On a clear day, you can see Havana

When I was born, my dad was 44 years old. I am the youngest of his six children. (Still today and forever, I am the baby of the family, but that's not important right now.)

On February 13th, 1961, he celebrated the first of many birthdays in the U.S. He was 50 years old.

My dad was an extremely quiet person. He was not, as I recall, particularly brave. Except for having the common, everyday-type courage that it takes to start your life over again in a new country, speaking a new language and providing for a wife and six children.

That always amazes me. And yet, he managed to, not just survive in this new land, but to thrive.

In 1962, he bought a house in Southwest Miami. 25th Terrace.

We were excited to be a part of the new adventure of moving into a new house and we explored every bedroom, every closet, every cabinet of the house, and every inch of the fabulously huge backyard.

This was back in the day when you needed a huge TV antenna to get reception for one of the 3 major channels. My dad, the engineer, got a brand new antenna that needed to be installed. This required climbing up on the roof.

He must have borrowed the ladder from a neighbor. "Come up here with me. You can see Cuba from up here."

He might just as well have said, "We're going on a magic treasure hunt."

My sister, Alina, and I eagerly climbed up onto the roof with him.

No, of course, we couldn't see Cuba. He patiently explained that obviously, the avocado tree behind us was blocking our view.

My brother snapped the polaroid and captured this moment forever.

And such was the power of my dad's ability to tell stories, that I never questioned that we could probably see Cuba from the roof of our little home in Southwest Miami (La Saguesera), but for that silly, overgrown avocado tree.

My dad would have been 100 years old today. The older I get, the more I miss him.

Felicidades, viejo. Te quiero.

The Best of MBFCF in 2010

I started this tradition last year.

I reviewed my posts for the entire year (which was kind of interesting in a wow-is-that-a-train-wreck? kinda way, but that's not important right now) and picked a mix of some of my favorites.

These links are a pretty good representation of what it's like Living the Vida Loca, MBFCF-style.

If you've been a regular reader, I thank you for your time and attention and your cyber-love. You may enjoy going into my cyber-time machine and re-living this past year via the following blog posts.

If you're new to my blog, make yourself at home and enjoy this slice of my Cuban-American life in the O.C.

Besos,

Marta

1. The Writing is On the Wall - The one where I take you on a tour of the walls of my freakishly small cottage-like home.

2. A Living Legacy - The one where my mom turned 96 and had her photo taken with (almost) everyone in my big, fat, Cuban family.

3. Amy's Trip to Cuba - The one where Amy Kikita (my daughter) goes to Cuba and shares how she experienced the island and the people and how she ended up meeting Cuban dissident blogger Yoani Sanchez of Generacion Y. This link is to all the posts from her trip.

4.  How Google Works - A Very Cuban Explanation - The one where my 96 year old mom explains how the internet search engines work. She calls them Cuco and Yayo (Google and Yahoo) and becomes an instant Youtube hit among Cubans everywhere.

5. How to Turn 55 While in Miami - In which I drag out my birthday celebration for days and enjoy a wonderful party and my husband's sweet surprise.

6. How to Throw a Virtual Birthday Party - In which I surprise and amaze my daughter by having everyone she knows post a birthday greeting. (*takes bow*)

7.  Hasta La Vista, Baby! - In which my son, Adam, moves far away and leaves me sad. (*wipes away a tear*)

8. Baking With Betty - Brownieliciousness - In which I get to bake in the Betty Crocker Kitchens in Minneapolis and am overwhelmed by my own nerdiness.

9. When is a Pitbull NOT a pitbull? - In which I am introduced to Cuban rapper, Pitbull and I may or may not have called him a muñecón. Here's the video version. ;-)

10. El Palacio and me. (It was love at first sight.) - In which I visit El Palacio de Los Jugos (with my partner in Tiki Tiki blog-crime, Carrie) in Miami and document the entire comelata.

11. The Mother Ring - In which I tell about how I received a family heirloom.

12. Nochebuena. Cubans. Photobooth. (Pachanga!) - In which I manage to capture the silliness and beauty that is my big, fat, Cuban family.

It's a nice compilation, isn't it?

I'll just keep writing in 2011. I hope you come back. My blog-casa is your blog-casa. =D

Happy New Year!

Almost 50 years.

My dad passed away on December 11th, 1999. He and my mom would have celebrated their 60th anniversary just 3 weeks later on December 31st.

To this day, when asked how long they were married, my mom will always answer, "Casi 60 años." Translation: "Almost 60 years."

It's as if she feels like she's lying to just say 60 years. She has to add the "casi." Almost.

Every December 31st she gets phone calls from old friends and extended family. No one forgets that my parents were married on New Year's Eve.

