Borderline Savage

Hispanic in the Suburbs

One of the things that I love most about visiting Florida (and other places, but I've been to Florida the most recently) is the diversity there.  We have diversity in the northeast, but it seems to be primarily confined to large cities. The suburbs (where I live) are mostly white. In Florida, there are all sorts of people all over the place. When I give them El Esposo's name to at a restaurant or hotel, they find it right away. When we use El Esposo's name here, people can't find it even when you spell it out for them, and they certainly can't pronounce it. (We have a ll, which is confusing for a lot of people.)

When Valentine's Day arrived, I was a little disappointed to think that my parents forgot El Esposo. Before they migrated south for winter, they left Valentine goodie bags with cards for our three kids. They mailed me a card. Our wedding was less than two weeks after Valentine's Day, and as I opened the card addressed only to me, I felt as though my parents were communicating disapproval of the wedding. Lo and behold, it was a card for both of us! I discovered that my parents could not spell El Esposo's last name. They continued to have issues spelling and pronouncing it the entire time we were at Disney World. When they migrate back to New England in the spring, we will have to work on it.

I think we're going to have that problem for as long as we live in suburbia, and possibly as long as we live in New England. Before we met, El Esposo lived in a part of greater Boston with a huge Central American population, so it wasn't an issue for him there, though at some of his jobs people have trouble with it. Even though his first name is quite easy to pronounce (and quite common), people at one place he works have dubbed him Victor. I find this both irritating and amusing. It seems that America is the land that calls you what it wants to call you, regardless of your actual name. When my Polish great-aunt joined the workforce in the 1940's, she was told there were too many women named Appollonia at work, so they were going to call her Pat. And that name stuck until the day she died. I'm not going to be calling El Esposo Victor any time soon, unless he actually changes his name to Victor.

One plus side to living in a place where there are lots of white people is that the cost of car insurance is lower, says El Esposo.

One drawback to living in a place where there are lots of white people is that it's hard to find a lot of grocery items. On Saturday night, El Esposo and I went to worship at our local Sonic. Sonic Drive-In may not sound like a religious site, but it is located on Facebook checkin under the category of House of Worship, so we accept this designation. And we do go there in the winter, even though it might seem a little crazy to non-New Englanders to go to a drive-in restaurant when it's below freezing. We don't leave the car engine on, either. But I digress. . .

After dinner, we decided we wanted chocolate, hot chocolate. El Esposo prefers Abuelita. It's Mexican hot chocolate, made by Nestle, in several forms, but we like the tablets:

We drove by the supermarket on the way home, so we stopped. They did not have Abuelita. They also did not have the Goya and Embajador hot chocolate bars that we buy when we can't find Abuelita. It was too late to travel to another supermarket (another drawback of living in the suburbs - things close early), so I told El Esposo that I would buy him some Abuelita during the week in a neighboring town that has a store with a good selection of hispanic foods. Of course, when we got home, we discovered that there was an unopened box of Abuelita in the kitchen. I might remember to buy it, but apparently I don't remember I have it. I plead vacation brain.

I love Mexican chocolate. When El Esposo and I met, I impressed him with my vast collection of hot chocolate tablets and powders from all over Mexico, Central America, and other places purporting to produce Mexican chocolate. By Mexican chocolate, most people mean chocolate with cinnamon. It can be dark or milk chocolate, and it can have sugar or not. I particularly enjoy the dark chocolate with cinnamon, a little sugar, and chiles, but El Esposo is not a huge fan.

When we were at Disney World, we had dinner at La Hacienda de San Angel, and for dessert we shared Crema de Chocolate Abuelita. It definitely was made with Abuelita - same taste. When I looked up the link for Abuelita for this story, there were lots of recipes for Abuelita, and I think I'm definitely going to be trying them. If you want to see what the dessert looked like, head over here for photos and a review of many of the menu items. I didn't have the avocado margarita mentioned in that review. I had the regular one (might be called Platinum on some menus), though at La Cava del Tequila I had a San Angel Inn Margarita, with chili powder on the rim, which was phenomenal. Later that week, we went to the Territory Lounge at Wilderness Lodge and I had a habanero lime margarita - I like them hot!

Britt left a comment yesterday asking about Guatemalan recipes, and I'm going to be working on that for a future post. If anyone out there has an recommendations for drinking chocolate that I should try, let me know. I'd also be interested if anyone has a favorite recipe using Abuelita or any other chocolate.

Mixing It Up a Bit

If you know me over on Facebook, you will know that I dipped out of the blogosphere to go to Disney World last week. You will also know that I got married while I was there. I'm not going to talk much about the wedding because I don't have a lot of photos yet. I have other things to talk about. When Nancy and I started this blog, we decided to talk about other things going on in our lives, not just knitting, and I've got something to say that has nothing to do with knitting.

My recent trip was the first one I've taken in over eight years *without* bringing any knitting. I just didn't have anything in progress that I could bring. I was planning on knitting socks, my go-to vacation project because they are so portable, but I didn't get the yarn wound. Believe, me I considered it right before I went to bed the night before we left, but I decided I'd rather get to bed because we had a 6:55 am flight the next day.

