Winter rains

What winter looks like here

It was raining hard a couple of days ago when I picked Maria up from school. About 10 minutes into the ride, she got quiet -- a rarity. I looked back and she was passed out, dish of chocolate teddy grahams barely hanging on in her fist.

The child never naps and figuring she really must be tired, I took the long way home.

I took winding back roads and slowed down to enjoy how the creeks were rushing. I slowed to a crawl to spy the houses in the hollows that aren't visible when the woods are in full leaf. Some are large and lovely, some are farmhouses and some look as if they were decorated by drunk possum, with yards full of debris and homemade "No Trespassing'' signs.

There are new houses being built on what used to be open fields. The town, of less than 5,000, has two bars. If it were a warm day the motorcyclists would be consuming at both.

I started counting all the different kinds of animals I spotted, animals who I am pleased to call my neighbors: cows, horses, goats, roosters, hens, ducks, a pig, ostrich. And that fat hawk that always seems to be on the same wire. I wonder where the fancy peacock is these days. He used to block the road in gloriously full tail feathers.

It keeps raining and I breathe in the quiet, admire the moody colors and give thanks for the peaceful place that is home.

And for children who fall asleep in their car seats.

Oscar is back

This news has lit up a rainy day.

Churching

Can I confess yesterday was my 4-year-old daughter's first-ever church service? The formal Christian education has been delayed mainly because we were reluctant to deal with squirmy girl in a church pew. Poor excuse, but true. Oh, the guilt.

A few weeks ago we drove past a megachurch and Maria yelled: "Look, a castle!'' Not good for a girl who is growing up in the Buckle of the Bible Belt. She's had a lot of questions about God lately. We talk a lot about God living in our hearts, so the time feels right to find a church home and teach her that Cinderella does not, in fact, live in that building.

We visited a small church in our little town. Everyone was friendly, the pastor relevant, thought-provoking and funny. He even relayed a story that reminded me of Maria, and something she would say.

It went something like this:

The doctor looked in the 4-year-old girl's ear. "Am I going to find Big Bird in there?''
No.
The doctor looked in the girl's mouth. "Am I going to find Cookie Monster in there?''
No.
The doctor went to listen to the girl's heart. "Am I going to hear Barney in there?''
"No," she said. "Jesus is in my heart. Barney is on my underpants.''

Las Comadres, Nashville, TN, USA. Al Fin.

Nashville now has a Las Comadres group. The discovery was supremely joyful to me, right up there with other life-changing finds like brow make-up and the concept of Mother's Day Out.

There have been two meetings and the local organizer reports Latinas from all backgrounds, and ages, have attended. They've moved here from all over the United States and Latin America.

This is good news for us here in Middle Tennessee who are looking for a formal, but fun way, to meet Latinas for networking and friendship. And food, of course. Claro que si!

The charming Mexican-American woman who has helped organize the local chapter, a native of South Texas, said she was absolutely over-the-moon after the first gathering. The second was even better, as founder Nora Comstock was here too.

The local lady and her husband relocated here because of his job. She's a professional woman and a stay-at-home mom to three children. She was lonely for Amigas so she called Comstock and Comstock put her in touch with two others who also had requested a chapter. We're now one of 75 chapters across the country.

You can register for an invitation by filling out the membership form on the Comadres web site. There are no fees or dues. (Non-Latinas can join if they're married to a Latino).

You also can listen to the hard-working and generous Comstock talk about Las Comadres during an interview last week on PBS's To the Contrary. There's also an informational video on the Comadres homepage.

Comadre, by the way, means "godmother" in Spanish.
I have a feeling we'll all be feeling sprinkled with fairy godmother dust as this thing grows.

Throwdown: Telling the world about Nashville biscuits

Believe it or not, Nashville is a food town. Pretty much anything you want, we've got. And traditional Southern food is surely done right.

The Food Network's Bobby Flay is airing a Throwdown episode Sunday night on one of Nashville's food treasures: The Biscuit Lady at the Loveless Cafe.

