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Memories of my America – Of Liberace and The Hope Diamond

March 19, 2013 By 11 Comments

hdColombians are prone to embellishment, to taking a story and making it even grander. It was Gabriel Marquez, the famed Colombian novelist, who proclaimed, “To Colombians, life is a stage.”

My mother has entered a delightful stage of dementia. Delightful in the sense that her already Colombian tales of life have become even more entrancing. We pick her up on the weekends, and she spends the day at our house, where my three boys and I spread her favorite blanket across her lap, much like a ceremonious draping of an ermine wrap across a queen’s shoulders.

We settle her in with Mexican cocoa — hot chocolate with a pinch of cayenne — which she sips slowly, blowing softly across the steam, and when she leans forward to set her mug down, we know we are about to hear, The Theatre of The Colombian, Part Six; where she will pick up where she left off, when she was here last.

“You know,” we all turn to see what she will floor us with today. “I had to say no when Fidel Castro asked me to marry him. Yes, he acted one way in front of our government, but I knew… he was not going to grow into a nice man. And look, I was right.” My mother reaches for her hot cocoa, blows and sips, sets it down, and begins again. [Read more...]

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A Child’s Guide To Increasing The Likelihood of Getting What You Want For Christmas by Alexandra

December 20, 2012 By 14 Comments

1.   Don’t fight.

2.   If you do fight, fight in hissy whispering.

3.   Don’t sass

4.   If your mom asks you if you sassed back, say “No, ma’am, I was just clarifying.”

5.   Don’t hit.

6.   If you do hit, hide it like you were walking past your brother or sister and tripped.

7.   Even if it’s hard, mind your own business.

8.   If you don’t mind your own business, tell your parents you were just worried about your sibling’s safety. Because you love them.

9.   No name-calling.

10.  If you do name call, say you meant it as a term of endearment. “Oh you little poopyface. I love you.”

11.  No swearing.

12.  If you do swear, blame it on your parents losing their hearing. “Mom I did not say I hope he gets his ass destroyed. I said, ‘I hope you get your asteroid’ for Christmas.”

13.  Do your homework every night.

14.  If you don’t do your homework every night, pretend to be holding your U.S. History book open on your lap, with your Nintendo hidden inside.

15.  Try new foods your parents make for dinner.

16.  If you don’t like the new foods, spread them around on your plate so they look like less and then say “Boy that was so good I just wish I hadn’t eaten a whole bag of popcorn at school right before you picked me up.”

17.  Do your chores.

18.  If you don’t do your chores, make it look like you did your chores–keep the area under your bed as a free space so you can jam your toys, books, clothes in there at the last minute.

19.  Don’t lie.

20.  If you do lie, say all the double negatives in your parents’ question mixed you up. You meant to say you did NOT not not do it.

21.  Take a shower, brush and floss, comb your hair, change your underwear, make your bed, and be polite. If you don’t take a shower, get the shower door wet. If you don’t brush or floss, get the toothbrush wet and leave a string of floss on the counter. If you don’t comb your hair, leave a brush sitting next to the sink. If you don’t change your underwear, just put a ball of clean ones in the laundry basket, if you don’t make your bed, just throw the top blanket over everything like you’re going on a picnic.

22. You can’t fake the Be Polite — Hold the door open for everyone, say Happy Holidays to everyone, smile at everyone.

Just forget numbers 1 through 21. Do only number 22, and you’ll win your parents’, your grandparents’, your teachers’, and your siblings’ hearts for the holidays.

 

AlexandraAlexandra

Alexandra is an overanalyzing, oversensitive mother of three boys who somehow found herself named as BlogHer ’11′s Voice of The Year for Humor. She has been a mother since 1994, which means she hasn’t been right about anything since. She blogs of the sweet and the funny while trying to go unnoticed in her small town. You can find her at Good Day, Regular People. Did we mention socially awkward? We should, which is why the internet was made for her.

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Memoirs of My America – When is Dressing Stuffing?

November 21, 2012 By 12 Comments

Thanksgiving is meant to be a celebratory time, of when the Pilgrims were helped by the Native Americans and there was a horn o’plenty of food. It was a good harvest, and along with eating there were three days of games and social cooperation. Peace among the people, eating together and sharing alike. No one cared that you called it corn and another called it maize. The feast was delicious and it filled your belly; and it was a time that would go down in history.

Giving of what you have to others should bring out some warm fuzzy feelings of love for one another. And Thanksgiving can do that, except when someone reaches across the table and asks another to “pass the dressing, please.” And that person a few chairs down sends a bottle of Wish-bone Green Goddess back their way.

“Excuse me, I asked for the dressing.”

“Right. And so there you go–dressing.”

“No, the dressing. The side dish there, the savory croutons drowned in butter. Please.”

“That would be stuffing. You want stuffing.”

“No, it’s dressing. My mother called it dressing. Pass the dressing, please.”

“Dressing is salad dressing. That’s what I gave you. If it’s stuffing you want, I can give you stuffing.”

“I don’t call it stuffing. Stuffing is made inside the bird. This was made on the side. I’d like that bowl of dressing that was made outside of the turkey. Please.” [Read more...]

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Memoirs of My America – Dream Whisperer

November 9, 2012 By 20 Comments

One of the very first things we had to do when we woke up as little children, was to find our grandmother and tell her our dreams from the night.

