Lost in Translation

I woke up this morning with a stomach ache.  I'm a pretty gassy person though so its really not the weirdest thing.  Although since I've been here, I haven't really had any stomach issues.  I attribute that mostly to the fact that I haven't been eating after 5pm because of the January fast.  Anyway, the point of this blog isn't my stomach issue, so let me get to the point.  This morning after brushing my teeth I walked into the living room where my grandma was sitting in her recliner (as she does every morning) finishing her cup of coffee.    I plopped myself on the couch next to her and said "¡Bueno dia!" as I do every morning.  I then told her I had a stomach ache and she asked me if I was having man issues.  I laughed and said "What do you mean Mama?"  She answered with certainty, "Well, I can tell you that stomach issues usually means your thinking about a man."  Her face told me she has had a few stomach issues over the years.  Before I could answer though, she switched topics and told me how she woke up at 3am shaking.  She said the shake was so bad she just held onto herself tight until it stopped.  I asked her why she didn't call out for me and she said (as usual) she didn't want to bother me.  Folks, I sleep right next door to this woman.  Imagine waking up to find out your grandma was suffering in the room right next door to you and you had no idea.  Now imagine that the healthcare system is a mess (oh yeah, it is) and there's a language barrier.  According to her last pressure reading, Mama has a blood pressure of 177/76.  She is supposed to go see a cardiologist because she's having dizzy episodes and as soon as yesterday her eyes were so heavy throughout the day that if she sat down for awhile she felt like she could go to sleep.  Needless to say I want an appointment ASAP.   Mama told me that we probably won't get one for a few months.  I told her that's not happening.

Overall, I just feel like I'm running in quick sand.  I need this language barrier erased so that I can be the Mish I am in New York.  So that I can call and make things happen!  I need to figure out Mama's health plan.  I need to be able to talk to her doctors.  I need to get straight answers on how to handle her pressure, more than just "take this pill and then take that pill and see you in 3 months."  I'm going to try to call my old physician to see if he could offer some advice.  I can't let frustration consume me, so I'm writing.  I'm writing so that I don't lose my cool.  I write so I don't cry frustrated tears over these hurdles that at this point feel like mountains.  I'll write and then I'll continue to study...both medicine and spanish.  I know I belong here and I know I can help, I just need someone to listen to me.  I need to know why my grandmother is forced to go to one place for reading glasses because no other place takes her plan.  I need to know why she's basically bullied into paying almost $300 for those glasses.  I need to know why she gets her information regarding her health plan from the local newspaper and I need to know why she goes to a doctor that takes her pressure reading but then doesn't share it with her until she asks!  I need to know why Mama will head to the eye doctor at 7am and not return until after 1pm because you need to take a number like you're at a deli to be seen.  Appointments mean nothing.  I need to know why everyone just accepts this below average service because "that's just the way it is here".  I'm almost 30 years old and I feel like a lost kid right now...

SUPERMAN, OPRAH and a SUZUKI

Time flies here like Superman in his hey day so let’s get started with the updates…

The other day, my dad called me.  It was a typical call, mostly.  He just wanted to check on me, yada yada but then, just before we hung up he said, “Oh, by the way, I don’t know any Norberto.  That’s not my father’s name.”  This is the second time my dad has referenced my blog since that day my mom abruptly hung up with me to join him in reading it.  The first time he mentioned it he wanted to clarify that my Uncle Eddie did in fact pass before I was born and wanted me to help him leave a comment.  “I’m not in front of the computer right now little girl but you gotta walk me through that thing.  It’s like all crazy, asking me to sign in or sign up…I don’t know what the heck that’s about.”  I chuckled, assured him I could help and proceeded to wonder what type of comment he wanted to leave.  Now, back to this Norberto issue.  My father continued “…his name was Eladio and they called him Galo for short.  So, I don’t know where you got Norberto from but remember that your grandma can be a storyteller sometimes.”  My stomach dropped a bit.  Immediately, I pictured myself sitting across from an extremely upset Oprah Winfrey explaining to her why her producers can’t seem to find any record of a Norberto Gonzalez ever existing.  “But Oprah, Mama told me his name was Norberto...” 

Oprah frying James Frey

I snapped myself out of my mini nightmare and remained confident that I had heard correctly.  After all, Mama and I had extensive conversations about my dad’s father and I consistently refer to him as Norberto as to not get him confused with Victor (the man I call Papa).  In no way does Norberto sound like Galo!  Like not even a little bit! I do know that when Mama doesn’t want to tell the truth about something she often explains it away with a little white lie.  Is that what she did with Norberto??  Could she be leading me on?!  I knew I had to address this and fast.

It took me a few days to find the right time to address the subject but I knew I couldn’t let it go.  I’m looking for facts not stories.   So, one evening we were sitting in the living room, chatting about the novela we just watched and sipping on our nightly tea when I said “Mama, Papi said that he doesn’t know a Norberto, he knows Eladio or Galo…” A smile crept across her face.  “Yes, mi hija because Norberto was his middle name.  That’s what I called him because I never liked Galo or Eladio.”  “Wait.  So you were the only one who called him that?”  Her smile broadened, “Yes.”  “Ohhh!  So that was your special name for him??”  Blushing and unable to mask her pride, she responded, “Yes.”  Case closed.  Eladio Norberto Gonzalez aka 'Galo' is my paternal grandfather.

RETURNED!

