My Big Fat Cuban Family: A Cuban-American Blog

Why I Was Scared

The following post was written by Kikita.

Fear. It permeates all things "Cuba Now." Some subjects we just don't talk about. Why? Fear. Even the fearless ones worry about saying some things (even if they don't admit it).

Mami always says to herself, "I. Am. Fearless."

I will tell you right now, I. Am. NOT. Fearless.

As the weeks turned to days, hours, and eventually minutes before I was leaving for Cuba everyone was asking me if I was excited.

The truth is, I was NOT excited. 

 

I felt like I had the weight of the world on my shoulders. I was keenly aware that I had only traveled out of the United States one other time, almost exactly 10 years before this trip. I was 16 and went with my Drama class. I was in charge of nothing. All I had to do was show up on time and do what I was told:  hand your passport to that man, come over here, 'nothing to declare' is the line you want, get on the bus, here is your room key and number, dinner is at 6 so be downstairs at 5:30, etc.

I have traveled alone. I have traveled with my Abuela. This was different. If something went wrong, I had someone else to think about.

I had Mami and the rest of MBFCF to answer to if something happened to Abuela (and Tio Abuelo, Fernando).

 

What if the Cubans didn't let me in? What if they arrested me? I know, it sounds crazy. I can practically hear the sneers of "She thinks she is so important that she would be arrested, HA!" 

Yes. It crossed my mind for a couple of different reasons:

It is not like I keep my opinion of the "heroes of the revolution" to myself.

(I could talk myself down from that one. Maybe if I was one of the writers from Babalú Blog or Uncommon Sense I could realistically think that the Cuban military might know who I am. )

Why else was I afraid? I was bringing in contraband.

The Cuban Government has a ridiculous amount of hoops one has to jump through in order to take ashes to Cuba. I had to send the Death Certificate, Cremation Certification, and Papi's LAST USED PASSPORT to the Cuban Embassy in Washington, D.C. and then wait for them to approve the transport. In case you may have forgotten, Papi died TEN YEARS AGO. And hadn't been out of the country for at least 15 years before that. Meaning, his last used passport was from 1970-something. I asked my aunt to look for it. She found it, well, she found the picture that she had cut out before tossing the rest. Who keeps that stuff for that long anyway?

So, I was transporting ashes illegally -if you're dying for more info on that, you can feel free to email me- and if they found out I was terrified of what might happen. The hopes of my whole family where with me. There was no way I could come home and say, "Sorry, I couldn't do it. They confiscated him at the airport."

There's more. About a week before I left, I found out that Mami's cousin Regina Coyula was a dissident blogger. I had been entrusted with the special task of getting her 4GB of discreet portable space. Here's how I did it:

But, having that in my bag? Terrifying. What if they found it? Would I get a slap on the wrist? Sent back to the U.S.? I think one of the greatest kinds of fear is the fear of the unknown.

Unknown? But I knew exactly what was waiting for me when the plane landed. I had read "Take Me With You" by Carlos Frías and his detailed descriptions of arriving at José Martí International Airport on pages 16-19 of his book. I just wish I had re-read it before I left. As I read it now, I want to cry. It is comforting to read that someone else went through the same things I did. Especially that first moment when I walked into the terminal with my Abuela and my Tio Abuelo it went almost exaclty like this:

    "It is then that I see the lines and the guards. Between me and Cuban soil are immigration agents in uniform.

    The rest of the airport is walled off, and two agents stand in each of about ten cubicles. A soldier in a dress uniform waves me toward one of the posts, and I can feel my roll-abour slip in my hands from the perspiration.

    I come to a counter, which separates me from a man and a woman, who look to me in their late twenties, dressed in military attire... Try to smile, I tell myself.

He is not smiling.

Nor is she."

Now, I had less reason to worry because my cousin Waldo had come specifically from Cuba to help me with this part of the trip. He went first and took my Abuela through the door. I was left with my Tio Abuelo, Fernando, who was 99 years old and demanded on doing everything himself. This means that I didn't know if he had all of his documents until the man asked for them.

 

When me made it through door number one, there was a woman (who looked like a pissed off version of Judi Dench in a Nazi costume and medical shoes) that asked to see my passport.

She looked at it, then at me, back at it, back at me and finally said, "When you've finished going through the machines, we have to do an interview with you," and she kept my passport. My heart stopped. I started to help Fernando through the metal detectors and honestly have no idea what happened to him next.

Because my backpack was full of food that we were going to be cooking over the week, I had to go to a special table where they dug through "la compañera's" backpack. Next was another woman asking questions about my health. 

I hadn't seen the Nazi woman again. 

I had no idea where Waldo, Abuela, or Fernando were. 

Another younger woman with a pleasant face found me and had my passport. The "interview" was much easier than I expected. It was all about what I did in the U.S. and my address and she was relieved that I spoke Spanish.

She sent me to collect my bags and return with them so she could inspect them. My heart stopped again, until it looked like Waldo knew her and he was smoothing things over with her. The "inspection" was her just glancing at my bags and then handing me my passport back.

After what seemed like an eternity and a few more scares at the scales, I could see the doors that led to the outside. There was a wall of people that became a tunnel as we pushed the wheelchairs and carts of baggage out to where all kinds of family members were waiting with open arms to hug me and welcome me.

Only then, when the green I was seeing was from palm trees instead of uniforms, did I exhale. Only then did my fear start to fade away. But for the first two hours (yes, the whole process took two hours) of my arrival in Cuba, I was scared...and I would do it all again in a heartbeat.

 

Juicing It Up

Another posting about Kikita's adventures in Cuba written by none other than Kikita herself.

The one thing everyone told me before I left was "Don't drink the water!"

No water for a whole week? Well, not exactly. Just before boarding I bought two big bottles of water, but that was definitely not going to be sufficient hydration so I was forced to find other options. Obviously, I drank plenty of café and sometimes it was delicious and other times it wasn't. There was a type of soda called "Tu Kola" that I enjoyed, but I know that soda has salt in it and I was worried about hydration.

Thank goodness it wasn't too hot otherwise I have no idea what I would have done. When we went out to eat I ordered bottled sparkling water. Even so, I needed more.