She mentally had the Field Guide to dream interpretation as the backdrop of her mind. My Abuela knew it all; the meaning behind the color of the dress you wore, or whether your hair was loose or pulled tight. You’d present the facts, she’d pose a few questions back to you, and there you’d have it: what your subconscious was trying to tell you.

I’m lucky enough to still remember some of her interpretations and now it’s my children who come to the breakfast table and in between spoonfuls of Frosted Flakes, tell me about the mouse in their dream that tried to come in through the wall behind their bed.

I always begin with the first line of action: information-gathering. [Read more...]

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Memoirs of My America – The Power of The Bean

September 25, 2012 By 24 Comments


I always knew what I had.

Coffee, Ahhh, from that first palate burning sip. The perfect drink. Black gold. Brings you up, yet calms you down.

Like a good Colombian family, our day began with a silver pot percolating. In fact, I received my own first percolator at age three; my Spanish grandmother would fill it with the real bean, and my brother and I would sit and slurp up the steaming sweet smoothness. We would masterfully stir in the cream until it was the perfect caramel brown. We just knew how much cream to add, it’s part of the Andean DNA we came with.

Since age three, I have known of the power of caffeine. I have forever understood the coffee jokes, I got them – I’d even poke fun at my own left twitching eye. [Read more...]

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Cheeeken in a Can and Butter Cookies

June 25, 2012 By 21 Comments

BITE ME! Food and Whine on FnS

My mother was a fancy lady. She never cooked, nor cleaned, nor kept up a home. She had grown up in South America, with “servants.” That’s the word she used for the help they had around her house. They had a servant for bed making, sweeping, cooking, market shopping, and small child watching. They even had one to feed my older sister’s pet howler monkey.

When she moved to the United States, that all had to stop. No maids here, but at least there were appliances. Still, the shock of do-it-yourself life along with the unwilling attitude on her part to have to learn how to do for herself, birthed a lot of meal time horror stories.

She couldn’t cook worth a lick. [Read more...]

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The Most Handsome Man in Milwaukee

April 17, 2012 By 18 Comments

I wish I could tell you that throughout my life, I have made only wise, non impulsive, emotionally free decisions.

Ha!

There have been decisions made where I had no other choice, where life decided them for me, or where I did the best I could do at that time.

And there have been the decisions where, having made them, we can call ourselves graduates in the school of hard knocks: Lessons Learned The Hard Way 101.

Nothing brings these technicolor flashes of memory of some of the things I’ve done to the forefront of my mind, quicker than a blast from the past song on the radio.

While driving from one place to the next one day, with my three children in the car, the radio on good and loud in celebration of summer, Funky Cold Medina snuck on and slapped me between the ears like a wet fish.

I had to stifle my laughter as that awesome three beat intro began. I did not want my three baby boys in the car to ask, “Mom? What’s so funny?”

Because then I’d have to tell them the story of when I decided to try and get the The Most Handsome Man in Milwaukee, to like me. [Read more...]

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Memoirs of My America – Chewbacca’s Daughter

April 4, 2012 By 29 Comments

by Alexandra

Enter our FnS contest to win a free copy of My Memories fun and easy to use digital scrapbooking software! UPDATE – We have our winner, Francerants!

I was not a good looking kid. Not an ugly one, just one that should there be a talent scout for Models R Us hanging out at the local mall, they wouldn’t be pushing their way through a crowd to get their card to me.

My arms were just as long as my legs, and both were like sticks. And, as true today as it was back then, my feet were too big for my height. With the flat black Sponge Bob shoes my Doctor told my mother I had to wear to fix my pronated gait, I looked like a capital letter L.

I was skinny with eyes that took up half my face. The cherry thrown on top of this flamboyant creation by Mother Nature, was that I was hairy. Eyebrows that began everywhere and extended to my temples, hairy arms, hairy legs, and a hairline that begged for a Ronco at-home electrolysis kit. Had you shown me a picture of Chewbacca back then, I may have very possibly shouted, “Daddy!”  [Read more...]

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But It’s The Way He Says My Name

February 13, 2012 By 47 Comments

by Alexandra

bee mineeAs a woman from a long line of people with accents — accents to you, not to me — I have always been at a loss as to why American women’s knees turn to jelly at the sound of a Spanish accent. My sisters are with me on this.

Men are just men. In my case, the men in my Colombian family are brown skinned, long sooty eye lashed, dark haired, and come with the ability, apparently, to make women from the USA tremble just by saying their name. Cynthia trills out of their mouths as Eseentya, Judy is breathed out Hoodeet, Ann becomes the hypnotizing Ahna.

You poor things don’t stand a chance, do you? [Read more...]

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Memoirs of My America – Ignorance is Bliss

December 23, 2011 By 35 Comments

I am amazed by the things that my children don’t do, that I did. Especially over Christmas. I was one of six children, and we were thick as thieves. If something entailed sneakiness and trouble, we jumped in, and we never spilled the beans on each other. It was a code of secrecy that we didn’t have to pledge, we just knew. I’m sure it had to do with the Survivors on the Island theme we were convinced we were living.

Though we were always fortunate enough to have a home and food to eat, the rest of the extra things in life that make it nice, were a bit dicey.

There was never an overabundance of much. We had what we needed, nothing more. Easier said than done, for a child: adequate but nothing unnecessary. With all those commercials on TV during Christmas? [Read more...]

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