Let’s see…what else?  Oh!  Car news.  This news is a bit sad…I returned the Suzuki (moment of silence please and thank you).  While I am proud to have haggled en español, I felt like I still overpaid for what I got.  Sure, it looked nice and shiny, but it had a lot of miles on it and after driving it for a few days, I felt like it needed some work done on it.  Luckily, my neighbor knows a mechanic who attends her church.  We took it to him and he confirmed that while overall it was a good car, I definitely paid a little too much for it.  Not only that, it was going to need over $300 worth of repairs (that was just for the parts which he graciously called to confirm for us)!  I have to admit, after hearing that news I felt, well, how do I put this…quite frankly, I felt stupid and extremely frustrated!!!!  The mechanic must have sensed my anxiety as he refused to charge me for the visit.  He also told me that legally I had three days to return the vehicle after purchase.  Guess what day it was?  DAY 3!  Yep, my last chance to get my money back…thank you Lord!  So, my neighbor and I headed back to the dealer.  Of course, we were met with some resistance…you know, they offered to fix the car free of charge, then they said they’d try to see if they could get my money back but made no guarantees, then they tried to sell me a ’09 Hyundai instead (for double what I paid for the Suzuki).  In the end, they realized I just wanted my money back.  I knew that if could get my money back I would take more time to think about my next purchase.  I’d shop around and even consider Mama’s proposal for a new car.  I’d also use what I learned from this experience to make a wiser purchase.  I’m happy to report that by the end of the week Mama and I had our money back.  So, for now, I’m back to borrowing one of my aunt’s cars (which is way nicer than the pickup I had before) and preparing to hit the streets with my Mr. Miyagi uncle next week.  Let the good times roll…

The Gambler

I’ve mentioned this woman briefly in past posts.  I’m going to refer to her as “the gambler” because in this neighborhood, that's what she’s been labeled (as well as a little crazy).  Well, let me say as far as I can deduce from my grandmother and her neighbors accounts, she has a severe gambling problem.  She spends the majority of her money in the local casino and when she’s not in the casino she’s running here and there doing odd jobs to get more money so that she can return to the casino.  When she’s not running around grabbing odd jobs in the neighborhood, she’s in neighbor’s homes asking to borrow food for herself and/or her pets.  My grandma says she’ll come to her house and ask for a glass of milk, then walk to the next person’s house and ask for some bread, then walk to the next persons house to see if they have deli meat and cheese.  And that is how she eats some days.  So, “the gambler” will be her name until further notice.

She <3's the slot machines!

I must say initially “the gambler” was just white noise.  She would walk into my grandmother’s home like a tornado, talking a million miles a minute and so she was easy to ignore.  I could hardly understand what she was saying mostly due to the speed of her delivery but also because she has a few teeth missing…wow it smells like rain…like the rain is definitely coming.  Ok, back to the story.  So, most of the time she’d whisk in jabbering away while my grandmother (who seemed to always be ignoring her jabbering as well) filled a Styrofoam cup with cat food or handed her the newspaper and sent her on her way.  The rain is here…I’m sitting in our second living room (we recently created a sitting room in the old garage attached to the house) this is gorgeous!  Ok focus! 

Then, one day, I started listening to her.  I concentrated and I would get bits and pieces of her story.  She admits to being depressed.  She thinks my grandmother is very lucky to have the family she has and whenever she sees me do the slightest thing for my grandmother, she praises it to no end.  She’s a hard worker and at the end of the day, has a good heart.  Before I came, she was one of the many neighbors who watched out for Mama and helped her with anything she needed.  She reminds her regularly that she is still is available should she need her for anything. 

Then yesterday, Mama and I were enjoying a quiet evening out here in our new second living room.  I was fighting frustration while trying to make sense of my Spanish homework and Mama was just chilling.  Sitting in our matching recliners, we chatted about this and that and at times she even served as a Spanish tutor.  Max was chilling out too sniffing around, trying to make sense of this new hangout spot.  In comes “the gambler”, “Ohhh, look at these two lovely ladies hanging out.  How beautiful.”  “The gambler” had come to serve as a messenger from another neighbor to me.  A few days before, my grandmother had set me up with yet another neighbor to aid me in my quest to find a church.  So the church neighbor sent “the gambler” to tell me that she had to go to church earlier than she originally planned because they were serving communion the next day and she had volunteered to help.  So, “the gambler” was there to give me my options: either I go with the church lady at 9:30am or I ride with “the gambler” at 10am.  I opted for the 9:30am trip.   Why?  Well, I’ll admit it.  I was scared.  I was scared of the unknown with “the gambler”.  As I previously mentioned she talks a mile a minute.  I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to keep up with her stories and both of us would end up frustrated (remember also that folks say she’s a lil loco in the coco).  She’s also a huge pet person.  She feeds and welcomes the random dogs that walk the neighborhood, she stays with various things like lawn mowers and weed wackers hanging out her car and I just didn’t know what I was going to encounter when agreeing to roll with her to church especially since I naturally assumed we’d take her car.  In retrospect, my reasons were silly and a bit shameful, but whether right or wrong, those were the reasons I opted out.  While she waited for the church lady to get home (so she could relay my message), she decided to sit and chat it up with us while she played with Max.  That chat forever changed how I see this woman.  God never stops teaching you lessons, if you bother to stop and really listen...

“The gambler” comes from a heavily Catholic family.  In fact, according to her, her parents were the only ones in the family to have ever divorced.  Her father comes from money, and according to my grandmother, she has cousins and uncles who are millionaires.  Her mother did not come from money and was a schoolteacher.  From what I understood her saying, when “the gambler” was about 7 years old, her mother couldn’t afford to care for her anymore and she was placed in an orphanage.  Apparently she was picked on a lot there and you can see, to this day, when she tells the stories she almost transforms back to that scared 7 year old.   I told Mama what I thought I heard.  When she replied, “Yes, you understood.”  I just looked at Mama and said, "Can you imagine not having parents to protect you at 7?  Could you imagine being shipped to an orphanage where you were bullied not only because you’re little and an easy target, but also because of your heritage?”  Mama just stared at me and nodded her head…then she fell silent in thought.  I too fell silent as the dots began to connect.  That woman is hurt, she’s alone and like many others, she’s had a tough life.   About an hour later “the gambler” returned to relay the same message…church lady had to leave early but she would leave later.  I understood this to be a hint that church lady didn’t want me to go early with her.  So this time, I didn’t hesitate in my response.  “I’ll go with you, no problem.”  She said “ok” and hurried back home.

This morning “the gambler” was dressed very nicely for church.  She had an air of excitement about her and came over to use some of Mama’s hairspray. Over breakfast my grandmother looked at me and said, “It’s good that you’re going with her, she needs to go and if you weren’t going she’d find a reason not to go.”   As for my trepidation regarding her car, well she opted to go in mine…and that was that.