One morning my cousin asked me if I would like some pineapple juice. I love pineapple juice. I most definitely wanted pineapple juice.

"Sí, gracias."

Next thing I knew, he had picked up a pineapple and was cutting it up.

 

He put the pineapple pieces in a blender and added the dreaded water along with what looked like a lot of sugar.

 Once it was blended, he pushed it through a colander in order to maximize the juice and minimize the pulp. 

He eventually put the juice back into the bottle that had once held the water and then began pouring glasses of the juice for breakfast.

 

It was the most delicious pineapple juice I've ever had in my life. In fact, I'm not sure I'll ever be able to get the same enjoyment from bottled juice again.

Later that day. . . we found a man who was selling "guarapos." (Ok, it was an outdoor bar and he was selling a lot of other things too, but that's not important right now.)

I had already had a "guarapo" with my brother Adam at Cuba Nostalgia a couple of years ago so I knew the taste and couldn't wait to have one. What I didn't know was that I was going to get to participate in the making of the "guarapo."

First the bartender took his machete and scraped off the outer layer of the sugar cane.

 

Then he inserted it into the juicer . . .

And then it was my turn.

Oh yeah, hand-cranking. My brow started to sweat a bit, but "valio la pena" (it was worth the effort). 

 

Oh, and since rum is also made from sugar cane he may or may not have put some in mine. 

 

Hey, I wasn't drinking the water, just juice. ;-)

Las Terrazas

This is another Kikita post about her trip to Cuba.

Several years ago a cousin I had never met before was visiting from Cuba. Since he had never been to Las Vegas, Mami, Luza, my tia Helen, and I drove out there to meet him and then bring him back to California. It was a whirlwind adventure riddled with cucufates, but that is another story.

On the drive home from Las Vegas, this cousin asked us to play one of the cds he had brought from Cuba of a new up and coming singer called Polo Montañez. At the time, my spanish was nowhere near what it is today. Regardless, I was happy to oblige our guest and played the cd filled with classic Cuban sounds and words I did not fully comprehend. The drive from Vegas to my house on that Saturday night was about 4 to 5 hours so we listened to the cd several times over. There was one song inparticular that I found exceptionally moving despite not knowing all the words.

Beyond the classic sounds of Trío Matamoros and Celia Cruz, this song was the first new Cuban song I had heard from the island. The song was called "Un Montón de Estrellas" and it fast became one of my favorites. I remember the first time I heard it played at a salsa club a few years later, I couldn't stop the tears from rolling. 

The song remained close to my heart, but got pushed around by other songs and experiences and was soon forgotten (so to speak).

I had no idea what was in store for me as I was on my way to Pinar del Rio and my cousin took a turn towards a place called Las Terrazas.

 

It was breathtaking. I was speechless. I had never seen anything like it in my entire life.

My cousin kept going deeper and deeper into this jungle and I was beginning to wonder if we had arrived at Viñales because I really wasn't sure what I was looking for . . . and then I saw where we where headed.

 

 

I could not help but marvel at the small size of the home and tears came to my eyes when I looked and saw the sun shining on the unused instruments.

 

 

The moment I first walked inside "Un Montón de Estrellas" began playing as if to welcome my presence. It was one of those magical moments that brought tears to my eyes. I felt so lucky. So blessed. So in awe. I sent up a prayer of thanks and then let the music and the view wash over me.

 

"Que orgullo para el poeta
que viva en un pueblecito
el más aseado y bonito
que existe en este planeta
por eso hago esta letras
con ortografía escasa,
mientras más ligero pasa
el tiempo que va corriendo
más lindo se va poniendo
el pueblo de las Terrazas"

~ Polo Montañez

Lighting My Way

This is Kikita and I am giving you . . .

**Another Tissue Warning**

As I said before I left for Cuba, I went with no expectations. I went with an open heart and an open mind. I went with a mission. And I accomplished it. But what I didn't expect (literally) was to find Papi everywhere I went.

If I am going to be perfectly honest, I DID think that I would feel SOMETHING when I got that first glimpse of Cuba out of the plane window...

But I didn't.

On the way to Tio Timbiriche's house my eyes were more like saucers; I was just taking everything in.

 

After my primo and I rented a car, the real adventure began. I didn't have time to think. I just kept soaking everything in. There was one thought pressing on my mind though as I stood looking out at the Malecón and El Morro: Papi.

My abuelo, Papi, was an Electrical Engineer and he was out working on the lights for the Malecón when he and his crew were arrested, jailed, and some of them were killed the next morning. By some miracle, Papi was released. He left his homeland with the plan of being gone a few months and ended up never returning, until I brought him. I couldn't help but have a surge of pride that the lights Papi put up where still there.

I begged my cousin to bring me back when they were lit, and he did. I felt the internal click I had been waiting for. The warm lights gave me a sense of comfort and even a hope for the future of a coutry that is in so much turmoil and disarray.

 
 

After I accomplished my mission, I thought that would be the end of the Papi chapter of my trip, but that was not the case. Ask anyone who has made the trip from Havana to Varadero and they will tell you to do it in the daytime because it is one of the most beautiful things you will ever see. That had been my plan, but in the true spirit of embracing the moments as they came to me and in an orchestration of events that I think could only have come about through Divine Intervention, the sun had set by the time we reached the city limits of Havana and the street lights had been lit.

I had always known about Papi's lighting the Malecón, but it was all I'd ever known about his projects in Cuba. While I was marvelling at the uniqueness of the street lights, my cousin turned to me and told me that Papi had done those too. I had been marvelling at my abuelo and he was the one who was lighting the initial steps of my way to Varadero.

The plan had been to return from Varadero in the late afternoon of the next day. It didn't happen. We didn't leave Varadero until it was dark which meant we came home to Papi's lights. I can't even remember what ridiculous reason had us pulling over, but my cousin (who had no idea how much I was being affected by the lights) had stopped the car in the perfect place under one of Papi's works of art.

 

I saw and did an incredible amount of things in a short amount of time. I traversed three provinces in three days. I couldn't entirely comprehend why I was never too afraid, but I think it might have something to do with Papi being with me the whole time . . . lighting my way.

