I'm in the middle of telling my husband about my father's trip to the immigration attorney today when he starts grousing about the basket we use to recycle newspapers (my husband hates it, I love it). I tell him he's acting like an old Cuban woman. I continue to tell him that my step-sister in Cuba now has to write a letter asking again for permission for her adult children, son-in-law and granddaughter to leave Cuba with her and her husband. We had been expecting an estimated arrival date for all of them today.
"There should be a law: For every one of you who comes, two go back,'' he says, and laughs at his own hilarity.
"Oy! You know I'm going to blog about this now, don't you?''
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