Church was awesome.  The feeling I had been looking for during my mini church tour, I found today.  So, for now, I have a church in Puerto Rico!  Things are getting settled poco a poco (little by little).  As for “the gambler”, well the Lord seemed to speak to her today as well.  During the service, she turned to me and confessed, “I need to leave the casino alone.”  At the end of the service she walked to the front and asked for prayer with one of the ministers.  Now, this is not to say tomorrow she will be a forever-changed woman, but she is aware of the problem and that is a first step.  She has found compassion in me, and if she doesn’t know it yet, she will in time.  Poco a poco she can find her way out of her depression…she just has to invest in herself.  After all, poco a poco is all any of us can do right?

Your Poor Husband!

"Aye, your poor husband!"  That’s all grandma says every time her and I are in a kitchen together.  Now, if I wasn’t the descendant of two cookin’ grandmas, a cookin’ mom, a cookin’ pops, a cookin’ Titi (aunt) and cookin’ Tios (uncles) I would probably be a bit concerned by grandma’s playful yet ominous words.  But, instead I tell her “Well teach me then!”
Now, while I'm sure I can learn how to really kill the kitchen, I don’t know if you can teach someone how to grab hot objects with their bare hands as she does…I’m thinking that skill is honed over time (and after your nerve endings decide to just give up I’m sure).  She is one of three older women I know who scoff at the use of an oven mitt and laugh in the face of fresh-out-the-pot boiled eggs.  I am amazed every time and every time she looks at my “amazed face” and repeats those three precious words “Your poor husband…”

So in an effort to not have this future “poor husband” of mine have such a pitiful wife, Mama decided to teach me how to make what is often referred to as “dirty rice” (not here apparently since Mama looked at me like I was crazy when I said “Oh, arroz sucio.”), or white rice cooked with black beans.  And, so, because I don’t want any one else’s husband (or future husband) to be referred to as “that poor guy”, I am sharing her recipe with the masses.  OH and please note that Mama, like most O.G.C.’s (Original Gangsta Chefs), doesn’t measure anything.  So, don’t come here looking for exact recipes…I’ll try to be as descriptive as possible with her ‘eye measurements’.  Also Mama is very much against adding salt to food (and yet it still always tastes great) and the beans we purchased had sofrito already in them…which means you may need to add seasoning according to your preference but I’d suggest trying it this way first.  Enjoy…

Step 1

-       Get a nice iron rice pot (Imusa tends to be the brand we Ricans favor)

-       Put a little cooking oil in to coat the bottom

-      High flame

Step 2

-      -  Put a large spoonful (or 2) of sofrito into the pot (if you can get sofrito from someone who makes if fresh then do so..if not, then resort to store brand)

-       - Throw a cube of chicken stock & a packet of Sazon into the pot

Step 3

-       Wash the rice

-       I guess you use about 2 cups (I think my mom taught me that 1 cup usually feeds two people)

Step 4

-       Throw the washed rice into the pot and mix everything together

Step 5

-       Throw in your can of black beans and mix

-       Add enough water to cover the top of the rice

Step 6

-       Cover the pot with its top and leave the flame on high/med high until most of the water has evaporated

Step 7

-       Once most of the water has evaporated, stir the rice and cover it with aluminum foil

-       Lower the flame and put the pot top back on the pot

-       After about 20 – 25 minutes, you have a tasty pot of rice (and according to Mama, a lucky husband)!

Love at First Sight!

Ma <3 Pa

I think I’m in love with love.  Maybe saying that I’m in love with love may not be the right term, but this is what I mean: I believe in everlasting love.  I believe that its possible for a man to love a woman, but like really love her…displaying it without caring what people say or think.  I also believe its possible for a man to love a woman his whole life…without waiver.  At times, I’ve tried to shake this feeling.  Come on Mish.  That’s movie stuff…what they use in fairy tales to brainwash us.  Its unrealistic, so quit setting your sights so high.  But then, I think of my parents.  And while no relationship is perfect, true love is sometimes unmistakable.  True love is what keeps you holding on through the bad and what makes you feel like you’ve stepped into Utopia during the good.  But how do you know?  How do you know when ‘he’ (or ‘she’) has been sent for you?  In this world, where a person can change their feelings like they change their underwear, how do you know that your not signing up for heartbreak when you let down your guard and you let him/her in?  Is this it?  Is this THAT love?!  Can that love ever be guaranteed?

My grandmother was a single mother with three children.  She worked “like a slave to make sure my children were taken care of.”  Then, one Saturday, she took her boys to the park, like she did every Saturday because she “needed to keep an eye on them and they never went alone.”  That Saturday was different though.  Victor Vasquez was in the park.  Victor saw my grandmother and instantly fell in love.  Nowadays love at first sight is a myth.  Something we dream about, something we read about in fairy tales.  Most women would melt in the arms of a handsome, intelligent (he spoke 7 languages…3 fluently) man, totally in love with you, with a good job and ready to take care of you and your kids.  But not my grandma.  Nope, she was a woman scorned.  She had fallen head over heels with a handsome fellow once before and she wasn’t going to do it again.  

So, what did Victor do?  He found out where she worked.  He showed up to her job everyday and offered her a ride home.  She would often walk right by him without a second glance.  One day, it was raining.  Victor knew for sure that Mama was going to accept his offer to drive her home.  What woman would choose to walk in the rain and deal with New York buses and subways over a simple car ride with a handsome gentleman caller?  So, when Mama walked out of work, Victor called out to her “You can’t walk home in the rain.  Come on, let me give you a ride.”  Mama responded with a huff “I’ll be fine.  I’m not made of cardboard." and with that she went home, alone.   Victor never faltered though.  He told her, “I will love you until the day I die.  I won’t give up because I can’t.  There’s no one else but you.”  So, when Mama changed jobs to shake him off of her, he found her.  And finally, after two years and not one date…Victor’s dreams came true…Mama finally agreed to marry him. 