 

At the end of the day...

**Tissue Warning**

This is Kikita, back from her adventure in Cuba. I saw and did and felt so many things this past week that I am having a hard time deciding what I want to share first. 

I met cousins for the first time and hugged them as if I had known them my whole life. I was surrounded, overwhelmed even, with love. People I'd heard stories about, but never seen in person.

 

I held aunts and uncles that I hadn't seen in years.

I was treated like royalty visiting for a moment, but kissed on the cheek as if I had been there forever. I was served café at every turn, but I was allowed my turn to serve the café.

 

It is not a question of what I did or saw, it is a question of what I did NOT see or do.

And while I was buzzing all over the first three provinces of Cuba (Pinar del Rio, Habana, & Matanzas), there was another kind of buzzing going on at home. (Home being Tio Timbiriche's house.)

The kind of buzzing that happens when you haven't seen your brother or sister for 50 years.

 

My abuela, Luza, and her siblings did not stop talking and loving each other the whole trip. They did everything together. Every meal they ate together. There are thousands of things I saw this past week that touched my heart, but at the end of the day watching the five Perez-Puelles siblings interact was definitely one of the most amazing sites. I felt honored to be able to watch and listen. They talked about everything. They remembered old neighbors and things their mother used to cook and things their father used to say. They even sat around remembering old radio commercials and old inside jokes. One of my favorite moments was when they had a "whose granddaughter is the best cook?" discussion. ;-)

They barely touched on politics or the reasons why they stayed or left. They bickered as any set of siblings is wont to do, but at the end of the day the joy of being together was shining on all of their faces.

 

Yesterday, the day we left, their last breakfast together, my abuela read them the following poem and just as they had spent the whole week talking and laughing together they hugged and cried together.

    Quiero gozar cuanto pueda
y, con acierto y medida,
gastar moneda a moneda
el tesoro de la vida;

    mas no quiero ser jamás
como el que amontona el oro
y no goza del tesoro
por acrecentarlo más.

    Quiero gozar sin pasión,
esperar sin ansiedad,
sufrir con resignación,
morir con tranquilidad;

    que al llegar mi postrer día,
quiero pensar y decir:
"Viví como viviría
si ahora volviera a vivir.

    "Viví como un peregrino
que, olvidando sus dolores,
pasó cogiendo las flores
de los lados del camino;

    "cantando he dejado atrás
la vida que recorrí;
pedí poco y tuve más
de lo poco que pedí;

    "que si nadie me envidió
en el mundo necio y loco,
en ese mundo tampoco
tuve envidia a nadie yo".

    He resuelto despreciar
toda ambición desmedida
y no pedirle a la vida
lo que no me puede dar.

    He resuelto no correr
tras un bien que no me calma;
llevo un tesoro en el alma
que no lo quiero perder,

    y lo guardo porque espero
que he de morir confiado
en que se lo llevo entero
al Señor, que me lo ha dado.

        - José María Pemán

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*

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.

Fresh and Easy Does It Every Time!

The following post has been brought to you by the lovely and talented Kikita (who is still practicing her cooking skills).

There are perks to being Mami's "driver/photographer." I get to see and do a lot of cool things.
I'm sure Mami has every intention of sharing with you the fantastic experience that came from being invited to a fresh & easy event at Sur la Table in the Los Angeles Farmer's Market.

 

So I'd just like to tell you about my "after-adventures." I like the sound of it, don't you?

Well, so we had an awesome time during the event and I realized that I have not one, not two, but THREE (YES! THREE!) fresh & easy stores near my house! I had been operating under a common misconception that this fresh & easy market was super "chi chi" and on the expensive side so I had never bothered to go and check it out, but after meeting some of their people I decided to check the place out for myself.

 

What I found when I walked inside was a smallish grocery store that was well-lit and already pleasant to be in. I got the feeling that I was going to enjoy this shopping trip.

I admit, I had it in for them. I was looking for them to fail me. I went in with a list of stuff I needed to make a big Cuban dinner (you know, rice, beans, & maybe boliche). Boy was I in for a surprise!

 

Not only did they have everything I was looking for, they also had . . . *drum roll, please* . . . CAFE BUSTELO!! That was the moment when I decided I would be shopping there from now on!
 As if them having Bustelo was not enough of a reason already, I found the ultimate reason for continuing to shop there . . .

 When I saw that they carried their own brand of Dulce De Leche Ice Cream I swear I heard a choir of angels singing. And then there was one more extra fun thing that this wonderful  fresh & easy place offered me . . . a childhood dream.

WHAT?!?!

Ok, so I have a bit of a confession. As a kid, I totally thought it would be fun to work in a grocery store and scan people's groceries. Once I realized that I was destined to become a golden goddess I put aside my childhood dream, but the fresh & easy people made it happen for me via "Self-Checkout."

Yes, I AM aware that other major chains offer this luxury, but if I am given the option for a bit of social interaction, I'll take it (translation: I'm kind of freaked out about doing the self-check-out when there are perfectly able bodied checkers right there).

The deal with the fresh & easy is that there is no option. You are on your own.

What is even MORE fun is that while you're busy focused on living a childhood dream (oh, come on, admit it, you always wanted to do it too!) a person will magically appear and bag your groceries for you!

 

And these same magic people help you to buy the alcohol that they sell there (sorry kids! no sneaking through!) . . . just beer and wine, so you won't be making mojitos without a stop at the liquor store, but I think it's a small price to pay for the fresh & easy shopping experience.

Go! Find a store near you and just check it out. I promise you'll like it! =D

 

********************************

UPDATE: I realize that many of you East Coasters probably do not have  a local fresh & easy anywhere near you. What's cool is that you can send them a suggestion for where to open a store. Do it. Be the change you want to see!

IMAGINE: A fresh & easy HIALEAH! ;-)
 

  

The EPIC Mr. Don't Touch the Banana

The following post was written by Kikita, whose appreciation for bananas has led to endless laughter and entertainment.

