And paint her nails.

 

When she asks for the bright red polish, I laugh and shake my head. "Ay Mami, por favor."

And I thank God that I get to do this.

No regrets.

Kikita and the Ashes Go To Cuba

(I, Kikita, wrote this post.)

If you're Cuban (or any other type of Latino) I'm sure you know about New Year's Eve Traditions.

This year I decided that, since I was now 26, I would do things MY way. First, I did all of the classic traditions on Miami time. When it was midnight in Miami (9pm here) I was listening to a Cuban song, eating my grapes, toasting the New Year (which is always "El año que viene, estamos en Cuba" - "Next year, in Cuba"), running money out to the mailbox, dumping the water and leaving my suitcase outside. 

At midnight California time I was out salsa dancing.

The whole night felt magical.
Two weeks later, I get a call from my grandmother.

"Kikita, quieres acompañarme a Cuba?"

(Kiki, would you like to accompany me to Cuba?)

That is where it started.

For as long as I can remember, I have been dying to know in person the "patria" that I hold in my heart, but I am also desperate to see that land free.

Abuela's invitation had stirred up some very deep things for me.

The last time I had talked to Tio Timbiriche he asked me when I was coming to Cuba. Without giving it much thought, I told him "before I turn 27." (I was 25 at the time and there was no real chance of me getting there anytime soon.)

I will be 27 in June.

How I finally made my decision was I realized that a quintessential part of being Cuban is that we put family first. I couldn't very well tell my Abuela (who will be 96 on February 23rd) that she and her siblings would never be under the same roof again because my politics were against it. Politics before family?

Maybe in some cases, but not this one.

Her OLDER brother (Tio-Abuelo Fernando) will be 99 in May and he is going. They have 3 younger siblings in Cuba whose ages are: 93, 90, & 87.

If the nonagenarians are up for it, how can I not be? =D

My big, fat Cuban family has been very supportive of my trip, for which I am incredibly thankful.

I bought tickets for Abuela and me to go to Miami where we'll stay for a few days before we leave for Cuba.

 

Just as I was getting used to the idea of traveling to Cuba with Abuela and Tio-abuelo Fernando, I realized there would be one other person traveling with us . . . Papi.
Do you know the amount of paperwork involved with transporting ashes to Cuba? Neither did I.

There is no doubt that this trip is going to be incredibly emotional, but I'm saving that. Right now, I have been just taking care of business. I've had to stay detached in order to get everything done. So, please forgive my seeming irreverence when I describe what happened next . . .

I was trying to be sensitive to Mami and my tias when it came to discussing specifics so I was doing as much as I could without them.

Finally, I told my Dad, "I don't want to bug, Mami, but I'd feel better if I had Papi's ashes at my house. I'd hate to be doing all this work and then not know where he is . . . I would look for them myself, but I have no idea where to start or what they look like. I never saw them and it's been 10 years."

Dad is so helpful. I really am grateful for him. He said he knew exactly where to look and as soon as we had gotten my car smogged and bought me a color printer, he'd find them for me.

I was installing the software for the printer while Dad was looking in the hall closet where holiday decorations, cleaning supplies, extra toilet paper and lots of extra silverware are usually kept. I heard him make a sound that rang of "I think I found it!" He carefully and solemnly brought the white box to the table, opened it, and pulled out . . . a ceramic pumpkin???

A Halloween decoration instead of ashes. How ironic and absolutely hilarious.

He continued his search and came out with another white box.

 

We were both much less serious about the whole thing. I did the honors this time and found a tin and inside the tin . . . "Ok, 1 dead Papi. Perfect. Thank you. Can you put my printer in my car?"

 

Tomorrow, Saturday, February 13th is Papi's 99th birthday.

It will also be the 49th year of my family's exile from Cuba.

Somehow, I have been honored with the task of taking the exiles home.

  

We leave for Miami on February 24th, the day after Abuela's 96th birthday. We leave for Cuba on March 1st. We get back to Miami on March 8th and we'll be back in California on March 10th.

Yes, I will take pictures. Yes, I will tell you all about it.