But December will always be bittersweet. December will always have that "almost" attached to it.

On March 3rd of this year, my daughter, Amy Kikita took my father's ashes and scattered them in Pinar del Rio, keeping a promise I had made to him so many years ago.  She wisely chose a very specific and easily identifiable spot in case his descendants ever want to visit him there. (Read all the posts about Amy's Cuba trip here.)

This year, as part of our Christmas video, I cut together a piece documenting Amy and Luza's trip to Cuba. It includes the reunion of the Perez-Puelles siblings and Amy's visits to the sites of my childhood memories.

The lyrics to the song, La Cuba Mia (by Celia Cruz) talk about going back without looking back, living to forgive, and returning without bitterness to my Cuba.

My dad returned to his Cuba this year.  "Almost" 50 years after he left.

Rest in peace, Papi.

La Cuba Mia - Celia Cruz

Quiero pasear sin amargura
Por la calle de tu recuerdo
Y rescatar por fin al niño de mi pensamiento

Porque el tiempo y la memoria
(porque el tiempo y la memoria)
Juegan juntos en nuestra historia

Se me fue toda una vida
(se me fue toda una vida)
Y tu imagen no se me borra, no, no, no

Quiero volver sin mirar atrás
Poder vivir para perdonar
Quiero sentir, quiero regresar
A la Cuba mía

(quiero volver sin mirar atrás
Poder vivir para perdonar
Quiero sentir, quiero regresar
A la Cuba mía)

Se me confunden con los años
Las imágenes en mis sueños
Pero te sigo recordando
Tierra mía cada momento

Con el son y con la clave
(con el son y con la clave)
Con el sol y la arena suave

Y mi mente se imagina
(y mi mente se imagina)
Caminando por santos suárez

Quiero volver sin mirar atrás
Poder vivir para perdonar
Quiero sentir, quiero regresar
A la Cuba mía

(quiero volver sin mirar atrás
Poder vivir para perdonar
Quiero sentir, quiero regresar
A la Cuba mía)

(quiero volver)
Quiero volver, quiero cantar,
Quiero abrazar y disfrutar
A la Cuba mía

(quiero volver)
Seguro que a allí volveremos
Y en tu nombre cantaremos
Como lo quisiste tú

... a la Cuba mía

(quiero volver) sin mirar atrás
(poder vivir) para perdonar
(quiero sentir), quiero regresar
(a la Cuba mía), a la Cuba mía

(con tu arenga y tu son, oye
Conquistaste al mundo entero
Y cuba fue lo primero siempre
Dentro de tu corazón... Celia)

(quiero volver sin mirar atrás
Poder vivir para perdonar
Quiero sentir, quiero regresar
A la Cuba mía, a la Cuba mía
A la Cuba mía)... a la Cuba mía.

Nochebuena. Cubans. Photo Booth. (Pachanga!)

My home, as I've told you before, is freakishly small cottage-like.

Accomodating my big, fat, Cuban family for Nochebuena takes quite a bit of planning and hard work and a little bit of creativity. Actually, a LOT of creativity.

My family is full of extroverted, noisy people. (Hello? Cubans!) They are easy conversationalists and will most always cooperate with whatever creative suggestions get thrown their way. (This quality is what makes our yearly Christmas videos so compelling.)

But to be honest, hosting a big party like this in our freakishly small cottage-like home requires that we also do some "crowd control." (AKA: have some activities planned.)

This year, we had a Photo Booth. (I know. Genius, right?) I'd gotten the idea from a few blog events I've attended this year. The Photo Booths were always a hit.

Me to my (very creative) kids: "We need to do a Photo Booth for Nochebuena."

Lucy: "Let's ask Mr. G (our favorite professional photographer and awesome neighbor) for help."

Our Awesome Professional Photographer Neighbor, Raphael, let us borrow a backdrop and a remote flash and lights and the whole set-up for The Great Nochebuena Photo Booth of 2010.

We moved all the furniture out of the way in Jonathan's room and voila! Instant Photo Booth!

I wanted to make sure that everyone had their photos taken with my mom, Luza.

And that each family would be well represented.

I insisted that the couples jump in.

"Yes, of course you can bring the dog."

I suggested generational pictures.

And Lucy had the great eye for the crazy kid pics. (Do not miss Ben's Clip-on Tie of Awesomeness.)

We made sure to get the parents with each individual child. (This is probably because of some deep, psychological wounding I received because I was the youngest and there are no pictures of just me with my parents, but that's really a conversation I'll have to save for my therapist.)

And of course, there were the siblings.

And my men. (Missed you, Adam!)

The cousins got a little crazy.