I am a person who needs a good night's sleep in order not to be cranky and/or tired the next day. (Strangely, as I get older, I find that I can easily doze off during the day when I'm tired, which is a real change for someone who used to only be able to sleep at night, in bed.) So I went to bed early, with my belt-and-suspenders alarm clock system: use both the clock radio and the cell phone alarms. I only use this for big events, and missing the plane to Florida qualifies. Unfortunately, that system has a flaw. When idiots text in the middle of the night, it wakes me up. And my ex decided to text in the early morning to tell me that he was taking me to court over the vacation. So much for a good night's sleep.

I got out of bed and went over my divorce agreement with a fine toothed comb, concluding that I had in fact provided all the information I am required to give him when I take the kids out of state, and that I had done it in a timely manner. So I shot an e-mail off to my attorney to give him the facts so he could handle the situation while I was gone. Although my ex had responded to the e-mail I sent him a couple of weeks earlier with the vacation information, his text seemed to suggest that he thought I hadn't met the timeline. The text itself didn't follow any known (to me) grammatical rules, so it was a bit difficult to understand...the stereotypical eats shoots and leaves kind of issue. In any event, I got some sleep on the plane. While we were driving to Disney World, my ex was texting DD asking her all sorts of questions about where she was, where she slept the night before, how long she had been in Florida, etc. Fortunately for this story, that was pretty much it for his crazy behavior while we were away.

Please indulge me while I rant about my ex. . . it does help put things in context. When I received the early morning text from him with the threat of court, I felt very anxious. When DD told me that he had been texting her during the drive to Disney, I was irritated that he was going to ruin the vacation. Before we had the divorce agreement, he took the kids out of state for a week and I didn't find out about it until later. I took them to Puerto Rico, and he bombarded me with text messages night and day the entire time I was there. He had his attorney calling and faxing my attorney, who was calling and e-mailing me throughout the trip. And the reason for all this excitement? In his words, I had taken the kids out of the country without his permission. I tried explaning to him that Puerto Rico is a territory of the US, its inhabitants are American citizens, they have US courts and post offices, and there is even El Junque, a US National Park. I even took a photo of the kids with a US flag and a Puerto Rico flag flying at El Morro:

Some people never let logic and facts get in the way when they are trying to make a point, as idiotic as it may be. I wouldn't be surprised if my attorney calls and says that my ex has filed some sort of crazy motion, but at some point I had to stop worrying about it and carry on, and I decided that point was going to be the first day of vacation. We had a great time.

Here's everyone (but me, of course, always a photographer, never a photographee, lol) lying on the bed in the master bedroom when we arrived. This is Disney's Animal Kingdom Lodge - Kidani Village. I own timeshare points there, but I have not stayed there in about five years, so it was a novelty for everyone to have the wild animals outside our balcony.

This photo is our new blended family, DD, DS, El Esposo, and my stepson. Do I call him DSS? Ideally, we'd like him to come live with us at the end of the school year. It was his first trip to Disney and he was excited.

And that brings me to another new direction for the blog. El Esposo is from Guatemala and has been living here (legally, so calm down) for over ten years. We've got a blended, multicultural family. I've been reading some blogs lately about multicultural families, all American female/Hispanic male couples (I find that fascinating, and I'd love to understand more about that.), and I really do identify with some of the things they write about.

 

Me & the Mexican is one of my favorites. I'm looking forward to reading more of these blogs and talking more about adjustments to life in a multicultural family. I'm also interested in knowing what Nancy has to say about that, as her family is also multicultural. For now, I will share a little bit about what our life is like.

Before El Esposo met my parents, I told him they might have a somewhat cold reaction to him initially, and not to be too worried about that. My parents have lived in Texas, so they have had some exposure to Mexico, as in my mom talks about hating to bring me to Mexico as an infant because all the Mexicans touched me because they couldn't get over the little white baby with blue eyes and strawberry blonde hair. They say things like that, which could be interpreted in different ways.

I also told El Esposo that my parents may just give up and decide that he is Mexican. My mom knows a little about Guatemala. She taught in the same public school system where I went to school, and in third grade we did a social studies unit on Tikal. I remember building a model of Tikal with clay and little pipe cleaner people. So she has some idea about where Guatemala is, even if she doesn't have a modern day context of what it is like. My father is unlikely to even be able to pronounce the word Guatemala, so for him, Guatemala is a place that is like Mexico. Assuredly, for Mexicans and Guatemalans, they live in two separate and distinct countries, even if Americans don't understand.

Finally, when they did meet, El Esposo took us to brunch at the rooftop restaurant at the Taj in Boston for my mom's birthday. My mom asked some good questions, including one that was destined to become her trademark. She asked El Esposo if they grow coffee in Guatemala, and he said yes, in fact, his older brother used to sell equipment to coffee plantations. Every single time she saw El Esposo for months after this, she always asked if they grew coffee in Guatemala. I even reminded her that her favorite coffee, Dunkin Donuts, is a mixture of beans from Guatemala and two other countries, and she still didn't remember. After brunch, a Dominican couple who had also been eating at the restaurant, came over and wished my mother a happy birthday in English and Spanish. My mom answered them very confidently in Spanish, though what she said made no sense at all. So, the final lesson for the day for El Esposo was that my mom doesn't know much Spanish, but she feels very comfortable speaking it.

