Go ahead, make up your own story...

If there was a trend at my high school reunion it was Spanx and Shaved Heads. Oh, and a lot of Lime played by the DJ. It was an uproariously good time.

I will spare you details, because what do you care, right? But, I have to say, there is something extra cool about looking at a grown-up you knew at 16 and still seeing the young kid they were…even with wrinkles or paunch, that kid is still in there.

OK, so when I saw this photo, taken by my talented photographer friend, I could not stop laughing.

The woman on the left is my best friend from high school. At 16, she taught me how to use the Path to get to NYC, she navigated New York City streets — at 18 — better than any Yellow Cab driver, she introduced me to the joys of Hoboken before it was clean and gentrified. Today, she’s a hospital exec with 6-year-old twin boys.

The man, who went to grade school with my friend, is a high school crush of mine. I was happy to see he still had his hair and good looks. Today, my two friends are in-laws. He’s married to her sister and they have two beautiful children.

The woman in the background? Well, how about we leave that a mystery? I’ve had a damned good time making up stories for whom she could be: Prom Queen, Head Cheerleader, Drunk Waitress, Reunion Spouse?

Now, see what you miss out on when you skip reunions?

And some  highlights…

The Pee Pee Stop Tour of 2010. Kid, with Dog in crate.

Which Way Should I Go?

A "Male Wrap'' so we don't get kicked out of our hosts' homes.

Yes, I bought my Yearbook...I know, smells of geek.

Jersey Shore, baby! And no one got into a bar fight....

My husband tells me on the telephone, while I am 900-miles away in New Jersey, that hey, something got in the coop and got a bird.

“Feathers everywhere,” he said.

We were down to three guineas, from the original 12, plus two babies who hatched last July. (They’ve passed on with the help of cars and unknown wildlife with fangs, plus I gave four insane ones away.)

When I got home Friday, one more was gone.

Something learned how to unlatch the pen door. That Something — probably a raccoon — has been at it for months. It was able to pull away a huge, long piece of 2×4 that I used to secure the pen. I also propped a small tree branch up against the latch and little by little the bark was scratched away as Something scratched and scratched in a futile attempt to devour my hens.

Not so futile, after all.

Saturday night, another became a midnight snack for Something.

Sunday, we had one lonely bird. My heart broke. They’re flock animals and being alone is the last thing they want.

“I gave the bird extra millet and left the coop door open,” I told my husband.

“So, you basically foie grased him?”

“Yes. Lucky, Something.”

The bird was gone in the morning.

My coop looks like a crime scene. Feathers everywhere. Fortunately, no bird bits.

I miss my birds, their loud call. Loud as a snow-blower. My husband hated them, despite their tick-eating habit. I didn’t mind how loud they were. I grew up with Cubans. They provided breathing room, a reason to walk outside even in the coldest weather, they provided fresh eggs and provided hilarity too. They were not smart, but they were fun. And beautifully odd.

Can’t say, though, that I miss trying to round them up at night,  nor do I miss pissing off the neighbor when they flocked to his lawn.

A friend asked if we’d use the coop for chickens now. No, not at the moment. Not ready to provide more all-you-can-eat midnight buffets for fanged critters.

And, as Maria pointed out, I clean up enough poop around here already.

When we went on vacation last month, the neighbor girl took care of the cat, the guineas and the garden. As I handed her instructions and the keys, I told her that in 25 years it will be her telling the just-graduated-from-high-school-kid how to feed the cat and water the ferns. She laughed. My wheels rolled backwards and yet again, I realized that just a few days ago, I was 17 too.

So, my 25th high school reunion is this month. I am headed to New Jersey with the kid and the dog. I think this is where I thought I’d end up. Maybe not this exact “this,” but pretty close.

I truly wanted to take my neighbor kid —  who leaves for college next month — by the hand, sit her down, and tell her some stuff. Tell her stuff that I’ve learned, stuff that helped me grow, stuff to avoid — I have a long list of that kind of stuff. I wanted to tell her there is no such thing as failure, no such thing as fear. “Jump in!” I wanted to say. I wanted to tell her that brokenness is a good thing, for it strengthens; that people don’t really suck; and that she should under no circumstance wear rompers or shoulder pads.