Now, Mama stayed away from Victor for good reason, as well.  She had heard a lot of things about him.  Mostly, that he really had a sweet tooth for the ladies.  After Mama’s experience with Norberto, as well as seeing her own father wander about as he pleased, she gave him one warning, “I’m not having it.  There will be no other women but me.”  To that, he quickly responded, “There is no other woman but you.  That is what I’ve been trying to tell you.”  And he kept his word. 

Once they were married Victor, after seeing how hard Mama worked for her children and to make ends meet, wouldn’t allow her to work.   When they were older he fell into the hospital and underwent heart surgery.  Thankfully, he survived.  Shortly after he got out of the hospital, he turned to my grandmother and said “I don’t know how much longer I have here and when I go I want to know that you have your house. ” 

Initially, Victor had plans to purchase a house for her in New York, but after his heart surgery, the cold weather didn’t fare well with his body.  So, one day they went to Puerto Rico on vacation and never came back.  “He kept his promise.  He bought me this house that I still live in.  He loved me until the day he died and he loved my children like his own.  God blessed me with that man.  I tell you, I never thought he’d go before me…” a glaze falls over her eyes as she continues, “…he was so strong.”  What Mama doesn’t realize is even if she would have gone first, Papa would have been right behind her.  After hearing that story, I don’t think he could have lived without her. 

Papa <3 Mama

It was love.  True love at first sight.  It does exist!  But see, Mama wasn’t ready to accept it.  Victor knew that and because he loved her, he held on.  According to her, he couldn’t do anything but wait because he knew without a shadow of a doubt that this woman was his.  It was just a matter of time.  Victor had paciencia y fe (patience and faith) I guess.

So, the love we dream about…is it really possible for all of us or is it just the luck of the draw?  Either way, I still think I’m in love with love…

¡Scrabble en Español!

Game on!

Alright its been a few days and a lot has happened….let’s see, where do I start??  Oh yes!  I am happy to announce that Mama and I played a rousing game of Scrabble in Español!!!  If you don’t know, I love games, but Scrabble is my absolute favorite game to play.  I grew up with competitions between my parents, my big bro, and I …so its one of my favorite past times.  Anywhoo, the Cottes (whom I miss so much) gave me Scrabble en Español for Christmas.  Lucy said “So you can play with your grandma.”  I was excited but definitely unsure if grandma would be down to sit down and play a game.  And then, one night before we went to bed she turned around and said “Ok, tomorrow we’ll play that game you want to play.”  I threw my hands up and did a little touchdown dance and as she giggled I said “Yes!  ¡Vamos a jugar! (Let’s play!)  And so, the next day we squeezed a game in before our novela.  I am very happy to announce that we were so into the game that before we knew it we were 10 minutes late for the show.  I was beating grandma, but not by much.  She was just getting the hang of the game and I know in a short time, she will be kicking my butt and teaching me tons of new words!

Riding in style with grandma!

What else?  OOOH!  We bought a car! Its crazy how big purchases can be such a nerve-wrecking thing.   We went in, we were there for over an hour and a half.  And check this out…I negotiated the whole deal in Spanish…yes, ladies and gentleman, totally in Spanish (with some vocab help here and there from Mama) and left with a car!  While my grandmother knew the owner of the dealership, I STILL had to go back and forth about several things that I wanted fixed, needed included, etc.  I explained to her that unfortunately sometimes when you know people, they take that relationship for granted and assume that you will just go with the flow of what they are deeming to be correct or just.  Very easily I could have just given up and let them have their way because of the language barrier or because I was a young woman with her grandma who just wanted to make this purchase easy and painless.  Yep, sure, I wanted it to be easy and painless, but not at the expense of my confidence in this purchase.  I must say at some points during the negotiations I stepped outside of myself and thought ‘Really Mish?  You’re doing this?! Like did you just say that?  Are you really doing this in Spanish?! It was an awesome experience. Haggling in Spanish…SMH (shaking my head) unbelievable!

Now, I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was nervous about my decision to purchase this vehicle or that I didn’t have reservations or thoughts that I could have either negotiated a better deal or should have gone elsewhere and gotten a different/better car.  But, I worked hard to cast those thoughts out of my mind.  What good were they doing me?  I made a decision.  The pros greatly outweighed the cons and a salesman will always be a salesman, at least we knew who we were dealing with.  Luckily, I was privy to points that I could touch on that would get through to this man (thanks to Mama filling me in on the history of their relationship).  What is the saying?  “Sometimes the devil you know is better than the devil you don’t?”(something like that).

'06 Suzuki Aerio

I had to take a step back and acknowledge that this is the first car deal I’ve ever brokered on my own – in any language.  And so, sure there are things that I now know I could have looked for or said to probably get us an even better deal than we already got, but am I going to get up in arms over it?  Sure, I had to borrow money from my grandmother to purchase the vehicle.  And no, I’m not happy about that, but am I going to allow it to torment me?  Am I going to waste my days stressing over it and beating myself up, acting like I’m on borrowed time to pay her back?  At one point in my life the answer would have been "Yes" followed by a sigh full of stress.  At this point its "Heck naw!"  Here’s what I am going to do.  I’m going to learn from this experience and be better informed as well as better at the language next time around.  I’m going to give thanks that I have a grandmother who is willing and able to lend me money for a car.  I’m going to recognize that this car is a purchase that she is completely happy with (she already has a running list of the places she wants to go in it).  I'm going to pat myself on the back for an overall job well done.  Then, I’m going to check this purchase off my to do list and move onto my next action item, which is finding a job.  The job will open the door for paying Mama back.  I also know that she knows I am not that granddaughter.  She saw (and heard) my discomfort as I haggled with the car sales man explaining to him that while he may think I can just ask my abuela for more money, that is not an option and will not happen.  Her money is NOT my money nor should it be.  I am thankful for what she has already offered and anything past that is simply out of the question.  So, as Mama and I discussed on one of our many rides to Sam’s Club, we’re going to do this (this being the adventure we find ourselves in called life) poco a poco (little by little).  One step at a time, one foot in front of the other.  As a dear friend once said “This life is a marathon Mish, not a sprint.”  I made the big leap by packin’ up for Puerto Rico, now there’s nothing left to do but follow through, control what I can, and trust that everything will be fine. 