If you've never been here -- and about 90% of this blog's readers are from other cities and countries -- and you're interested in our flavor, this episode should give you a good taste.

The Loveless is an institution and Carol Fay, the Biscuit Lady, is delightful. (I've eaten my weight in her biscuits over the years.)

Here's a video on the Loveless and its history. Fay is about 2.7 minutes into it:

Doing a search on Flay's Throwdown site I found I missed a recent episode with the La Caja China guy in Miami. So wishing I had seen that. But, I did find recipes from the show and this video:

Can you tell I only had soup for dinner tonight?

A new widget and a quickie Los Pollitos Dicen sale

Let me just say I love Paypal. They've introduced a storefront widget that can be published to blogs, Facebook and any site that allows html code. It even has an option that lets other folks post the storefront on their sites. Talk about the networking potential!

I just made a quickie storefront, and in honor of Paypal and my budding techie skills, here's a little sale to test it out.

Below, you'll discover Los Pollitos Dicen onesies in newborn sizes at a discounted price -- 10 bucks off to be exact. Shipping is included in the price. You can look at the actual tees on our website.

Need a baby gift? Want one? Click and help me test this widget. If it works, that means I will from time to time add secret sales for Bilingual in the Boonies readers...and watch this space for a few more uploads and sales in the next few days.

Pass the word!

Veggie Tales: Introducing a new Latino star, even if he is just a gourd

We had a little rite of passage here this weekend: Maria saw her first movie on the Big Screen. We saw the new Veggie Tales movie: "The Pirates Who Don't Do Anything." I picked it because it is a "G" movie and I knew no witches, trolls or dead mothers would make appearances. My fierce girl is tender-hearted and, these days, easily frightened.

"That's the biggest TV I have ever seen!'' she said, sitting in my lap. I tried not to fall asleep in the first 15 minutes of watching talking vegetables in a warm, dark room. It weirded me out that some of them don't have eyes and none have arms.

Anyway, it was a hit with the 4-year-old.

The moral of the story: "Anyone can be a hero" and I am happy to find a Latino funnier than George Lopez - Sedgewick the Squash. If I ignore the stereotypes of laziness and the Frito Bandito accent, the slacker squash with the bad 'stache was muy funny.

So, because it was fun and age-appropriate (save for the evil pirates), and because those Big Idea guys are basically neighbors of mine in Middle Tennessee, I'm not going to harp on the cultural stuff I would have changed. Nobody asked me, anyway. (They've gotten good reviews, but here's a review one that makes my point.)

Here's the trailer, meng.

The plah and the pandering

A while back, I promised no politics on this site, but a news story from yesterday hit me as a bit ironic and, well, here goes: I wrote about the set-back in teaching La Maria to speak Spanish while a Senator from my state was proposing an English-only at work bill.

I wrote him a note last night. I used the word "pandering.'' Sen. Alexander -- whom I met in the newsroom a gazillion years ago -- is a nice enough guy with a long history of serving his country. In the past, when then-Gov. Alexander made English the official language of Tennessee, he said he did not want our country to become a United Nations.

That's kinda already happened, I think. Having lived in four diverse regions of this country (and I count South Florida as one region unto itself), I will tell you that I've always needed some translation help from the locals: "Black top" in rural Illinois is the preferred word for "road"; "GetdaF***outtahere" in Jersey is "No Way!"; and "That There Right Here" in Tennessee is simply "This" or "That.'' I'm still not sure.

So you see, we're already kinda UN-ish and yet commerce manages to happen.

If the Senator wants to proceed with this silly silly I would like him to also consider cleaning up the English language in his home state. Make it nice and vanilla so we can all understand each other. And, if a professional utters any of these incorrect and ugly words/phases at work, he gets taxed.

So, after we add "that there right here'' to the clean-up list, let's add these, which personally make me scratch my ears:

"Might could'' (as in just plain "might")
"Fixin' to'' (as in, "I'm going to'')
"Carry me'' (which, for you non-natives means "take me to...'')
"Spelt'' (not the grain, but in "how is that word spelt.'')
"Down the road a piece'' (this is an easy one.)

