Donde esta Clint Eastwood, or Tinkling in Carmel...

My husband is fortunate enough to have deep roots in Northern California. He was raised in the Bay Area and spent many childhood weekends, and some adult years, in Sonoma County. Hills, valleys, grapevine fields, quaint general stores.

We have spent many holidays here, but this is the first trip with Maria. We are visiting family and friends and introducing our Tennessee girl to the lush life -- fragrant lemons the size of grapefruit, breath-taking roadside blooms, and oh yeah, wine tasting rooms.

Today we are visiting Carmel-by-the-Sea. A first for me. My mother, she of the Star Magazine lust, reminded me Clint Eastwood lives here and once was mayor. No Clint sightings, but we have seen all the beauty that nature offers this blessed coast: crashing surf, houses the size of small countries, wildflowers, sea lions, harbor seals.

This morning as we explored the nature around Pebble Beach, a protected natural area, we came upon sea glass, washed-up jelly fish, cool blue birds and a surfing sea otter. And, while I snapped the pictures I realized that my relaxing on the California surf is over for a while.

Here's what I was thinking: "If Maria has to pee, just where are we going to do it?''

Sure enough, within minutes, we were crouched behind a sand dune.

Sorry, Clint.

Proof of what my husband always has said: I'm more fun in Spanish

(click title for story...)

excerpt:

The researchers said the women classified themselves as more assertive when they spoke Spanish than when they spoke English.

"In the Spanish-language sessions, informants perceived females as more self-sufficient and extroverted,'' they said.

Bilingual resources and a little brainwashing

"Mami, some people don't speak Spanish.''
"No, they don't, Maria. Pobrecitos, huh?"
"Yeah.''

So, I'm making a bilingual snob. Poor things who don't speak Spanish, I tell the kid. It's really about my brainwashing her to continue her learning. I'm trying to keep us from going back to the days of: "Mami, I don't speak Spanish, I don't speak Spanish, I don't speak Spanish.''
Three was a bear. Really.

Resources for all today...

Go visit Karen at Teaching and Learning Spanish. Get tips, links, ideas. And you Latins who aren't speaking Spanish to your kids: Look ashamed. Karen is an English-speaking American making the effort to habla. You vagos too can do it.

Give thanks to Monica at Mi Cielito Lindo for links to Primera Escuela, an educational bilingual site for the kids. English instructions here.

Off to further brainwash my kid.

(Brainwash in Spanish: Lavar el cerebro. Doesn't that sound poetic?)

Dan Zanes: Te Quiero

Please, oh please, do yourself a bilingual little flavor and get Dan Zane's latest album: Nueva York.

Downloaded it last night and we're bailando today.

From his web site:

“This CD is the sound of my band and I working with our Latino friends here in Nueva York. While the conversations about who should and shouldn’t live here in the USA rages on, we’re having a 21st century party celebrating some of the amazing culture that’s come here from various parts of Latin America.
The spirit of collaboration and friendship has made this for me the most emotional and exciting of the Dan Zanes and Friends CDs. Did I mention that we ate great food and laughed a lot?
"Friends” for this musical party include Zanes' group Colin Brooks, Sonia De Los Santos, John Foti, Saskia Sunshine Lane, and Elena Moon Park along with ranchera and jazz singer Lila Downs, singer and actress Daphne Rubin-Vega, Mexican trio The Villa-Lobos brothers, frequent Zanes collaborators The Rubi Theater Company, avant-garde guitarist Marc Ribot and Afro-Colombian roots ensemble La Cumbiamba Eneye making ¡Nueva York! a wild, 21st century party of the sort that is sure to be springing up more and more as musicians and their friends build musical bridges with songs that can connect us all.
¡Vivan las canciones del mundo de habla hispana!

Viva Dan Zanes.
(and no one paid me to say that...)

You say Guinea. I say Guineo. We all say they poop a lot.

They are fuzzy and tiny. Kind of like eggs with feet. Some of them are pure white. Some look like chipmunks. One has a brown racing stripe down his back.
They are loud and like to jump and they peck at each other's butts.
Ah, they will make excellent copy.