Fortunately, my parents and El Esposo get along. There have certainly been bumps along the way, but they are forging a good relationship. His family is all in Guatemala, so I'm going to have to wait to meet them. I'm sure I will be writing about that here when the time comes.

Date Dilemma

I met a wonderful man in the summer of 2010 and by the time fall rolled around, it was too late. I was in a serious relationship with a man who loves football, the one and only major sport that I really do not like. You'd think that I would have avoided that issue by dating a man who grew up in Central America, where futbol is soccer, not American football. But no, I had to find myself a man who fully embraces American football and doesn't follow soccer any more.

He's a good guy and football addiction isn't the worst thing that could happen, so I had to suck it up. We made a deal - I will sit with him and knit (or read, but usually knit) while he watches football, and he will be happy for my presence without expecting me to watch, understand, or care about the game. It works for both of us. We can spend time together and chat while doing something we each like to do. I even started a football knitting project. The problem is, I never finished the project. Once he noticed that I could knit, my football project was tossed aside and I set about knitting boyfriend socks. (Of course, I have yet to photograph them, but they were done by February 2011.) And then I picked up all sorts of other knitting projects and my poor football 2010 project languished. However, due to a recent bout of finishitis (not evidenced here or on Ravelry), I found myself ready to pick up the football project. I present to you the Senor Ardilla Mitten:

It's pretty, no? These are the Squirrel Sampler Mittens by Adrian Bizilia. The outer layer is Harrisville Designs New England Shetland in two shades of gray. The inside is going to be rose alpaca. I am at the very top of this mitten now, almost ready to start the lining. My boyfriend (now fiance) has implored me to knit him another pair of socks, and I will do that, but I will pick the mittens up again after that.

The problem is, the first mitten says 2010 on it. What do I put on the second mitten? I could put 2012, for the year I (hopefully) finish the mittens. I could put my initials, but they are not really suited to block lettering, so that won't be really nice looking. I've looked through the Ravelry projects and people seem to have done quite a few different things with the mittens, but nothing really strikes me as the thing that I want to do. 

Looking at the other projects on Ravelry has made me realize I have monster hands. There are all sorts of project notes from people who said the mittens were too big, and they were knitting the smaller sizes. I'm making the very largest size (and my gauge is spot on!!!), and it's the perfect width for me, though a bit long. It's actually a bit of a novelty to have mittens that are long for me.

So, opinions, please about what to put on the second mitten. . .

Music, Music, Music

Susan was talking about sharing music with our kids. Unlike Susan's parents mine were very much into music although not necessarily what I listened to.  My Mom and I shared a love of singing from early on and would often sing along to the radio when I was little but my tastes changed as I got older where hers did not. My Dad was big on jazz and classical but really enjoyed a wide range of music, especially after meeting my step-Mom, who was a hard core Led Zeppelin and Heart fan. 

I definitely took a strong hand in my children's musical education. I sang Daydream Believer to the eldest as a baby (and Too Young to Fall in Love but ssh his father doesn't know that, lol).  I gave him my love of Crue and Guns & Roses, I introduced him to The Ramones, the Sex Pistols and Pink Floyd.  We share our love of Pink and Florence and the Machine.  His first concert was the Green Day show I took him to for his birthday.

Interestingly as his own tastes have grown he's learned my tastes very well and is good at introducing me to bands I'd enjoy. When I liked Foster the People's single, he told me the whole album was worth a listen and he was right. He's also introduced me to bands I may never have paid attention to on my own. 

Below are just a few favorites that he made me give a listen to:

 

 

 

 

The musical generation gap that existed between my me and my parents  doesn't exist in the same way with my generation and our kids. Maybe because music was so important to us and the time we grew up in, we're more open to new music defining each era. Nostalgia is a strong pull and the mood to listen to older stuff strikes more often than not but there is plenty of newer music on my ipod as well. There's always something interesting to discover.

Blogger's Silent Poetry Reading to celebrate the Feast of St Brigid

Her Kind

I have gone out, a possessed witch,
haunting the black air, braver at night;
dreaming evil, I have done my hitch
over the plain houses, light by light;
lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind.
A woman like that is not a woman, quite.
I have been her kind.

I have found the warm caves in the woods,
filled them with skillets, carvings, shelves,
closets, silks, innumerable goods;
fixed the suppers for the worms and the elves;
whining, rearranging the disaligned.
A woman like that is misunderstood.
I have been her kind.

I have ridden in your cart, driver,
waved my nude arms at villages going by,
learning the last bright routes, survivor
where your flames still bite my thigh
and my ribs crack where your wheels wind.
A woman like that is not ashamed to die.
I have been her kind.