Then, we'll clean up Jersey-isms, don't you think? And then we'll get to the rest.

And, in the end, we can all be exactly the same.

An oop-date on de espanish

I cannot stop speaking like Ricky Ricardo since we got back from Miami. Sorry.

Anyway, let me tell you what I learned in the last month Maria was not in school: There is good reason we blame Mother for everything.

If this child does not grow up to speak fluent Spanish it is, indeed, my fault.

She left school in mid-December and was chattering in Spanish like una cotorra. She was going as far as speaking in Spanish to her father, who is not fluent, and expecting him to understand and answer.

Though she spent several days with my parents before Christmas, and this past week in Miami, the ingles ruled. For her and for me.

Why my fault? She follows my lead. If I speak Spanish, so does she. If I speak English, so does she. And, for the life of me, I do not know why it is so easy to speak to my family in Spanish one moment and the next address my daughter in English. (I've mentioned being a lazy cow before) And then, of course, she's speaking in English so her grandmother and tias answer her in English Miami-style. Vicious little cycle I start.

Now, under the tutelage of her abuelito, she did often sing Seis Lindas Cubanas and, to the delight of the viejos, there was frequent recitation of "Los zapaticos me aprietan, las medias me dan calor...'' And, much to my delight, she is sounding out and spelling simple words in both Spanish and English. The other day it was "casa,'' "pera'' and "sol.''

But, I truly expect a note from La Catalana -- her teacher -- asking me what happened to the chatty, little bilingual during the long break. I'm almost afraid to see her. The woman is a force.

And so, yet again, it begins and ends with Mami and Mami no es doing too bueno a jub.

Miami in January: Gordita maker

Let me just say that it currently does not look like this outside my office window. Gray is the only word to describe it. Opposite of the bright blue we just left.

Above is Maria on the beach in Miami. Quite thrilled with the game of run from the surf and quite unhappy a few moments later when we had to drag her wet and sandy self away from the chilly water. (We are not Canadian, I told her. We do not swim in the ocean in January.)

And so, we are home. And, despite the gloom outside, happy to be so. Home is home.

In Miami, we inspired Abuelita and helped her through the mend. We took night-time walks, we hung out with the tias, tios and primos -- there is nothing like cousins. Nothing. We also went to fun parks, we fed the ducks, we ate too much roast pork, pastelitos and muchas media noches.

On the day we went to the beach, we also had a fattening and nostalgic lunch at the Morro Castle, right next door to my old school, La Progresiva, and where I used to sneak to to buy hot churros and mamey shakes. (I think I gained five pounds during my stay in Miami last week and if I still lived there, I would certainly be una gordita.)

And now, back to la routina...

Many thanks for the good wishes for my mom. I know every good thought helped.

Life is good

I have been to Paris in April and it was indeed, lovely. I am convinced, however, there is nothing like Miami in January. Big, puffy white clouds, endless blue skies and gentle breezes. It's especially delicious when you've been living in lined mommy jeans in Nashville.

We are in Miami for a few days not for touristy pleasure, really, but for family.

My mom has had her cancer surgery and I am joyous to report she will go on to joder Cuban Mother-style for many, many years.

All is good.

All is very good.

Will be back in touch pronto...after a few more days and a trip or two to El Palacio de los Jugos.

Tiempos frio y Tiempo Libre

Hello from the warmth and comfort of my lined Land's End mommy jeans. It is seriously cold here. A couple of days ago pipes froze all over the place. Not ours, thank goodness, though we've had our share of that. Temperature was 18 degrees. Let's just say my Cuban DNA and I stayed inside. The fire was kept going all day.

I am up to the nose in tax preparations and inventory, so will just offer this lovely link to a Cuban timba group called Tiempo Libre. I heard a great story about them on NPR yesterday. They will be performing with the Minnesota Orchestra this year. The show is called Rumba Sinfonica. Their touring schedule.

Listening to them warmed me right up.