I can't tell you where or how it all started, but it started. I can only guess it happened on facebook because that's where most things happen these days.
Let me be clear about something . . . I am not particularly fond of the taste of bananas. Ok, that's not entirely true. There have been several years where I absolutely loathed bananas, but now that I'm an immature adult, I have accepted them for the goodness that they can be.

It IS possible that the banana thing started shortly after the monkey thing. (I LOVE monkeys. I have several monkey stuffed animals and I can do a FABULOUS monkey sound, but that's not important right now.)

For all intents and purposes, I'm not sure that it really matters where the banana thing started. What IS important is that it DID start and was kept alive.

Typically, I will start working on the family Christmas video in late August or early September. As it just so happens, late August found me at a Willy Chirino concert.

It was there that I met my inspiration.

Every year I struggle with making sure the video is relevant to our Cuban-American family NOW while not forgetting and celebrating that we are still Cuban. But now the majority of the family prefers speaking in English, so they relate to a Cuban song in Spanish less and less. No, that doesn't make things easy.
But I had found my answer.

I started story-boarding and planning and ran into a few hiccups such as "what about the family that will NOT be at Thanksgiving?"
But I did what I could with what resources I had.

I am so grateful that my big, fat, Cuban family will do what I ask of them without question and will go for it. Participation was key in pulling this one off. And I knew it would be EPIC.

After Thanksgiving, I got to work. And, thanks to the help and support of some "real, live" editors (Thank you Mr. Simpson, Mr. Young, & Mr. De Castro), my plan was coming to fruition in ways that were even better than I could have expected.

 

This has to be one of my most favorite pieces that I have ever cut together. I love it because it's wholly Cuban (every good Cuban-American knows this song), it's fun, it's Spanglish, and it's . . . well, it's EPIC (even if I do say so myself).

It even inspired the title for this year's video: "ORO PARECE"

That is the beginning of a Cuban riddle that goes:
ORO PARECE
PLATA-NO ES

It's a play on words. "Oro" is gold. "Plata" is silver, but "platano" is banana.
IT LOOKS LIKE GOLD
SILVER IT IS NOT / BANANA IT IS

So, ladies and gentlemen, without further ado . . .

Measuring Life

This is Kikita here to wish you all a Merry Christmas!

As I'm sure most of you know by now, every year I cut together a family Christmas video. This year marked the 10 year anniversary of this tradition so I knew I had to really step things up. When looking back on all the things that happened in our family over the past year the re-occurring theme I kept seeing was "LOVE." Plain and simple.

In one of those midnight-hour moments of inspiration, I knew what song would be perfect to end my video with. Something to make us stop and remember the sweet moments. Yes, some moments of our lives are big . . . but then there are those quick ones that unexpectedly stick with us.

Anyway, I wanted to share the ending of this year's video with my blog family because you readers have been sharing these moments with us as well. We are happy that you, too, are a part of my big, fat Cuban family.

FELIZ NAVIDAD!

"Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away."

Whole lotta latte

Kikita here!

Last week, Mami and I stumbled into a weird and wonderful world.
(Ok, we didn't really stumble, we were invited and we took Lucy & Katie with us, but that's not important right now.)

A land of milk and honey. (Ok, mostly milk and I don't think there was any honey at all, but that is not important right now either.)

The fabulous got milk? people did it again! They invited Mami to another event in the oh-so-posh restaurant called La Pain Quotidien on Melrose and since I am Mami's driver, it was obvious I had to go.

 

 The fact that the name of the event was "Toast the Holidays with Lattes" (made by THE Heather Perry) so there was going to be mass amounts of cafe had absolutely nothing to do with me getting to go. ;-)

 

Obviously, it was very important to sample EVERYTHING that Heather made.

From the Pumpkin Spice Latte to the TRES LECHES Latte (which tasted EXACTLY like a good cafe con leche) to the Holiday Frozen Hot Chocolate.

 

I admit, I may have taken a second helping of the Tres Leches Latte. . . and maybe the Eggnog Latte too.

 

When you're doing a latte tasting, you can expect a lotta Latinas to show up for the event. Oye, we know our cafe con leche even if you try to call it a "latte." =D

 

While Mami and I were busy mingling and tasting, Lucy and Katie dove into the fun craft.

Yes, of course they would take breaks to munch on a muffin and do some tasting of their own.

Lucy's favorite latte was the Toffee Mocha. (Hija de su papa, I swear. Totally her father's daughter. Mami doesn't like nuts, so toffee is definitely not her cup of . . . cafe? =D)

Katie, on the other hand, was really digging the Peppermint Mocha Martini, but I think it was just because of the fun peppermint bits on the rim of the cup.

 

After downing so many lattes, I may have gotten a little crazy (I can't imagine why) and I grabbed a few of the temporary tattoos that were sitting on the table and I put it on. I think it looked kind of cool.

 

As if the day was not fun enough, since we WERE on Melrose, it seemed only fitting to see someone famous. Yes, it IS "Jessie" from "Saved by the Bell," (aka Elizabeth Berkley) and yes I WAS out of my skin excited.

 

But one of the very best parts of being at the event (well, outside of all the cafe con leche) was seeing and connecting with so many other amazing Latina bloggers.

From left: Silvia Martinez of Mama Latina Tips, Sandra Gonzalez of Soy Fashionista, Dariela Cruz of Nuestra Vida Con Adrian (she’s pictured with Adrian J), Mami, Ana Flores of Spanglishbaby with baby Camila, Liz Cerezo of Thoughts of a Mommy of Three, and Marcela Beatty of 8 year olds and Babies pictured with baby Audrey.

 

Where is YOUR milk mustache??

 

The got milk? people are always so generous . . . They gave me this super cool (no pun intended) insulated tote bag. PLUS a full-size adjustable apron and a milk-frothing-thingy with the recipes on a cd. Since I got an extra one and I think it would make a rad Christmas gift, I'm excited to announce my very first comment giveaway!!

Here's what you have to do: Just leave me a comment here. On this post.

We will be holding the official drawing on Monday, December 14 at 11 am.

So, do you make your own latte daily? Or are you more of the 4-bucks everyday type?
(Or are you like me and lattes are a comfort drink along the lines of hot chocolate?)