Ms. Clean!

Moving on to Monday…I woke up ready to clean Mama’s house top to bottom!  Don’t get me wrong, her house is not dirty, especially for an 86 year old woman living on her own with a cat and a dog!  Thank God she has a wonderful neighbor who really looks out for her.  Before I came along to be her roommate, her neighbor took her everywhere she needed to go, made appointments for her, took her to her appointments and helped keep her house clean.

Apparently the day after I left for New York for the holidays she came into the house and Cloroxed much of the kitchen and living room/ dining room area.  I’m walking a fine line here because as Mama’s granddaughter and new roommate I have acquired new responsibilities.  At the same time though, this woman is also alone.  She is in her late 50’s/early 60’s and so the sense of responsibility she has over my grandmother is part of her routine and also gives her something to do.  The same with my grandmother,  I understand that I can’t come in and start doing everything for her.  I have to let her make me coffee, walk her dog, yada yada.  Those things help to keep her healthy…both mentally and physically.

That being said, I cleaned.  Like I cleaned like I have never cleaned in my entire life….8am to about 7pm…only stopping twice to do what else but eat LOL!  Hey, I needed my energy!  I mopped every room in the house 3 to 4 times…including the former garage that is the length of the whole house…and the dog’s room.  I cleaned every ceiling fan, swept, cleaned every mirrored closet (there are a total of 3 in the house)…eventually I’ll get around to asking Mama what the deal is with all the mirrored walls but I really hope I don’t regret asking that question (Haaaa que freca…I’m smacking my own mouth for that one don’t worry).  Oh wait the funniest part of that whole day was this…Monday morning I woke up at 7am and had breakfast with Mama.  I knew I wanted to clean for her that day but I was a bit worried about offending her or about her trying to help me clean because she thinks I can’t clean or something.  So anyway, something spilled on the floor in the kitchen and I grabbed a mop so I could pick it up quickly.  As soon as I did that I realized that my mom had always teased me about not knowing how to mop for real.  And, truth be told, I don’t mess with old school mops…I don’t get them.  I feel like your just swooshing around dirt and dumping it in dirty water.  So, I’m a Swiffer/sponge mop kinda girl.  Anywhoo, all grandma has in her house are old school mops.  Of course, I had a mini panic attack and proceeded to grab my phone and run out back.  I knew my mom was getting ready for work, but what I had to ask would take five minutes…surely she could  help me out.  The convo went like this:

Ring, Riiiing

Ma: “Hello.”

Me: “Good morning Ma, I need your help.”

Ma: “Misha, I can hardly hear you.  What’s going on?”

Me: “I’m trying to whisper, I don’t want Mama to hear me.  I need your help.”

Ma: “Well you need to speak up.  Is everything ok?”

I know at this point she was worried, thinking something bad happened so like in the storybook Tikki Tikki Timbo, (one of my favorite childhood books) I gathered as much air as I could and blurted out in the loudest whisper I could…

Me: “Ma, I want to mop Mama’s house today but I’m freaking out because I don’t think I know how to mop.  I need your help!”

Ma: “Ok, well its simple….”

And with that my Mom pep talked me into conquering the giant (that giant being mopping the whole house).

Later that day, as I washed all the sheets on the beds and hung them out to dry in the Puerto Rican sun…I realized that my ‘manual labor’ here is prepping me for the next steps in life.  Taking care of the house for grandma will prove to provide an easy transition into keeping a house for my own family (you know, that whole husband/kids life…whenever that happens).  I just smiled and allowed myself to soak in the backyard sun (this is the closest I’ve gotten to acquiring a tan since I’ve been here).  God is good folks, if you didn’t know, well, now you know.

Maria

Ok so once again, not being able to use the computer has hindered me from updating as often as I’d like.  So I’ll go back to Sunday and hopefully post about Monday and Tuesday later today…

Sunday was church day!  I went to my neighbor’s church, which happens to be right by the baseball park I jog around and the bakery where I purchase bread for Mama.  Initially I thought it would just be the neighbor and I heading out, but then a teenage girl appeared!   She hopped in the back just before we left.  She was very quiet, so you know my curiosity took over...and I started interviewing her LOL.  Her name is Maria (like my grandma) and she’s 14 years old.  She attends church with my neighbor every Sunday.  I explained to her that I while I don’t speak Spanish well, I am trying.  I also encouraged her to correct me whenever I made a mistake.  Her eyes brightened and before we even walked into church I knew I had made a friend.  The service itself was pretty good.  Definitely closer to what I’m use to…lots of music, live instruments and a pastor that was present through it all…he even got up and lead the band on a few songs.  Now, he’s no Pastor Bobby, but he’s ok.  After church, Maria and I got an opportunity to speak more and this time it was her turn to interview me.   She wanted to know where I use to live, what I did for work and what I was trying to do here.  I explained I came from New York/Philadelphia, have a TV/radio background and while I’d love to work in radio again out here, I know that initially I’d have to do something behind the scenes since my Spanish is not where it needs to be.  I told her I’m living with my grandma to get better and as soon as I find a car my next step is to find a part time job.  Finally, she exclaimed “Wow, que cool!”  (Wow, how cool!).  She goes to a private high school and wants to be a pediatrician.  She is the only girl and the youngest of four children.  Oh yeah and she speaks English but I am proud to say I have not spoken to her in English at all (other than a word here and there that I am asking her to translate for me).  Once we got to the neighborhood, we went our separate ways, but I was quick to invite her over, telling her “I live here now, so come and visit whenever you’d like.”  She giggled, said “Ok. “ and went home.   Five hours later she was sitting on my grandmother’s couch telling me all about her plans for college.  So, it seems I’ve already acquired a mentee here in Puerto Rico… ¡Wow, que cool!