Thinking a lot about it, I realize I am basically the same kid I was then, but with less fear. I still stack too much, still put things off until the last minute, still talk too much when I am nervous. But, the cool thing about this current space is that I know myself more. Doubts are few, self-acceptance is for real. (I wouldn’t put my crazy on YouTube if I was less than confident, or too worried about others.) Yes, I’d like to work on that stacking thing, but there’s time.

I said nothing to the neighbor kid about any of that though. I know she probably thinks I am old, doesn’t know that I remember 17, that if I close my eyes, I can practically touch it. She has a path she must walk and any warning or “wisdom” from me is basically irrelevant. Time has taught me that.

Anyway, lots of people have told me lately they never go to their reunions. I enjoy mine. I liked high school.

And, hell, this may be the last one I attend without the help of hair dye or botox, so I am sure as hell going.

Do you go to your reunions? What the hell have you learned since high school?

By the way, notice my “Carrie” name necklace? I was so ahead of that Bradshaw chick.

Flashback: Some 1985 Music!

1985 was the year of Phil Collins. Easy Lover, Sussudio, and One More Night, which was our Prom Theme. Eh. But, here are a few of videos that transport me. And, while I am not embedding it, check out Howard Jones’ hair in Things Can Only Get Better. It would have been a better prom theme!

I took a lot of pictures for the senior yearbook. My own camera was used for this one taken in English class. I still talk in class.

Mojito in a Bag, $1.99!

I am not sure why I am surprised to find Spanish language goods in local stores. Maybe because when I was growing up, the Spanish seemed insulated to the Miami and North Jersey zips where I lived out a bilingual life.

I think it was two years ago that I got all sentimental in the Wal-Mart Hispanic foods section when I found the squeeze bottle of leche condensada. Maybe I am so shocked because this is Nashville, after all, and a thousand years ago when I landed here, none of the Spanish I see and hear around me was even remotely possible.

So, when I see something in Spanish that surprises me, I snap a picture. (It goes with that whole retroacculturation post I wrote recently, I guess.)

That door mat up there with “Casa” on it was in a local Lowe’s hardware store. I did a double take and cared not that people saw me taking a picture of a door mat.

I was amazed yesterday by this sign. It was at the Mall of Green Hills, an upscale mall with a Tiffany, a Betsey Johnson, a Louis Vuitton, and other places where my credit card is not allowed. A sign in Spanish — advertising a federal emergency preparedness web site — is just not what one expects in 37205. (I was there looking for a dress for my high school reunion y nada! Everything I tried on said “Trying Too Hard” or “Cougar.” But, that’s another post…)

Best Buy Gift Cards in Spanish

Best Buy Spanish Thank You Gift Card.

I guess people can continue to get angry over “Press 2 for English” but by the looks of it, the gente who sell stuff are pretty damned happy that we know what “Oprima el Uno” means.

Have you noticed all the Spanish/Latino/Hispanic stuff multiplying?

A post for Sundays in My City, an Unknown Mami regular feature. Visit her site to see other lovely spots around the globe. I love it because it encourages me to show you the wonder of Boonie Life.

There’s a park not far from our home. It is where Maria crawled around in the grass as a fat, little baby; where she took her first tricycle ride; where she likely will learn to ride without training wheels. There is a long path through a field that leads down to the river, as it gently lopes its way through our little town. In the spring and summer, the path is filled with wildflowers and birdsong.

It is, indeed, my own little nirvana. It could do with more trees, for the Tennessee sun blasts down upon the wide open fields and bakes the place to an unbearable degree.

But, we’re not really there yet.

At the moment, the early mornings and the late evenings there are magic. There are usually a bunch of children and dogs — all romping, laughing, barking. All kinds of birds whiz and swoosh past us here too. There’s often a beautiful heron down by the pond and, without fail, some energetic barn swallows — these guys in the picture — nesting under the picnic shelter in the spring and summer.