He Danced With Me

The following post has been brought to you by the lovely and talented (and oh-so-humble) Kikita.

About 10 years ago, when I was an adorable teenager who didn't remember much of the Spanish she'd spoken as a child, I saw the movie "Dance with Me."

It was magical. There was a beautiful Puerto Rican guy (Chayanne) who was playing the part of a beautiful Cuban. He went to a dance studio and taught a "professional Latin dancer" how to "feel the music."

He took her dancing and they ordered mojitos.
That was the moment I decided that: "one day, I want to try a mojito."
At this nightclub they went to, there was a live band that I just loved.
I remember thinking, "I would love to see that guy in concert."

Later in the movie, they go back to the same club.
It's a longer scene and there is a different singer.

When I saw it I thought, "I would love to dance with people like that. Ooh, that guy in the vest is cute! I would love to dance with him."
And I thought, "She's awesome. I would love to see her perform live too."

Secret wishes, hopes, and dreams that I never dared to tell anyone. I just kept them deep inside and they would bubble up every time I watched the movie.

As I got older, I moved some of those secret wishes to the "it's never gonna happen" shelf. Yes, when I turned 21 the first drink I ordered was a mojito.

Yes, I HAVE been dancing in places where I felt like I was in that scene in that movie, but most of the time I don't feel that way. Most of the time, I'm just happy to be dancing.

And then it happened.
The guy singing in the first nightclub scene is Ricardo Lemvo and I got the chance to meet him when he played at the Conga Room. I couldn't believe my luck!

About a week later, I got an email from my dear friend Ziva. Having had so much fun at the Andy Garcia concert last year, she took me up on my offer to join her and Henry at another concert . . . This time, it was Albita.

Who is Albita? Aside from a fabulous and fun Cuban singer, she also happens to be the lady who was singing my favorite dance scene from "Dance with Me."

SHUT. UP.
I KNOW!

So, tonight is the night. Tonight yet another of my secret wishes is coming to life. Tonight is a dream come true.

Does it stop there? OF COURSE NOT!

Earlier this week, I decided at the last minute to go out dancing "just for an hour or two." While I was there basking in the music, someone taps me on the shoulder and says, "May I have this dance?"

This "tipo" looks vaguely familiar, but I can't place him. Regardless, I wanted to dance so I accepted.
"I'm Rudy."
"Hi Rudy, I'm Kikita."

As soon as we started dancing I knew this guy was good and was just hoping I could keep up. I did. He looked a little surprised that I did (and I don't blame him, I was a little surprised too, but I'm not the one who got thrown off by the blond hair).
We thanked each other for the dance and got on with our lives.

(For the record: This is NOT Rudy. Rudy is beautiful. This is just a representative photo of me dancing. This person couldn't really dance, but I could! Look at my lovely arm extension. But, as Mami would say, that's not important right now.)

What's your point, Kikita?

It turns out that this "Rudy" guy was one of the dancers in my favorite scene, the scene with Albita singing . . . he was the guy in the vest.

It's official. Dreams CAN come true!

At least that's what Disney always says.

Jimmy Smits is Stalking Me.

Kikita here. You know, the Center of the Universe? =D

I'm here to tell you that Jimmy Smits is following me around Los Angeles.
Never mind that I live in Orange County.

When Mami and I were sitting front row at the Andy Garcia concert, we saw Mr. Smits come in the side door. (Yes, he IS a part-owner of the Conga Room where Andy was playing, but that's not important right now.)

So, imagine my surprise when I'm at the Willy Chirino concert and out onto the stage walks . . . You guessed it! Jimmy Smits! That was when I KNEW he was following me. (Can you blame him?)
AND he had a special dedication just for me. ;-)

If you know me at all, you know that I have music in my blood. More "especifically," Latin Music.
Obviously, since Jimmy Smits has been following me, he knows all about my love for all things Latino and decided to make a documentary for me.
It's titled "Latin Music, USA" and there are two parts. (Because one part wouldn't be enough for a Gemini girl like me.)
He showed the following preview at the Chirino concert.
I was out-of-my-skin excited then and am just as excited every time I watch the preview.

Needless to say, Monday night I will be skipping "Heroes" and watching the World Television Premiere of "Latin Music, USA."

(I mean, it's the least I could do for Jimmy since he went to all the trouble of making it just for me.)

"Bet it all on black!"

This post has been brought to you courtesy of Kikita.

After meeting Desi, Mami and I continued on our way to Fabulous Las Vegas.

Right as we turned onto Las Vegas Blvd., Mami asked if I'd like to stop and take a picture at the classic sign. I was in a "seize the moment" kind of mood, so we did.

(It feels like good luck/karma/whatever to stop at the sign when arriving in Vegas. It's like paying homage or something . . .)

We stayed at the very cool (if boderline old school) and totally fun Ballys.

(Located on The Strip, across the street from Caesars Palace)

 

Ballys, like every good Vegas casino, has a "Sports Book" that Mami was anxious to get to in order to place a bet for a friend of ours. I somehow convinced her to wait until after Miriam's birthday dinner.

I was exhausted after dinner and really hoping Mami would forget about the whole Sports Book thing until morning, but no such luck. So we take the elevator down to the Casino and begin our search for what has now affectionately become known as The Boo. 

(We took to calling it "The Boo" because we couldn't quite get the "K" in BOOK to show up in the picture. It was screamingly funny at the time, but I guess you just had to be there....)

 

After a considerable amount of walking and window shopping later, we find The Boo (=D) and it's locked up tight for the night.

 

Undaunted, we make a plan to try again in the morning, only to find we can't place college football bets at The Boo so we actually have to get in the car and drive all the way out to the Hilton. (Ok, we didn't HAVE to drive, we could have taken the monorail, but it seemed silly since we were planning on leaving just after placing this sports bet.)

 

On a mission now, we enter the Hilton and immediately find their Boo. (This cracks us up every time! Okay, you really did have to be there...) Since we had NO IDEA what we were doing, Mami asked me to turn-on my "bimbo" charm.