Meet my new children.
Twelve of them.
I must have been high on Pine-Sol the day I ordered a dozen guineas.

Bearded Dictator disses Cuba's Bravest Broad

Raul, a reader originally from the land of los conquistadores, alerts us to the news that the retired Bearded Dictator has risen from his La-Z-Boy to diss Yoani Sanchez, the notorious and brave young Cuban woman who blogs about life in Cuba from her apartment in Havana.

Gracias, Raul for the link. It's in Spanish, but Raul translates:

"I tried to find the English version, for those who don't speak Spanish, but no luck. It's basically a bunch of garbage about the "Cuban youth" doing the dirty work for the "neocolonial press of the former Spanish metropolis"...

Somebody give that man his meds! :)''

Or unplug him.

Living La Creek Life

Don't we all agree we should have at least one friend with a boat? And a friend with a horse too?

I, for sure, don't want to buy or maintain a boat or a horse, but I'll bring the beer if you invite me to ride along on either creature.

I do believe we are teaching Maria that a girl must have at least one friend with a wide creek and even better: That this friend have a room full of dress-up clothes and a mother who spends two days icing a Scooby cake.

Today was a pre-schooler's version of the all-nighter: A birthday party that went from 9 a.m. to 4 p.m.

We got Scooby Doo live and in person, a pinata, creek play, trampoline bouncing, swings in trees, fairy wings, shiny shoes and sugar. Need I mention sugar? Nirvana in a tutu. (But damn the fabulous birthday girl's fabulous mother who will make misery for me come November when I will not be able to get away with sticking a candle in a cupcake and there ya go, Feliz Cumpleanos!)

Anyway, in the great tradition of all-nighters -- someone got messed up. In our case, it was a tree-sized splinter to the bottom of a foot. (Hey, it isn't a party until someone breaks out the Neosporin!)

I do not know where you were today. I hope it was a good place. Though I would bet it was not better than where I was.

Los Pollitos Dicen Economic Stimulus: Sale Code

I keep getting coupons and sale codes in the mail and on-line.

One particular sale is entitled: "The Economy Sucks Sale."
It made me laugh and appreciate them more. (Maria has a couple of their great designs)

So, doing our part:

Use the code PACHANGA (all uppercase) to receive 20% off your Los Pollitos Dicen order.

Your country thanks you.

Summer color in the Boonies

click for bigger view

Ruminations more than anything else.

June is a beautiful and magical time here in the Boonies. The baby birds are fledging. We've had little Phoebes in a nest under the deck again, the hummingbirds always are thirsty and buzz me when I read the comics outside. The wild turkeys kick up our pine straw daily.

In the fields, hay is being harvested and the Queen Anne’s Lace sways in warm breezes on the roadsides. We often stop to watch the baby horses and we’re always on the lookout for the hawks and running creeks.

To have a girl who is 4.5 seems like a perfect summer thing. There is wonder, color and curiosity in this girl right now. Much like the season she is living.

“Why is the sky pink?’’ and “Watch me swim underwater!’’ and off she goes, down under, for the first time ever, when just a few minutes prior she had proclaimed she never, ever, nunca, for real would stick her face in the deep.

And, just as the fields and woods outside are dotted with new dress, I now really get why they say a girl “blossoms.’’ I once was a blossoming girl, of course, and I have watched young girls in my family and in others grow up.

But, watching one grow by the second: learning words, becoming a champion hula hooper and go from one day resisting dresses to suddenly insisting each and every garment “spin wide!’’ is quite awesome and hilarious.

This hearty and sturdy girl, who her father fittingly named “cowgirl,’’ suddenly flits around our house in tiaras, long beads and plastic pink heels with fuzzy feathers. Click, click, click and “watch me dance!’’ is the chorus of our home.

Summer allows us to see the mama birds flying back and forth from yard to nest, carrying fat worms and leggy bugs to grow their offspring. All too soon, confidence and beautiful plumage build and off they will go.

