Thank you, Miami and friends for a great show, good feedback and fiesta fun...and now, for a short time, es hora to hang out exclusively with my own baby chick, La Maria.
We´re taking a little time off.
Will be back in early June with many tales, and many pictures.
Amorcito y besitos,
Carrie
...some guy toots his horn and out blares La Cucaracha.
La loqueria has officially begun: Cuba Nostalgia has kicked off. If you want to see what the fun and crazy is about you can soon find pictures at Babalu Blog and at My Big Fat Cuban Family. My own pictures won't be up for a while, as I am on Mami's dial-up.
In other Cuban-American news, CBS announced a fall show called Cane, about a wealthy Cuban-American family in Miami. The talented Rita Moreno, Jimmy Smits and Hector Elizondo will star. The Miami Herald story in this morning's paper says it is about "fraticidal tensions as its sugar and rum businesses are passed down to the next generation.''
I'm excited about adding this to my weekly TV addiction, but it won't be authentic Cuban unless the Mami matriarch still makes her grown son's bed and the daddy still complains about how tight his grown daughter's clothes are. And since it is set in Miami, they must show someone stuck on the Palmetto at least once an episode.
Eh well. Also on the CBS schedule dramas about vampires and wife swappers.
Que compania.
In this final post before I fly my own coop, let me introduce the Tocororo. It's available in white for kids and red and white for women. We think this is the guy who is going to fly out of our booth, so if you're coming to the show I must warn you we don't have many. The women's designs we have done are pretty limited in number, as we're basically just testing them out. But, we'll be doing pre-orders at the show, should we sell out. (If you're not coming to the show and want one, sign up for our newsletter for future ordering information.)
By the way, the Tocororo is the Cuban national bird, a glorious creature of red, white and blue, which lent its colors to the nation's flag.
Cuba Nostalgia starts Thursday night with a VIP party and officially opens Friday morning. If you come Thursday and Friday, you'll meet me, my Papi and the lovely Marta from My Big Fat Cuban Family and Cuba to Go and her talented daughter, Amy. If you come Saturday and Sunday, you'll meet Oscar, the Pollitos chicken scratcher and creative genius, my parents, his sisters, my cousins ...in other words, the whole crazy familia!
Our booth is in the second building, just across from the folks at Babalu Blog and the guys from Latin Laundry.
Come to party and of course, merengue.
My father left a couple of days ago, headed back to Miami with a mini SUV stuffed with Pollitos. He spent two weeks with us helping my husband fence our property, cooking many of our meals (wow, enchilado!), making mojitos.
Most importantly, he spent many a moment with Maria either on the floor playing with blocks, filling up bird feeders, teaching her Spanish rhymes, making her favorite fruity duro frios and telling her muchos cuentos before bed. (I could hear her up there, "Abuelito, one more!'' And he usually did.)
As he drove away, she sobbed. Sobbed with a pain that broke our hearts and watered our eyes. It did not matter to her when we told her we too will be in Miami with Abuelito very, very soon. She wanted him to come back now.
Now, each morning, we mark another day off the calendar as we inch toward our own departure. The day we leave for Miami is marked with a heart. Last night, on the telephone with him she said: "We put a heart on the calendar, Abuelito.'' My father said, "Ay, mi vida.'' I am guessing he cried too.
This post inspired comments that got me thinking: No more posts from me which could be misconstrued as my encouraging anything illegal. This blog is not a focus on the political.
But, I feel the need to clarify and share:
My remarks about how others may view me, people who are immigrants, or whose ties to this country are young, are shaped by experiences as a fish out of water here in Tennessee and in many cities and towns I have lived and visited and been the "minority.''
Reaction to me, once someone learns I am the daughter of recent immigrants, has given me much to think about, grow from, and perhaps offers a perspective missed by those who have had the fortune of living their lives among people just like them, or in a heavily mixed community.
My maiden name is a good strong one. Very American. (My long absent biological padre is an American of Scottish descent.) I also have white skin and nothing about my features is exotic. I "pass.'' People say things to me, and in front of me, they wouldn't say if they knew I was not what they assume me to be.
So, here's a taste of what I have gotten. Shared with no outrage, just fact:
- "Urgh, you're from Miami? Aren't there a lot of Cubans down there?'' (This particular line I have heard since I was a little girl. The first time I was about 12 and vacationing with relatives in the Midwest. The elderly lady who said it got up and walked away when she learned that well, bingo! It's been said to me a humongous amount of times from college in the Midwest to the time I heard it three times from three different people at one wedding in Memphis.)
- Handsome Blue Blood co-worker keeps asking me out. (I was single then) I keep declining as I have been warned of his "love them and leave them'' reputation. After a few months, I say:
"What would happen if your proper and Southern mother asks me "Where are your people from?' and I answer 'Banes, Oriente, Cuba.' She wouldn't like that, would she?''
"You're right,'' he says.
He never asks me out again.
- Early '90s discussion with African-American co-workers about feeling prejudice from certain other staffers.
Me: "I haven't experienced anything.''
Co-worker: "You just haven't been around when they talk about you, chica.''
- A cousin buys a gorgeous 1850s bed and breakfast in a tiny Georgia town. I post a brochure by the newsroom coffeemaker.
Co-worker: Your family owns that house?''
Me: "Yes.''
Co-worker: "Your Cuban family? How long have they been here?''
- First-generation Italian-American boy I loved for a long time: "I don't want you speaking Spanish to our kids. I don't want them to be 'the little Spanish kids down the block.'''
- And one which wasn't directed at me:
Scene: Tiny town in Southern Kentucky, reporting on the influx of Amish and Mennonite families from Pennsylvania.
Me: "How has your town changed since the Amish discovered it?''
Storekeeper: "Well, it's just like with the blacks. As long as they stick to their own kind we have no problem.''
Oh my God, I remember thinking. Prejudice against the Amish? The Amish? How is that possible?
Of course there are more, like the popular '80s ones: "Is your dad a coke dealer?'' and "Cuban? You must be wild.''
OK, I'll stop now.
These examples I share were experienced long before the debate on illegal immigration kicked up. These days, it all feels jumbled up together. Today's rhetoric against "those people'' just feels personal to me. Is the climate against illegal immigration only about illegals? It doesn't feel that way to me. A woman recently was quoted in the paper as saying she didn't want her neighborhood "barriorized.'' Sorry, but that felt personal to me. You may not agree with me, and I may be wrong, but it's my opinion and how I feel. (Remember the Miami bumper sticker? How did it go? Something like "Will the last American leaving Miami please bring the flag.'')
Sharing these examples may give you the impression that I walk around with a big, angry chip on my shoulder. I do not. What I walk around with is the true belief that I have a responsibility to be a great example of immigration, assimilation, acculturation, humanity and the cherished American Dream.
A few years ago, I was walking to my car after work. A couple of homeless Hispanic guys started cat-calling me in Spanish. I swung around fast and mad and said: "Oye! No sean tan mal ejemplo!'' (Translation: Hey, don't be such a bad example!)
That's all I mean.
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