Hmmm what else happened on Sunday?  OH!  Apparently my parents have been fielding phone calls from family members who are cracking up on the phone and saying “So has Misha sent you a picture of her eyebrows yet?  Are they as bad as she says?”  and “Misha’s blog is so good, have you been reading it?” Now, let’s be clear, I have not hid the fact that I had a blog from my parents at all.  In fact, back when this blog first started I sent the link to my father (and maybe even my mother) via e-mail.  But, like most parents, they’re busy and not use to being in front of the computer.  So they mostly forgot about it and just listened in whenever someone would refer to it.

Well, it seems enough is enough, they want in on the loop.  So Sunday, after a brief conversation with my father, he says “Hey little girl, how do I see this blog of yours?”  I have to admit, my stomach rose and fell all at the same time.  I was proud that they were eager to read it…I had been receiving a lot of compliments on not only my content but on my writing in general and I was excited to share my “good work” with them.  Then my stomach dropped.  My last post was about Norberto.  I hadn’t had a conversation with my father yet about Norberto or about what Mama told me.  What if he was offended?  What if he hated the fact that I am publicly posting all this information about our family on the Internet?  My dad loathes text messaging, my mom has sworn to never open a Facebook page…so a blog, talking about so much…well it could quickly turn into a disaster for me.   He handed my mom the phone once he had the correct web address and as soon as it was in her hand I told her the deal with the Norberto posting.  I explained that I was really hoping he wouldn’t be upset.  She laughed it off but it wasn’t a “oh nothings wrong, stop worrying laugh” it was a “I wonder what she wrote, but let me try to calm her down” laugh.  We spoke for about ten more minutes and then in the background I hear “What is this picture up here?”  My mom says “Yeah Misha what’s this ¡Cambio Su Estio con Mirta!”  So I explain that the pic is supposed to depict someone “changing their style”.  Then I think : Oh my goodness, he’s not even reading, he’s just surfing!  I told him to read from the first post in January so that he can get a sense of the journey!  My thoughts are interrupted when I hear “Nay look, it’s a picture of you.”  My mom’s attention focuses on my dad who is apparently sitting at the computer desk “What?  Where?”  Ahhhh!  I’ve now lost control of the situation…I am on the phone and they are just navigating my blog like nobody’s business.  Then my mom says “Ok, let me go look at this blog with your father.  I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”  That was Sunday.  Today is Wednesday.  My phone has yet to ring.  Are they upset?  Are they impressed?  Are they neither?  I’m afraid to find out.  Because if I do, and they are in fact, upset I will need to make a decision.  Do I continue the blog knowing I don’t have their blessing or do I shut it down and simply document my adventures privately?

Norberto

It began with a simple conversation about food.  Our appreciation of black beans, which led to Mexico and my discovery of refried beans, which led to talk of my Mexican host family and how they consistently asked me if I was Mexican because of my last name.  My last name led to Mama telling me there are three different ways to spell Gonzalez (z, s and no z or s…yep, just an e at the end).  And in that conversation is where I found my opening…I explained to her I carry this name but I know nothing about the man I got it from…her eyes brightened (as if it was the first time she realized this fact) and she began to speak…

His name was Norberto Gonzalez.  He was from Aguada, Puerto Rico.  He was really handsome and while she has no pictures of him, she says my father looks just like him.  Norberto was Mama’s first love.  He once had her heart.  According to Mama, he left for the merchant Marines and that was it for them.  Next thing she knew he was with a Cuban woman.  She says they never had children and so as far as she knows her two sons with him are his only children.  When he left, my Uncle Eddie (who passed either before I was born or when I was just an infant) was 5 years old.  My father was 3.  When Norberto was on his deathbed, he asked to see his sons again…maybe to apologize for not being there…maybe to just see them one last time (this time as grown men though)…either way, one went and the other didn’t.  When I asked Mama if she thought that the one who didn’t go made a mistake, she quickly answered “No.  Why should he go?  He wasn’t really a father to him.  He didn’t even know him.  I don’t blame him.  I understand why he didn’t go.”

Fatherhood.  It’s a lifetime obligation.  Even when the child isn’t biologically yours, they become your obligation.  When you marry a woman, you marry her children too.   Papa, my step grandfather (who Mama says resembled Norberto), apparently figured that out along the way.  He married a woman with three sons (one was not Norberto’s) and according to her he “worked for them, he always did.  He served as a fine model for my sons.”

I am blessed to have a father.  One who gives a damn.  One who understands the importance of family.  One who although he does more than he has to, never feels like he’s done enough.  It’s crazy because I remember how confused I was the first time I realized that neither my father nor my mother grew up with what Danny, Robert and I had/have.  Neither of them knew what it was like to have their father and mother together, as a team, through happy and sad, stress and joy.  Those small moments between a father and a child that are often taken for granted from us “two parent household kids” they didn’t have!  How could they do it then?!  Don’t statistics say he should have been long gone just like Norberto?  After all, how could he know better?  Then I realized what happened… 

What bonds my parents is love, without a doubt…but they are also unified in pain.  They knew what it felt like to grow up with your mother serving as both parents.  They knew what it was like to have big brothers stepping up to be the man of the house and how uncles/grandpas tried all they could to step in and fill those shoes left empty by HIM.  The pain of their childhood turned into our fortune.

My father was twenty something years old when his first son came along.  So what did he do?  He married my mom.  He worked two jobs (one at a liquor store and one as a cabbie), he got his college degree (yes, while working) and he figured out how to be a father (using Papa and my mother’s Tio Victor as his models).  Sure, he stumbled a bit and as he grew older, he grew wiser.  But, I tell you one thing he didn’t do…he didn’t leave. 

Unfortunately, this is all too common in our communities…part time fatherhood at best.  So, while Norberto’s selfish action has resulted in a union which promotes “family first”, it has also left a question mark in the heart and on the mind of a granddaughter (and I’m pretty sure a son) he’ll never know… 

¡Cambio Su Estilo con Mirta!

¡Cambio Su Estilo!