 

"Hi, I'm Kikita, the Cuban Valley Girl. " (No, I didn't actually say that, but I may as well have since that's what I sounded like.)

A couple of hair flips later, the bet was placed. Our mission had finally been accomplished.

The person we placed the bet for, who will from this moment on be known as Shady Character #5 (only because he happened to play that part in his high school production of Guys and Dolls, but that's not important right now) slipped us an extra Five-er for our trouble.

I turned to Mami and said, "Let's bet it all on black!"

To my great disappointment, the Hilton has a minimum bet of $10. So we decided to just get on the road and stop at the State Line. (There are a few casinos there and the town actually has a name: Primm. Who knew?)

As we were making our way to the freeway, I couldn't help the nagging feeling of wanting to "Bet it all on black" IN Las Vegas. It felt like waiting to get to the State Line was a cop-out. I was saying as much to Mami when I noticed that an old-school Vegas landmark was just ahead.

"Mija, do you want to just pop into the Tropicana and do it?"

Are you kidding me?? OF COURSE I DID.

I had ALWAYS wanted to go to the Tropicana. (How I'd been to Vegas so many times and NOT been there is beyond me!)

So, I pull into the valet area of the Tropicana (because Mami doesn't believe in self-parking when the option for valet is there) and told the valet, "We'll be back in 10 minutes, we just need to place a quick bet."

Feeling the magic of old-school Vegas come to life, I confidently walked into the casino, walked right up to the first roulette table I saw and bet it all on black, effectively parlaying our little 5-spot into big bucks. The next thing I knew, Celia Cruz was being pumped through the casino speakers.

I took it as a sign that I had been blessed and that it was time to go.

The valet as dumb-founded.

Call me superstitious, but I think that since we did right by old-school Vegas (by staying at Ballys, visiting The Sign when we first arrived, and choosing Tropicana over State Line), Vegas did right by us.

Oh, and the Tropicana is my new favorite casino. =D

Must Have Cuban Coffee

Kikita wrote this post under the influence of caffeine. You have been warned.

Mmmmmm . . . do you smell that?

That is the smell of the perfect Café Cubano. One more time, deep breath . . . Yes! Glorious!

Everyone grab your "tacita", sit back and enjoy it!

What's that?

YOU. DON'T. HAVE. ANY. CAFE????

**Kikita se desmayo!! (Kiki has fainted!!)**

**Mami holds a cafecito under Kikita's nose to revive her.**

Ok, so you don't have coffee to make espresso with. That's no problem, I'm sure you have regular coffee.

WHAT???

This is supposed to be the BEST part of waking up! Beyond that, it's supposed to be the best MOMENT at ANY time of day. It's the afternoon/after-lunch pick-me-up.

"It's terrible and wonderful at the same time! It's like freedom in a cup!"

Not to worry! I, Kikita, can help you! You know I have a guy (bueno, gal) on the INSIDE!

Through the magic of Facebook, I was introduced to a yummy new supplier.

Kaña Cuban Coffee Roasters.

I asked them for a sample and I couldn't wait for it to arrive in the mail.

When it finally did, it was an event!

(Isn't it beautiful? So full of promise!)

EVERYONE had to have a taste.

Everyone came to the same conclusion: RIQUISIMO!! (DELICIOUS!!)

So, I strongly encourage everyone to try Kaña's Hialeah Blend (espresso grind) and then come back here and Learn How to Make Cuban Coffee OR you could get CRAZY and Learn How to Make Cafe Con Leche. Either way, you gotta try this coffee.

I know you won't regret it.

In fact, you'll probably start singing (the way we all did when we had our first taste) . . .

My Redemption Song

This post was written by Kikita.

A few months ago I received an email in my inbox and all it had was a picture attached.
This picture:

Did I notice "El Gran Combo" (a group that, as a salsera, I have grown to love)? Of course not.
I only had eyes for Willy.
Immediately, I send Mami an email. There was no question as to whether we were going or not. We most definitely were.

In the months leading up to the concert, life happened. You know how it does . . . There were trips and musicals and Lucy turning 16 and milkshakes and . . . you get the picture, right?
Anyway, a week before the concert I received a reminder email.
AY CARAMBA! How could I forget WILLY??

"Mami! Willy! It's this Saturday!"
"Ay, mija, I can't go! I made plans to have a reunion with some friends from high school that night. You can find someone else to go with, si?"
I lied through my teeth, "Yeah, of course, no problem."
What to do?

I consulted with a couple of friends on the level of pathetic (adjective: causing or evoking pity, sympathetic sadness, sorrow, etc.; pitiful; pitiable) that going to a concert alone would earn you. Apparently, it's not as pathetic as I thought.
It seems there is a fine line between pathetic and cool and I just so happen to err on the side of cool. =D

So, I decided to go alone. (THAT is the key to the coolness. Deciding. I mean, I had the option to not go, but I wanted to go, so I did.)

I'm no stranger to doing things alone. I've done Disneyland by myself, dinner, the movies . . .
Come to think of it, doing things by myself is usually not that bad!

(I was bummed, nervous, and excited all at the same time.)

I was a little late getting to the venue (since I wasn't carpool), but I wasn't too stressed about it because there was no one to silently get upset with me about being late for the first part of the opening act.
I found my seat and proceeded to enjoy the music of the opening acts - standing up and dancing, of course.

I was having a great time, but I was starting to feel like the only Cuban in a sea of Latinos. So, my alone-ness was getting to me when . . .  it was time for Willy!

Every song he played, I knew. What was amazing was that every song he played I not only knew, but loved. He played my favorite NEW songs along with his older ones that still have a special place in my heart.

He even sang a duet with the late Celia about how beautiful Cuba is. They would show her singing her part on video and he would sing his as if she was right there with him. Yes, my eyes welled with tears.

As if that wasn't gift enough, Willy asked where all of the Cubans were and I realized how very NOT alone I was.

My potentially lonely evening ended up being one of the best times ever.

(So much so that I am thinking about doing this whole "alone" thing again for the next concert I want to go to.)

Then when Willy started to play his last song, I knew I was a goner.