So, on Sundays this is usually where you’ll find me…just “down the road a piece” from home…as they say down here. Why hang in the city, when we’ve got this?

p.s. Boonie Blog readers, if you haven’t hung out over at the Tiki Tiki lately, let me point you to a few funnies from the last few days.

A dichos post: Mango Bajito! What happens when a Colombian and a Cuban marry…

Funny videos by the writer Nick Najera of the genius Latinologues and Latino Ahora! Today! Now! (a great spoof  TV show)

And, this one from last month: A video by Carmencita (real name Ana Margarita Menendez) from Que Pasa, USA? for the Tiki Tiki. I met her at Cuba Nostalgia and got all weepy with joy over it.

Happy 4th of July!

Be safe…

Do you know that all I want to do these days is sit near a lazy Tennessee creek with this borrowed Boxer-mix puppy? Is she not heaven?

The creek is a few miles from us and runs through the front property of a friend’s house — same friend whose house was flooded in May when this little creek turned raging river.

Our own puppy, Buddy, is currently stuck at home with a cone on his head to keep him from licking his nethers. You see, he got the snip snip this past week.

I have to admit I was way too happy to get him fixed. He is insane. Sweet and wonderful, but insane. My mother, however, left this comment on my Facebook page: “Pobrecito, no lo dejastes probar la fruta.” (Poor thing, you didn’t let him taste the fruit.”

Ay!

Buddy is doing fine and in defense of his manhood, I have to report the vet told me his parts were impressively sized for a small dog. I told her that is probably why he is such a big pain. I know how to pick them, I tell you.

I’m linking this post to the Unknown Mami’s Sundays in My City series. She’s in San Francisco and the links she gets from other bloggers are pretty awesome. Thought I would show off the glory that is my little country Tennessee town to all those big city folks. Go look.

Happy Sunday!

My retro-acculturation-inspired business: Los Pollitos Dicen

The idea for Los Pollitos Dicen, the line of Spanish baby tees I co-launched with a Cuban-American friend, came in 2004. We took off in 2005.

The goal was to capture the color of our culture for the children of a new generation, a generation that would likely get less of the loving crazy Latinisms and Cubanisms we grew up with. We want to preserve and pass on la cultura — even if it’s just through a simple gift t-shirt or onesie.

Little did I know that I was a marketers case study in a trend called “retro-acculturation.” And, as Oscar and I built Los Pollitos, there were marketers writing about this trend in acculturated, U.S. dominanant, English-speaking, bilingual  Hispanics reaching backwards to preserve tradition.

Mira.

From Portada Online:

“Retro-acculturation,” as defined in Marketing to American Latinos by M. Isabel Valdés, refers to the “conscious search for ethnic identity or roots, especially by second-, third-, or fourth-generation Hispanic Americans who have lost some or most of their cultural traits.”

There isn’t a lot current on the trend. Most of the stuff I found online is a few years old, but here are a couple more links: A report by Phoenix Multicultural Marketing, with great data and info and this post on Hispanic Trending by Sylvia Nieto-Vidal.

Nieto-Vidal wrote:

Many bilingual or Hispanics that are considered acculturated…those who live their lives in English, watch English-language television and for the most part are very similar to the general market consumers…go through an interesting metamorphosis when they begin to have their own families.  When this segment of the Hispanic population has children they begin to exhibit a strong yearning to pass on their Hispanic heritage to their offspring.  Their desire to pass on cultural traditions, Spanish-language and music sees a resurgence.

I just learned this term a week or so ago while watching the webstream of a conference on “Marketing to Latinas.” It was sponsored by Latin Vision Media, Inc. It really struck me.

You see, I went through a teen phase where I didn’t want to speak Spanish, I dreamed of living in a Victorian house full of antiques and surrounded by white picket fences and Volvo station wagons. I did not care if I ever ate lechon again and hell, I don’t watch telenovelas and I can’t salsa dance anyway, so  may as well go all gringa.

And then I moved to places where my culture did not surround me. And I missed it. I grew up a little more and gave birth to a child whom I realized would not experience the tight embraces of eight tias in a row, or Sundays at the beach with her primos, or quinces and bocaditos.

And, it killed me.

Still does.