Yes, I am a little nervous. Yes, I am extremely excited. 

And, yes, I can't quite believe it either.

Felicidades, Papi, and Happy Valentine's Day.

Where are you now, Gaspar, Melchor, & Baltazar?

Back in the day, (that would be Cuba, 1961. After Castro, but before he canceled Christmas) my family, like most other Cubans (and Puerto Ricans and others of Hispanic descent) celebrated El Dia de Los Tres Reyes Magos on January 6th.

The Day of the Three Kings.

The evening of January 5th, we kids would get ourselves to bed early and look forward to the magic that awaited us the next morning. You see, it was not Santa Claus who brought us gifts, it was these three.

I still remember the haul we would awaken to on January 6th (Feast of the Epiphany, established by the Catholic Church).

And these guys were KINGS. And there were THREE of them. And they had CAMELS! Which meant they could carry that much more loot. (Shut up. I know it's shallow. I was five, okay?)

We knew them by name and sang of songs of fervent praise to them, too. We loved those three: "Gaspar y Melchor y el Rey Baltazar..."

(Read more about the history and story of the 3 Kings here.)

In early in 1961, when we left Cuba, The Three Kings apparently didn't get the memo that we had changed our address and were never to be seen or heard from again in my family. (*deep childlike sigh*)

Santa Claus took over the present delivery and I guess it seemed simpler to my parents to just embrace the Christmas traditions in this country. Although, for years, we still gave credit to "Los Reyes" for bringing our presents.

Sorry Santa! =(

And because I often wax nostalgic and I'm a little distracted and creative, I started wondering what it would look like if the Magi still delivered gifts to us on the morning of the Epiphany.

I think it might look something like this:

Happy Three Kings Day, Everyone! =D

(H/T Melek. Thanks for the wonderful reminder!)

The Best of MBFCF in 2009

Everywhere you hear about and see the flashbacks, the nostalgia, the reminiscing about the past year.

Well, today I look back on this blogging year and some of my favorite posts. (Yes, I do have favorite posts and lots of others that make me wring my hands and wonder why I do this in the first place, but that's not important right now.)

Actually, it's tough for me to choose my favorites, because I write about the comings and goings and uber-geekiness and silliness of my family. For the most part, I usually write from my heart about whatever is on at that moment. And that continues to be the Reason I Blog.

But here are the Highlights of MBFCF for this past year. (As voted on by a panel of Myself. =D)

Enjoy!

1. Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?

 

The time I was contacted by the producer for umm... Ramie Toliver. *sigh*

2. Pure Imagination

 

In which my son becomes the Greatest Candy Maker of All Time and leaves mom in a puddle of tears.

3. "Funny, but you don't look Cuban."

 

Celebrating my mom's 95th birthday with party hats and great style.

4. Breakfast of Champions

Café con leche. That is all.

5. No 'Flux capacitor' needed

 

In which I run smack-dab into an icon from my past in the unlikeliest of places: Washington, D.C.

6. Como Su Ritmo No Hay Dos or What Cuban Music Heaven Looks Like

The night we got to see Andy Garcia up-close and personal at the Conga Room.

7. Miles of Smiles

 

I just really like that picture and all the comments that you shared on that post.

8. Pastelito Delivery Service

Me, Desi Arnaz, Jr. and my Pastelitos de Guayaba in the same area code, at the same time. =D

9. How Many Cuban Girls Does it Take to Get ONE Photo?

 

I laugh out loud when I remember this moment. So glad I caught in on film and blogged about it.

10. Gonna buy five copies for my mother...

The day my coming-to-America story came out in the O.C. Register. (*she wrote, proudly*)

11. My Man, Ron

An unforgettable visit to the Reagan Ranch.

12. Measuring Life

 

Celebrating MBFCF in this year's Christmas video.

These were just some of the highlights of my year. I think that 2009 will go down in history as the year in which I Blogged Once Again. =D

Thank you all for allowing me to share the ups and downs of my big, fat, Cuban family with you. I look forward with great anticipation towards 2010 and all that it may bring.

Prospero Año Nuevo!