It was my redemption song, but I knew it wasn't just mine. It was the redemption song for any and every Cuban at that concert and every one of them NOT at that concert.

It was our song of freedom.

(I admit it, I wept.)

I have spent my whole life struggling to find (and keep) the balance between being both Cuban and American and feeling so alone in that turmoil, as that song was playing and I looked around, I realized how many others were in that same struggle.

NUESTRO DIA YA VIENE LLEGANDO.

Fiddling on the Roof

The following post was written by Kikita.

For Lucy's Happy Sweet 16^th Birthday, Mami got tickets for us all to see the stage show “Fiddler on the Roof” on opening night. (Luckily, opening night also happened to be Lucy's birthday, is that so accidentally cool or what?)

Anyway, the moment Topol walked out onto the stage the audience burst into applause and I got chills. I felt like I was watching history in the making.

 

Before I was able to think about what was happening, the first song started, “Tradition,” and I was instantly transported elsewhere. The tears just started to roll. I couldn't help remembering the video I'd made a couple years ago and how much I missed my Tio.

At intermission, I overheard two women speaking in Spanish. They caught my attention so I stopped and asked them were they were from, “De Cuba, Oriente.” They'd been here for over 30 years.
One of them said, “I guess we are more American than we are Cuban now . . .”
But the other quickly chimed in, “We will ALWAYS be Cuban.”
I had to agree, “We will ALWAYS be Cuban.”

As I sat down to watch the 2nd half of the show, I was rather distracted. My thoughts kept straying back to Cuba. I couldn't stop thinking about all the Jews that had ended up there after being forced to leave their homes as in this story.
What really hit home with me, though, was how parallel the story was to any given Cuban's story.
There it was, the home and family being ripped apart. Losing everything and being forced to start over . . . and heading to America.

The people of Anatevka were singing:
“Soon I'll be a stranger in a strange new place,
Searching for an old familiar face
From Anatevka.”

And, having just had a run in with people from my own “Anatevka,” that line meant so much more to me. I cried harder than I would have because now I was missing Cuba, not just suffering with the characters in a play, now this show was about me. My family's history was intertwined with theirs.

After the show I was deep in my own thoughts and waiting for the rest of my group when there were the two Cuban women I'd met. They came up and hugged me tightly. The hug said it all. I wasn't the only one who had felt the parallels. We are happy living our lives in this great country that we have made our home, but incapable of forgetting where we came from.

What does it all mean? I have no idea.
The best I can do is accept that no matter how alone I feel, I'm not. That it doesn't matter what my geographical location is, if I am meant to meet someone, ANYONE, I will.

God has a plan.

Everything is under control.
So, despite the painful reminder of the loss of my familial homeland, sharing that moment with those two women gave me hope.

Hi Adam! I Love You!

Kikita here.

Today is a very special day. It is the 23rd anniversary of the day I became a big sister.
(Of course, that means I had someone else I could dress - and make them dress like me.)

Yes, this is the day all hopes of being an only child were stolen from me and the word "SHARE" entered my life.
I was the one who wanted a cat. It was MY cat. Guess who named that cat?

Yeah, he LOOKS all sweet and innocent . . . as he STOLE my naming rights!
(Mom had taken the cat to the vet and when she got back, the cat was "bigger" and so the name stuck. "Bigger" it was. He was a great cat.)

If you hadn't already guessed, it's Adam's birthday. As karmic retribution for making me have to share, he happens to have to share his birthday with my cousin Helen del Carmen (Happy Birthday, Helen!). BAHAHA!

Actually, them sharing a birthday led to some great parties growing up . . . but I digress.

Adam is 23 today. Can you tell?

I've done my best to teach him what I could - for example: I always get the front seat because I'm the girl.

And, for all his "little" brother-ness, he has done what he could to be a big brother when he needs to . . . (like when I'm having car trouble or am in any other kind of trouble, I know I can call him at any hour and he will be there in a heartbeat to help me - THEN beat me up for getting into trouble.)

Adam is the one person I have shared my whole life with. Don't tell Mami I said this, but Adam may actually know me even better than SHE does.

Because we had to share so much growing up, I really think that Adam and I developed our own sort of language (kind of like twins, but not as obvious.) If you ask him, Adam will tell you only good things about me (unless I happen to have NOT shared something with him and he's not happy about it, then he could divulge all my secrets, but I do what I can to keep that from happening too often).

I know we have our own language because he listens to me. If we are driving somewhere new and get a bit lost, I could tell him to turn left and he would do it even if everything in him told him to go right. (I admit, he has a better sense of direction than I do, but that doesn't stop him from listening to me.) At the same time, I could say "Let's take a picture!" and even if he really didn't want to at that moment, he would participate because I asked him to and he would know just what face to make.

   

(This is one of my favorite pictures of us.)

Adam and I will just randomly text each other. "I love you!"

Ok, usually the text reads: Hi Adam! I love you!
To which he replies: Hi Amy! I love you too!
(and vice versa)

We always tell each other "I love you!" when getting off the phone (even if we had a fight).

And we have one more special thing we do . . .

One day we were driving to go have dinner with our grandparents and we were listening to the radio. A particular song came on and we both started singing along only half-knowing the words.
Being the dramatic people we are, we really started to get into it and both leaned in for some melodramatic humming at the same moment . . . the moment happened to be THE WRONG PART OF THE SONG. We laughed and kept driving.

On the way home, the song came on again and THIS time we got our "Hmmmm hmmm hmmm . . . hmmmm HMMMM hmmm hmmms" in the right place and not during the guitar solo.
I can't hear this song and not think of him. So, EVERYTIME I hear it, I call him and you know what's great? He does the same for me.

I know that not everybody shares a such a special bond with their sibling and I am forever grateful that I was so lucky with Adam. I think I have successfully taught him what sharing is all about. ;-)

HAPPY BIRTHDAY ADAM!! I LOVE YOU!!

Birthday Musings from a Golden goddess

Obviously, I, Kikita is the Golden goddess (little "g"), wrote this post.

My birthday is two weeks away. I'm going to be 26. TWENTY-SIX!!