And so, I reach back. I search for products that tingle my memory (dulce leche, Violetas perfume). I buy art for my home that offers connection to my culture. When I see a product in a store that is written in Spanish I always stop and look (A blog post on this is coming….). I buy music and books for myself and my daughter about Hispanic culture. I search for blogs and websites that inform and entertain me in Spanglish, or at least with Latin flair.

I write Bilingual in the Boonies for the same reason…though hang in there with me while I take a little time off here this summer to hang with my nena more.

It’s also why Oscar and I created Chichi & Flaco for adults and why I co-launched the Tiki Tiki Blog, where we share the stories and videos of what it is like to grow up and live Latino in the United States. Based on the reader survey we did, it’s the major reason why la gente keep coming back — “for a taste of culture” was the most popular answer readers gave for reading the Tiki Tiki.

And, we’ve long loved that Latinos, born and raised here, buy Los Pollitos for their children, often because it’s the lullaby their mami or abuela sung to them and they want that feeling, that connection, for their own children. It’s an instant hit of nostalgia.

So, why am I writing about this? I guess, I am just a little too fascinated by demographics and studies and cultural trends. And, I wonder if you see yourself as retroacculturated?

So, que dicen?

And finally, here are some links to blogs and sites I think are so very retroacculturated Latino-flavored.

Spanglishbaby, for raising a bilingual baby

Guanabee, funny, smart, pop culture, news, mujer stuff.

ModernFamilia, family empowerment from a Latina therapist.

Mi Blog Es Tu Blog, smart observations on marketing to Latinos in the U.S.

(Who else?)

I’ll write about it more later when I detox from fried food, pastelitos and cafecito y mojitos. But, some highlights…

How to make me happy: Cafecito.

My Tiki Tiki Blog partner and amiga querida, Marta, and me at the Que Rica Vida event in Miami

The beautiful, funny, smart, talented, powerful Latina blog publishers I met in Miami during Que Rica Vida.

Pescado enchilado at La Habana Vieja, Coral Gables.

My new career: Showgirl. Taken at Cuba Nostalgia.

A lot of people are sad and ticked the national media, and the country as a whole, doesn’t get the magnitude of what has happened here.

Do you now know, I am curious? Did you see Anderson Cooper last week? Do you realize that an entire 52-county region flooded, that street after street after street — from the most affluent to the poorest — is full of moldy,  noxious debris?

Do you know the landmarks that crown Nashville as Music City and that beloved and famous guitars and instruments are trashed? Did you know that most of the people whose homes, cars and businesses were damaged did not have flood insurance?

In the days since the May 1 and 2nd floods, thousands of volunteers have deployed. Bless them. In my little town alone, the Boy Scouts, the Baptists, the Mormons, the Mennonites, all came. People came from Georgia, from New York, from down the road. They did demolition, they lovingly washed dishes, mementos, furniture — no easy task, as the muddy grit refuses to let go quietly. My neighbors are running the disaster relief center. The teen-agers are busting their young butts cleaning up too.

The rail lines are broken, so the train whistles have stopped, replaced instead by the chop chop chop of helicopters. Trucks full of debris roll down the highway. Insulation floats in the air. Gritty, brown dust covers the city.

Eavesdrop on conversations in the grocery store, the department store, the post office, the coffee shop: It’s all about the flood.

I helped at a friend’s house. The water came up to the second floor. The house may be a loss. Hearts are broken. Her child, nearly 7, is afraid to live near the creek anymore.

I’ve used my journalism and web skills to develop a communication system to get updates out. The least I could do. What does that mean? We blog, we tweet — everything from volunteer opportunities to FEMA updates. We tweet needs from the relief center and in walk the goods — everything from bubble wrap to Depends. It’s amazing.

People are good. I have met neighbors I hope to know better. They’re strong and smart and committed. I wish I had known them earlier.

And then there is guilt. Guilt that you haven’t done enough. At least that’s the conversation I’ve had with friends who, like me, were untouched. Which friend do you go help first? The one down the road, the one with the business downtown, the one who once taught your child? The list goes on.

So, you do what you can. No one has to ask you. You just do it.