And of course, we had to take the Classic Sister Picture of 2010. (Suitable for framing, no?)

Some of the photos were out of focus and a little goofy.....which made them absolutely Picture Perfect.

Yes, that's me. Right up front. With the smug self-satisfied grin on my face. (And gift wrapping ribbon in my hair, but that's not important right now.) =D

Cheaters Lechón Asado (don't judge me.)

It's raining like mad here in So Cal. And we live in The Bubble (aka. The O.C.). And Nochebuena falls on a Friday. And the men-folk are all working. What does this mean?

It means that there will be no Cuban Caja China Pig Roasting for us. (*insert sad face here*)

Of course, this does not mean that we won't have our lechóncito. We are, after all, self-respecting Cubans. Going without lechón on Nochebuena is not an option.

It just means we'll cheat a little. ;-)

Super Garlicky Lechón Asado (In the crockpot. I know. Shut up.)

• 2 Tbsp. Olive oil
• 1 1/2 lbs. Pork loin chops – the big, thick ones
• 2 cups Mojo Criollo*
• 1 white onion – sliced into rings
• 1 tsp. Parsley

1. Stab each of the chops two or three times and brown them quickly in the olive oil.
2. Put them in a crockpot. Cover with the mojo and the onion slices and sprinkle with parsley.
   Cook on high for 4-5 hours. Or on low for 6-8 hours.
3. For added Cuban tastiness: Double the Mojo recipe and after the pork is cooked, pull it apart just a bit - it should be very tender - then, move it into a roasting pan.
4. Pour mojo over the pork and bake in a 350 degree oven for about 30 minutes.

Serve with black beans and white rice.

*Mojo Criollo
You can use the mojo that comes in a bottle, or make your own.
Here’s my recipe.

• 20 cloves garlic
• 2 tsp. Salt
• 1 tsp. Coarse-ground Pepper
• 2 tsp. Oregano
• 1 ¾ cups bitter orange juice
• ¼ cup white vinegar

1. Using a mortar and pestle, mash together the garlic, salt, pepper and oregano to make a paste.
2. Stir in the orange juice and vinegar.

They'll never know the difference. =D

Buen Provecho!

The Mother Ring

I remember when my mother got the ring. I must have been about 12 or 13 years old. It was the most beautiful piece of jewelry I thought I'd ever seen.

I loved the way the six stones represented me and my five siblings. I loved the way it was perfectly symmetrical, even though I usually prefer things at more random angles.

She always wears it on her right hand. Being Our Mother has always been how she defines herself.

Ofie, the oldest, is represented by the purple amethyst for her February birthday. That stone seemed fitting and regal for her as the First Born.

Helen's is the pearl. Hers is a June birthday. Different from the other gemstones. Round, polished and perfect - much like my sister.

Rudy was born in April and so the diamond is his stone. Befitting the only son in a family of Cuban women - the "diamond in the rough."

Miriam's stone is the peridot for August. The peridot is distinctive, unusual, beautiful. Again, a wonderful representation.

The two emeralds are for Alina and me. Both of us born in May. I love the way they were mounted on either end of the ring, bringing all the other stones into balance.

I have always loved this ring. I have always taken comfort in how it looks on her hand. I never thought to get one of my own, thinking that a setting of four stones somehow wouldn't work.

One day, she said, she would give it to me.

Last Friday, I checked my mom into the hospital. Today is Tuesday and she is there still. She has an infection in her body causing her a lot of grief. At 96, this could be life-threatening.

That night, while we were in the ER, she said, "Marta, take the ring."

"Why?" I asked, "Is it bothering you?"

"No. But, it's yours. Take it."

There was no emotion in her voice. It was just a statement.

I hesitated, but she insisted and I took it and put it on. She gave Amy Kikita her other ring, with the big, fat, cubic zirconia that she had always admired and that her grandmother had promised to her.....one day.

So, here I am trying to get used to the weight of The Mother Ring. I still love how beautiful and regal and different it looks.

But I think it may take me a very long time to get used to seeing it on my own hand.

So Help Me, God.

I've spent the last week serving on a jury for a criminal trial at the County Courthouse in Santa Ana, here in California. (If I tell you any more, I'd have to kill you, but that's not important right now.)

I'll be honest with you: I'm not enjoying it.

I have been sitting through hours of testimony and evidence and exhibits one through twelve. But I'm not happy about it.

I may not discuss the details of the trial with anyone. Which makes me feel a little crazed.

I have to sit completely still. And be quiet. And listen attentively. For hours.

For a chatty and friendly and active Cuban woman such as myself, all of this adds up to cruel and unusual punishment.

But I remember this....