Mine too one day will go, of course.

The Pheobe who returns to the same nest under the deck each season inspires me to believe that my own colorful fledgling will return to hers often.

Until then, I will admire the daily blooming.

Musica and music

Calle Ocho...my childhood music:

My daughter's:

Feathering our nest

We're expecting 10 babies within a couple of weeks.

Babies I don't have to birth: Guinea fowl. Guineos en espanol. They're called keets when they're itty bitty, but I will call them pollitos. Click over here to see a cute handful.

Why? We're a little crazy, we think la Nena will love raising them and we're waging war on ticks. Guineas eat their weight in ticks and other garden pests. We have a few hundred thousand pounds of ticks on which to feast. (Garrapatas in Spanish).

The picture of this adult guinea was taken at a friend's house in Atlanta a couple of years ago. It was the first time I was up close with guineas and really, really fell for them and their odd beauty. It's taken that long to work up the courage to consider building a coop and keeping a flock...and convincing my husband that their reputation for being loud is overblown. (I can hear it already: Lucy, you have some esplaining to do.)

So, it's been slow and quiet here on the Boonie blog because we're guinea researching. Do you know there are active message boards devoted solely to guinea fowl? God bless, I love the Web.

It's also quiet because it is summer break and I am attempting to work two jobs (Pollitos and PR) in between outings with Maria. So, hang in here with me while I figure out what I'm doing.

I think the coop is going to be called Little Havana North.

Because there is always a Latin connection...

The July Bon Appetit showed up in my P.O. Box and promised juicy reads about burgers with chipotle, mint raita and piquillo peppers (they're from Spain, I learned.)

OK, fabulous read and all, but let's talk about Cuban fritas and Uruguayan burgers dripping with poached eggs and salsa. And, because they can pachanga like the Latinos, we'll even throw in a tip of the spatula to Aussie burgers with "the works'' -- pickled beet, pineapple slice and fried egg. Heaven and a heart attack.

First, the fritas, pues claro. Small burgers covered in crunchy shoestring potatoes in between two greasy buns. A sweet mamey shake is a must with that for me. Preferably should be eaten on Calle Ocho.

On to Uruguay. In the early '90s, my husband and I went to Montevideo. Beautiful, colorful city filled with beautiful, colorful people. At the food, flower and bird market downtown, we chanced illness and ordered one hamburger from a truck. When we noticed it had an egg on it, neither of us wanted to try it first. After the first bite though, we were fighting for the whole thing.

Have you had one? If not, try one. Seriously. Here's a recipe for a traditional Uruguayan "chivito.'' Not the truck burger of my delight, but hey, it's got an egg on it. (Know any Uruguayans with a recipe?)

A few years later, we went to Australia (yes, my passport got a lot of action pre-beba) and discovered that the Aussies also put a fried egg on their giant burgers. And, as mentioned, beet and pineapple. (I wonder if Nicole Kidman eats burgers with "The Works'') We loved them so much that when we got home, we had an Aussie burger party for the Nashville neighbors. Not all got down with the Down Under. Fools. Recipe here.

Back to the Latin...What I hope to answer in the next few days: Chimichurri, condiment of the gods, and a fried egg on a fat burger.

Any other fabulous Latin burger combos? Or did I just make some of you ill?

Memories and promises...

We spent a lazy Sunday morning watching videos of our wedding, Maria's first days on the planet, my pregnancy and old home movies of my own mother pregnant with me. It was a first for Maria.

She laughed out loud when she saw how big my glorious belly was, she was surprised by how tiny she once was and how young her Abuelita was way back then when she was 24.

She also got to see moving images of great-grandparents and a regal great-great-grandmother of the same name. She asked a lot of questions about them.

And it all probably prompted this exchange later in the day:

"Mami, when you are old, I am going to take care of you.''
"Really, mama, why do you think you will need to take care of me?''
"Because when you are old, you are going to forget things.''

I pray I do not ever forget lazy Sunday mornings -- all PJs and messy hair and hearty laughs.