As I mentioned in yesterday’s blog, my grandma is a bit of a beauty diva.  Her hairdresser use to have a shop in her neighborhood, walking distance from her house.   So Mama Maria would head to the shop faithfully, every Saturday and get her hair done.  Now that I am here and have access to a car, I told her that I would be willing to take her more often than she currently goes.  So, yesterday we went to ¡Cambio Su Estilo con Mirta!  (Change Your Style with Mirta!).  She wanted to get her hair washed and hmm how do I describe the doo  she got…uh I guess she wanted to get it washed and fluffed lol.  You know, the older woman do, where there’s lots of spray involved and it looks kinda bit bird nesty.  So anyway, I also needed my hair dyed and my eyebrows done since I wasn’t able to make it to the shop before I left New York.  Now, anyone who knows me knows I am very particular about my hair and my eyebrows…especially my eyebrows.  I decided to take the plunge and allow a stranger to touch both because I reasoned to myself the following:

- This woman has been Mama’s hairdresser for over 20 years, she must know what she’s doing.

- Ok, I’ll let them blow my hair out because it seems they won’t know what to do with themselves if I ask them to keep it curly.  That seems to be unheard of in Puerto Rico (ironic, I know, but we’ll get into that later).

- They’re just eyebrows.  Who knows, maybe she’ll surprise me and really do them nice!  If she doesn’t they’ll grow back and I’ll never go to her again.

The results:

- It took two women, a can of hairspray, a blower and a flat iron to get my hair semi-straight and semi-smooth.  Yes, I said SEMI.  The woman was literally spraying a section of my hair with hairspray (which I didn’t find out until today or else I would have stopped her right away) and then putting a flat iron to it!  My poor hair went through so much torture yesterday…a moment of silence for it please.

-My eyebrows?  Yeah, well uh one of my eyebrows is half the size of the other.  Neither is arched or arco as I specifically requested.  What’s worse is after she did them she made sure to say “Your eyebrows look better this way, you don’t need an arch.” She had to recognize the look of absolute horror on my face as I looked in the mirror.   I cannot speak on this subject any further as I am fighting the feeling of complete and utter failure for even thinking it was ok to let someone who uses a waxing wand the size of  a nile file near my cejas (eyebrows).  My precious cejas!!!  Ok, I’m done….and no, there will be no pictures.

-If all of that wasn’t enough, it was hot as all I don’t know what yesterday…by the end of the day it looked like I had put rollers on my ends.

- The only saving grace: Mama was walking around looking and feeling like a million bucks.  She also felt the need to mention more than a few times how beautiful and long my hair is and how “nice it looks like that”.

I can’t help but read between the lines.  Curly hair = thumbs down.  Straight hair = thumbs up.  I know where it comes from.  I see it every time I sit down to watch a novela…its amazing how many milky toned, blond haired, blue eyed, hazel eyed, straight haired latinos there are on ALL these programs!  I have yet to see one woman whom I identify with.  I know this isn’t the basis for why my grandmother thinks my straight hair es muy lindo but, I do know that it’s a microcosm of what is relayed to us on a daily basis.  If it looks white and smells white then its white and white is good.  If it looks anything less than that, well then, its less than.  I refuse to subscribe to that…and if wearing my hair curly day in and day out is my mini revolution well then so be it.

Dia de Los Reyes

My new desk (yes, and my pillow pet Mono)

Yesterday was Dia de Los Reyes (Three Kings Day).  I thought I would come to you today with stories of me dancing in the streets complete with videos and pictures of the festivities.  But, as I continue to attempt to settle back into what is now my home, I find myself very busy.  Before I left I purchased a computer desk for my room, it was now time to assemble that bad boy!  I knew I had quite a task ahead of me, but considering I put together Mama’s new TV stand alone, I figured I could handle a computer desk!  I’m happy to announce that I was right…while it may have taken over 3 hours to do, (as Mama so eloquently pointed out LMAO) it is complete and very sturdy!  So, after 3 hours of manual labor and no air conditioner I was ready to eat and relax.  I spoke to my aunt later in the evening and she assured me that staying home was probably best because the traffic in Boquerón (where the festivities were being held) was absolutely ridiculous.  That, coupled with the fact that I am currently driving a vehicle who’s speedometer is out of order and I am unable to drink or eat anything other than water after 5pm, all made a great case for me to stay put in Mama’s house.  It was nice as we caught up on our favorite novela Aurora and I introduced her to the wonders of microwavable blue wax (no she didn’t use any, but she certainly watched in wonder as I walked it into my bedroom)!

Now let’s address a few points mentioned above just so I can get any questions out of the way...

It always reads 10mph!

Pick up truck getting me from A to B

No armrest = ouch!

First, the vehicle with the broken speedometer…what’s up with that right?  Yeah.  So, here’s the deal.  I have yet to purchase a vehicle so my aunt offered to lend me a vehicle to use while I continued my search.  It is a green Mazda pick up truck that her boyfriend uses for manual work he does here and there.  They are fortunate enough to have this as an extra vehicle and so they offered it to me.  Don’t get me wrong, I am VERY grateful to even have a car to use out here but the facts are still the facts and the facts serve as funny commentary for this blog.  So, here are the facts:  it smells like cat, it has no working speedometer, Mama looks like she’s hiking a mountain every time she gets in and out of it, when I reverse it sounds like the car is going to cough up a lung, there are no arm rests (so my elbows have quite a few bruises since I keep forgetting this fact), and every time I have to park it, I feel like I’m parking a mini school bus (apparently so does Mama as she thanked God when she saw a parking spot the size of a mini mall in front of her hairdresser today…”you can fit, thank God”).  But again, I’m thankful.  The pickup truck has also strengthened Mama’s campaign for me to just go on and purchase a NEW car.  Everyday she has another clipping of the low, low payment I would need to make a month in order to have this car or that one.  Adding additional debt to my life is not really what I’m trying to do.  This is supposed to be a process of freedom grandma!  Everyday I am buying time, praying that a great vehicle for $5k or less will come our way and this line on my to do list can be crossed off.