It was in this very courthouse that I was sworn in as an American citizen in 1974. I was 19 years old and very proud and sober and serious about the oath I was taking in this same courthouse:

"I hereby declare, on oath,

that I absolutely and entirely renounce and abjure all allegiance and fidelity to any foreign prince, potentate, state, or sovereignty of whom or which I have heretofore been a subject or citizen;

that I will support and defend the Constitution and laws of the United States of America against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same;

that I will bear arms on behalf of the United States when required by the law;

that I will perform noncombatant service in the Armed Forces of the United States when required by the law;

that I will perform work of national importance under civilian direction when required by the law; and that I take this obligation freely without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion;

so help me God."

That's right. I took An Oath. And I said, "So help me God." And I meant it.

So, while I'm not happy to be serving on a jury because of my own selfish, personal discomfort, I feel extremely proud and privileged to do so.

In Cuba, as in many other socialist nations, there is no such thing as "being innocent until proven guilty."

There is no such thing as a "jury of your peers."

Simply stated, there is no such thing as freedom.

I voted today. In free elections. Because I live in a Representative Republic and I have a voice.

I know that I happen to be using that voice to complain (loudly!) about having to do my civic duty. And that's part of the beauty of this: it's my right to complain if I want to.

But ultimately, it's my joy to serve, because I remember that it's not that I have to serve in the judicial process....it's that I get to.

Go Vote. It's your privilege as an American citizen. In other words, you get to.

(cross-posted at Babalú blog)

Enigmatically Cuban

When people find out I'm Cuban (which is practically one of the first things I tell them about myself, but that's not important right now) they ask me if I know "so and so" - their only other Cuban friend. They tell me the person's name and look questioningly into my eyes.

Surely I must know every other Cuban on the planet?

I wonder sometimes about their knowledge of history and geography and smile pleasantly and say, "that name sounds familiar, but I don't think I know them."

I know I don't look like your typical Spanish-speaker. I know I have the blue eyes and light skin. That doesn't mean I don't have salsa in my blood and a passionate love for all things guava.

And when they say, (which they always do), "Funny, but you don't look Cuban," I smile and keep my next thought to myself.....

And then I offer them a pastelito de guayaba and a sweet, hot espresso. "What? That isn't like anything you've ever tasted before?"

"Well, neither am I." ;-)

Just call me Marta de la Saguesera.

El Palacio and me. (It was love at first sight.)

I've been home for a week now and I'm still processing all the wonderful things I got to do and experience in Miami. I'll be writing about the trip little by little as I sort through my stuff and check my mental rolodex to remind myself of the stories I want to tell.

This particular one, I videotaped. (I know! Shut up!)

I'm starting to get more things on film and I'm finding that I enjoy telling my stories this way. I have even stopped cringing when I hear my voice on tape. Weird, right?

My Tiki Tiki blog-partner and Cuban friend, Carrie, took me to the Palacio de los Jugos on Flagler and 57th when we were in Miami last week.

Usually, I hold out for Versailles or La Carreta, but Carrie convinced me that the best "comelatas" are to be had at the Palacio.

What I found: All Cuban food is not alike. (The thing about Cuban food, though, is that it's sooo affordable, wherever you go.)

We managed to eat our way around the building (very cheaply!). Don't judge us. We both live far from Cuban restaurants (and La Dieta empieza mañana).

But can I just say....THIS over-abundance of Cuban food on every corner is why I could never live in Miami.  (Well, and the humidity, but that's not important right now.) I have no self-control when it comes to Cuban food. And I couldn't be held responsible for my actions if I lived so close to all that deliciousness.

In my life I've never seen so much fabulous Cuban food in one spot..... except for maybe here, at my house, on Nochebuena. =D

Cuban girls "do" the Palacio: L-to-R - Amanda, Yllien (my cousin), me, & Carrie after we successfully tasted everything in the building.

Follow us, as Carrie and I explore the wonders of the Palacio de los Jugos....I miss it already. * heavy sigh*

"Cubanism can strike at any age."

Me: "I made 'fanguito.'" (FAHN-GEE-TOH)

Amy Kikita: "Fanguito? Really, Mom? Wait! Is that another Cubanism? Isn't 'fango' the Spanish word for 'mud?' Where exactly are you??"

She sounds puzzled, and I picture her tilting her head to one side (kind of like a German shepherd).

Me: "In the kitchen. 'Fanguito,' yes. It's really dulce de leche. But I made it in the crockpot. Isn't that cool?"

Silence. (I'm guessing she's processing and translating and praying for her mother's sanity.)

Amy Kikita: "You freaked me out just a little..." (under her breath): "I guess Cubanism can strike at any age."