And you keep doing it until it’s all done.

That’s just how it goes here.

It’s the Volunteer State, after all.

A few days ago, I was headed to a meeting at the Relief Center. It was nearly 4, so the spring light was golden and magical. In the distance, I saw a couple sitting on lawn chairs on a slab where their house used to stand. The house was washed away to unknown parts by a tiny creek turned raging river.

As I walked toward them, a friend of their’s also approached.

“Come on in, the door’s open!” the woman called out.

Humor and kindness does, indeed, save us from just about anything.

How you can help:

1. The Red Cross
2. Second Harvest Food Bank of Middle Tennessee
3. The Community Foundation of Middle Tennessee
4. United Way of Middle Tennessee

Along the Harpeth River, April 28, 2010. This spot is gone now.

Until this weekend, my spring had been enchanted.

The dog and I have been strolling the woods for the necessary breaks, and though dreaded at the night hour, the early morning walks have given me a chance to watch the trees leaf and the wildflowers bloom. I have cursed the ticks, but have drunk in the early morning light and the cheeps and peeps and rat-tat-tats of the songbirds and woodpeckers.

Maria has a new bike, so we have spent time at our city park, the one right down by the river, enjoying the speed she gains on her purple ride. My freelance clients currently include an amazing art gallery and a non-profit with a beautiful upcoming garden tour — fabulous subjects for focusing on the good and wonderful in life.

And then this weekend, the bucolic peaceful green that makes me feel grateful and lucky to live here turned dark.

If you’ve watched any news this week, you’ve likely seen images of flooded Nashville. It is bad. Very, very bad. And sad in a way I cannot put into words.

My home and my family are safe, and save for some major ruts in our drive created by relentless rains, we are fine. But, our little town is badly affected.

The Harpeth River, a beautiful body of water I love with a passion, cuts through my area and flows slowly all the way to Nashville and Franklin, an historic little town.  The Harpeth is where we wade, where we skip rocks, where we canoe. It feeds a little creek that gently rambles past a friend’s house and in the early hours of Sunday, it swelled and filled my friend’s house to the second floor. (See pictures below).

Her family and two neighboring families spent two nights in their cars. They had parked up a hill, beyond the cow pasture behind their houses. They were rescued yesterday afternoon. She is not sure how much of her beautiful country home can be salvaged. Maria has played in that little creek since she was a toddler. It is one of my favorite spots in the world.

When the Harpeth overflowed it damaged houses and property for miles. It carried away at least four houses, making them look like nothing more than a discard washing away in a quick stream. The Mill Creek, to the south of Nashville and the Cumberland River, which rolls through downtown Nashville, also overflowed. The historic towns of Lebanon, Franklin and Clarksville have suffered. (And in the odd, country singer Naomi Judd’s six buffalo escaped and were roaming around her little town of Lieper’s Fork and because it’s all a country song here, check out this sweet and funny video, Landlocked.)

Nineteen people have died in Tennessee during the flood, whole neighborhoods are devastated and beloved Nashville landmarks like the historic downtown, the Grand Ole Opry, the gigantic Opryland Hotel, and the brand new Schermerhorn Symphony Center are damaged.

My husband and I lived in East Nashville in 1998 when a tornado leveled much of the neighborhood so we have experienced great destruction at the hands of Mother Nature. And as journalists we have covered enough fires, hurricanes and earthquakes to know that a wipe-out always brings rebuilding. It can bring out the best in people too. And the people who live here are kind and giving and they always turn out to help when they’re needed.

So, I sit here in my dry home with a lot of hope and gratitude, even as I mourn for my neighbors and the city that has adopted me — a little Cuban-American kid from Miami — as its own.

Friends and family who have called to check on us have asked what they can do to help.

Here are a couple of easy ideas:

• Text “redcross” to 90999 to give a $10 donation to the recovery efforts in the South. You also can do it by landline and by mail.
• Donate to the Community Foundation of Middle Tennessee.

And then, when we rebuild, please come visit. You’ll see firsthand why I love it here so much.

My friend's creek, 2008.

Same creek, May 1, 2010. Compare the bridge in both pictures