Second, the whole no eating or drinking after 5pm deal.  Here we go…for the month of January, my New York church is fasting.  From 5pm until 5am the next morning we are not to eat or drink anything other than water.  Also, we are not supposed to be on the phone (unless its an emergency), nor watching TV nor using the computer….from 5am to 5pm we can do all of the above, but at 5pm it all shuts down.  This fast is in an effort to shut the world out and allow yourself time alone. ..truly alone with God.  It is NOT easy….let me count the ways…one  - I am a hungry hungry hippo…shutting me down at 5pm is tough…two – I am separated from most of my friends and family whom all live in New York and are currently an hour behind me!  So, the fast really shuts down communication between me and NY at 4pm their time!  Three- the computer thing.  I was on a roll with the blogs before I returned to NY because I was writing and uploading my daily events at night either while I watched Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune with Mama or once she went to bed (9pm).  Now, I need to work out a different schedule for my writing/uploading times and I hope you will stick with me through the learning curve here.  Four – no TV!  I must admit I am creating an exception to the no TV rule.  I must watch Aurora with Mama…the benefits are too great to just shut down and if that is the one exception, I’m thinking it will be fine.  Aurora serves as a communication tool for Mama and I, it’s our common ground.  Not only that, its helping me with the language…so I consider it a form of studying.

BLUE WAX!

Finally, the wonders of microwavable blue wax.  I heart the Bliss spas in New York City.  I heart them because they use this amazing blue wax that hurts way less than any regular wax I’ve ever used.  Now, Sephora sells this wax in a microwavable cup to use in the comfort of your home.  I use it for pretty much every waxing need I have (except my eyebrows as those are too difficult and important to navigate)!  I’m one hairy girl, so this wax is near and dear to my heart.  I wasn’t sure how my Mama would receive the wax, but luckily she’s a little beauty diva herself (she use to get her hair done every Saturday until her hairdresser moved her shop out of walking distance) so she is familiar with wax and its uses.  I know it’s just a matter of time before she lets me try the blue stuff on her LOL.  I cannot wait for that day!!!  Get ready for pictures, pictures, pictures!! 

Ok I’m off to begin working on documenting today’s events for my next posting…see you then ;)

From New York back to Puerto Rico

Mini TU reunion! 

Me, Big bro n Mini Me

From Big bro to Lil bro!

I know it’s been awhile folks but New York has been a whirlwind!  Let’s see last posting I was knee deep in snow, so I guess it will be best to just summarize my time in New York and move forward from there.  Ok, so I was freezing pretty much every day that I was there.  Apparently my body got very use to low 80’s and didn’t respond well to low 30’s!  Only in these past few days am I not fighting back curses to the cold as soon as I wake up!  Next, these last 10 days I have been taking a long hard look at my family and friends.  I have allowed myself to worry, to be angered, to be annoyed, and to worry some more before I snapped out of it and put everything into perspective.  Any and all of these pains that I am experiencing, that any of us experience, lead to growth.  As a child I remember sitting in the living room cradling my knees as tight as I could, popping aspirin with tears rolling down my face.  My knees were in terrible pain and I didn’t understand why.  My mom sat next to me, stroked my hair as she often did, and said “Honey, you’re experiencing growing pains.  You’re body is growing and sometimes its painful, but its normal so don’t worry.”  She was right then and she’s right now.   I needed that reminder and God knew that.

Isa + Misha = FIERCE!

Ma, Pa n Jaden bring in 2011

Gen, Matt n Jenna

Sonia, Nicole and the infamous Joelle

Dancing Machines

So, just as things were getting down to the wire with Robert (my little brother who has enlisted in the Air Force), I was feeling ridiculously overprotective and borderline crazy.  I popped in a sermon that I had ordered from my church.  And what do you know, the message was eerily similar to the message my mother gave me over 15 years ago.  Pain (be it physical or emotional) leads to growth.  Robert has to live.  He has to learn.  He has to venture out on his own.  My parents have to go into this next chapter of their lives.  They have to experience a life of just the two of them again….this time older and wiser but (hopefully) just as happy.  My sister-in-law and brother have to develop their family and navigate through parenthood just as my parents did.  I have to move forward too.  I can’t be with my nephew and neices daily, but I can still play a significant role in their lives.  I can’t control the choices my family or friends make, but I can be there for them when they are in need.  And whether they are in need or not I will pray for all of them. 

My goodbye "penpal packet" to the kids

So, as I drive in the passenger seat of my father’s car and look out onto the New York skyline, I review just how much I’m leaving behind.  I realize how beautiful that skyline is and how its been the backdrop for a majority of my life. As I travel over the Whitestone Bridge, I feel more like a New Yorker than ever before.  It’s hard to put into words.  But while staring onto those buildings I think of the Cottes. While driving past Queens I remember the countless mornings Pa and I traveled to the pool here for our daily workout.  As we merge off towards my terminal I think of my mom, imagining her at work with her mind off of us and a smile on her face as she brews a fresh cup of coffee for herself.  As I hand over my bags I feel the lump in my throat grow bigger.  Finally, while hugging Pa goodbye I let the tears stream that I had been fighting to hide the whole ride here.  I hold him tight and when he tries to pull away assuring me in a cracking voice that he’ll see me soon, I hold onto him tighter.  “I love you” is all I can say, but there is so much to say and so little time.  His car is alone and I have to get on line.  As I wait to remove my shoes and sweater I think of Bibi and her “pocket full of love” (a notebook she secretly had the family sign filled with encouraging messages for Robert and I).  My eyes are puffy and people are staring, trying to figure out my story.  This is my story…I am loved beyond measure.  I am thankful to God for all that he has blessed me with and although this is more painful than I ever imagined, I am on my way to growth.  We all are.  To my family and friends, you are in my heart and in my prayers and I will see you soon.

The plane is packed.  The tears are still coming down, falling like raindrops on my cheeks.  I want to make them stop but I can’t.  I guess I need to let it out before I get to Puerto Rico anyway.  No sense in starting a new chapter with a heavy heart.  Until tomorrow…

PS – I am once again surrounded by screaming, crying, and kicking-the-back-of-my-seat children.  iPod here I come.

"Are you gonna follow me to Texas?!"