I am a HUGE fan of birthdays. I am the midnight caller singing a cheesy song (because the traditional "Happy Birthday" just wouldn't be enough). My philosophy is that a birthday is the day you should feel extra special and I want you to know more than any other day how grateful I am you were born.

But of all the birthdays I celebrate, MINE is my favorite.

In our family the birthday breakdown goes monthly as follows:
April, May, June, July, August, and then the curve ball of December.
Dad, Mom, ME!, Adam, Lucy, and then Jonathan.
It's almost as if we planned it in order of appearance (or by who is "in charge").

Every April as Dad's birthday approaches, while I am thrilled to celebrate his, I begin planning mine and dropping not-so-subtle hints about possible gifts.
My statements sound something along the lines of:
"Oh, the Yankees are playing the Angels? HAPPY BIRTHDAY AMY!!"
"Gosh, Amy would probably LOVE a trip to Cuba Nostalgia for her birthday"
(yes, I sometimes refer to myself in the third person, but that's not important right now)
I am also all for making the birthday last . . . while Mami can celebrate the weekend after, for me the magic dies the day after my actual birthday so by starting early I make it last and stretch it out to amazing lengths.

And do I know how to plan parties! By May I already have AT LEAST 3 possible party ideas if not more. Then I just start nailing down what to do when. The words "For my birthday . . ." become part of my everyday vocabulary.

Well, what would you expect from a Golden goddess?

The problem is that this year I'm going to be 26. I've crossed over to the "next box." I'm no longer an 18-25. I'm in my LATE twenties. I'm closer to thirty. AAAAAHHH!!!

And something has changed. It feels trite to say I'm growing up, but I don't know what else you would call it.
This year the phrase "For my birthday . . ." feels hollow. I live in the O.C.
"The Bubble" as Mami is so fond of calling it. I want for nothing. There is nothing I need.

Suddenly I am feeling vapid and selfish asking for petty and unnecessary presents while there are so many orphaned children all over the world hungry and without a roof over their head or someone to love them and celebrate THEIR birth.

And now that I've had this thought, now that my consciousness has been aroused, I am excited about my birthday and I want to share the love.

What if I ask for donations instead of presents? What if the gift I ask for this year is the gift of giving?

It just so happens that a few of my African friends are in a band called "Milele" which means "forever" in Swahili and they are a group of talented artists with big hearts and big ideas.

They are working on something they call the Milele Family Homes Project. The general idea is to build a home, find parents who are looking to adopt, and then pair the orphaned children with these carefully screened parents. This would give the children an opportunity to have a place they call home and grow up knowing what it feels like to be loved, to be celebrated.
The group puts it like this, "Our goal is to produce a generation of families that would have otherwise not existed and a generation of leaders who have not been stolen by AIDS."

I have found that helping with things like this in any way I can really helps my self-esteem.

So . . . For my birthday . . . ;-)

I would feel the most loved if you helped me help them.
I'm not asking for a huge gesture , just something small (unless huge gestures are your thing and, in that case, by all means go for it!). I was thinking maybe $25 to commemorate the closing of my 25th year, but even $10 would be a fantastic "Happy Birthday, Amy!"

You can donate online by clicking here.

Or you can mail a check made payable to:
Milele Ministries
7881  First Street, #1
Stanton, CA 90680

They also have a "Cause" page on Facebook and you can join the cause, make a donation, and then invite your friends to do the same.

If you're feeling self-centered and a little vapid, give to this cause, I'm sure you will feel like a better person. I know I do.

In fact, this is shaping up to be the best birthday ever! =D

Miami Rules.

The following are words to the wise from Kikita.

Mami has certain rules when it comes to being in Miami.
1. Eat ONLY Cuban food.
2. Little or (preferably) NO black amongst your wardrobe - White & Bright Colors ONLY
3. Red Lipstick is a MUST.

These are in no particular order and all are considered a sin if broken.

If you will remember my trip last year, I DID break them. One at a time.

Being older and more mature and having learned from past mistakes, when I was alone in Miami THIS time, I followed the rules.

Day 1 - At a cousin's house. I made the cafecito, primo made the pan tostado.

That night, I did what every good Cuban is supposed to do their first night in Miami:

 

Yes, that is Versailles on Calle 8, also known as El Epicentro (I don't know WHO calls it that, but I like it), arguably the BEST Cuban food in Miami and (since Miami is the best place in the U.S. to get Cuban food) therefore the U.S.

I had a delicious Bistec de Palomilla, while MBFCF reader Ody had Arroz Imperial.

 

(Note the brightly colored teal shirt!)

Day 2 - Amanda's house. Her wonderful husband, Eric, made delicious waffles and the best Cafe con Leche I've ever had!

I spent the rest of the day at Cuba Nostalgia where I had no choice but to eat more Cuban food. ;-)

Day 3 - It got complicated. But I do believe that I had at least two coladas and then Amanda made an awesome pork chop dinner with "crispy potatos." (Maybe, if we are really nice, we can get her to post the recipe on her blog!) I'm telling you, THEY. WERE. AWESOME.

Day 4 - BACK to Versailles, but this time for Cafe con Leche and tostado with my cousin Yllien.

(Yes, the dress DOES have black on it, but it was a white dress with black, not the other way around AND I'm sporting the red lipstick, so all is right with the world)

That was the day I made it to Man Camp for Beer Butt Can Chicken.

Man Camp was all kinds of fun. After dinner (aside from the chicken, all the food was prepared by Maggie) while we were sitting and enjoying each other's company, the little tune of what sounded like an ice cream trunk came from outside.
"It's the viandero!!"
(to me, this seemed like the closest I'd ever come to seeing something akin to "El Manisero")

It was EXACTLY like an ice cream truck, except that instead of ice cream, they were selling fresh fruits and vegetables and other choice items like sodas and cooking oil.

I couldn't let him leave without buying SOMETHING. I mean, it doesn't get more Cuban than this! Maggie suggested "Real Florida Oranges" and they ended up being just as yummy as you could expect.

The next day it was time for the journey home.

The Miami Rules, when properly adhered to, can only elicit one response (albeit cheesy):
"MIAMI RULES!!"