There are thousands of fantastic restaurants in Southern California. And I'm sure the fair city of Glendale has a bizzillion wonderful eateries. But, if we're going to be in Glendale for any reason, we must always stop at Porto's Bakery and load up on Cuban Provisions.
There's no better Cuban bakery in So Cal.
Lucy, Jonathan and I were in Glendale a few weeks back. So we (of course!) stopped at Porto's. (I'm almost certain it's a state mandate, but that's not important right now.)
And guess what we stocked up on?
Guava Cheese "Strudel?" They can call it
whatever they like as long as I can have one with my cafecito.
Spring weather here in Southern California is like no other. The first thing I do when I get up in the morning is open all the windows and doors and let the fresh air in.
This is how the trouble started...
I left the slider in our bedroom open the other morning, and a bee got in the house.
I didn't know that that's what had happened. I just heard Lucy's screams coming from the upstairs bathroom. Jonathan quickly reacted by bolting up there to defend her from whatever impending doom was about to befall her. I lazily called up the stairs, "Are you okay?" (That was so lame. I know. Shut up. If it had been a serious emergency I would have moved much more quickly, but that's not important right now.)
Jonathan came back down in a few minutes with a smug look on his face. "Catastrophe averted," he declared.
And then I forgot about the yelling and the averted catastrophe and I got distracted by whatever it was that I was doing and just got on with my day.
It was much later when I went upstairs to take a shower that I came across this:
Apparently, he had just trapped the Bee Invader between the screen and the bathroom window. He left this post-it up there to let us know not to open the bathroom window until the Flying Trespasser had given up the ghost.
We didn't move the post-it or open the window for a couple of days. Look how obeedient we were!
I measure the passing of time and events by the ages of my kids. Maybe most mothers do that.
I remember where I was and what year it was because what I remember is that "Amy was still in high school." Or "Adam had already moved away." Sometimes it's "that's when Lucy cut her hair short."
The end of the year and the coming New Year is always bittersweet for me. Jonathan was born on December 30th. And it's always his birthday that makes me feel that time is not so much marching on as it is screaming by.
Still, I'm delighted every day by what a remarkable human being my youngest is becoming. (I would call him my "baby," but that phrase is completely unacceptable and doesn't at all fit him any longer.)
I have a husband and two grown sons. Adam is 26 and Jonathan is 16.
Facial hair removal is a constant around here, although I have to admit, it's something that's not really on my radar. They shave. Or they don't shave. I don't really notice...unless it gets too scruffy. Then I'm kind of a mental patient. (I know. Shut up.)
So here came November and the movement across the country called "No Shave November" or "Movember." The original concept was for men to stop shaving for the month of November to call attention to men's health issues. Again, something not on my radar. (Don't judge me.)
Eric already has a goatee. For Jonathan, I think it was more of a case of the I-can-finally-grow-a-beard-without-much-effort time in his life. So he was all in.
But, of course, I'm the mom. The Cuban mom. So there are rules:
You can grow your beard, but keep it neat.
Keep it out of your mouth. (Ew. I know, right?)
Please shave your cheeks so you don't end up going all "Wolfman." (You know what I'm talking about.)
Jonathan decided he could probably do a fair goatee just like his dad.
He was right. Exhibit A:
But every now and then he would start getting lazy. (I guess face-maintenance is a big deal and can be time-consuming, as all personal grooming tends to be, but that's not important right now.)
This is about a 2 day growth and he started looking a little homeless. I wasn't having it.
Around the beginning of November I got an email from Braun. Would we like to test and review one of their products? Specifically the Braun Cruzer Face?
YES, PLEASE! Pronto!
It couldn't have come at a better time.
Jonathan spent the month of November trimming and cleaning up his cheeks, while he grew out his goatee with this little marvel. Mami was happy, he got to keep his man-card and he looked great. Win!
I had to just keep reminding him to use it so we could do a comprehensive product review, of course. *wink, wink*
And so, November has come and gone (almost) without too much can-you-please-shave-that-scruff-or-so-help-me drama. In fact, it was quite enjoyable to see my son looking forward to the ease and comfort of using the Cruzer Face.
He cleaned up that neat little goatee and his skin was baby soft. Thanks, Braun!
Here comes the fun part...
Braun has offered to sponsor a giveaway for My big, fat, Cuban family readers. (Yay!)
Braun CruZer Face and Braun CruZer Beard & Head Shaver Giveaway
To enter the giveaway, please leave a comment on this post for a chance to win either the Braun CruZer Face shaver or the Braun CruZer Beard & Head shaver. Please answer one or all of the following questions:
Did any of the men in your family participate in the No-Shave November thing?
Do you like beards/facial hair on guys?
Do you have a hairy guy in your life who might enjoy either one of these products?
Are you a good-looking hairy guy? ;-)
Only U.S. entries, please. I'll choose a winner on Wednesday, November 28th, 2012 at 11 am.
For the uninitiated, NaNoWriMo stands for National Novel Writing Month.(Pronounced "Naa-No-Rye-Moe.")
It's basically Creative Writing on Steroids. The challenge is to write a 50,000 word novel in one month. And so, both amateur and professional writers take to their keyboards and write.
The goal is to just write. Every day. For 30 days. No editing. Get-the-story-out-of-your-brain-no-matter-what writing.
Because we have homeschooled for so many years, this isn't our first spin around the NaNoWriMo block. Lucy already has two manuscripts that she has produced during other 30 day writing frenzies (she has them hidden in a dark vault somewhere, unseen by human eyes, but that's not important right now).
This is the first year that Jonathan is enthused about the project.
They write together. Well, not together together. They usually both sit in the same room, tapping away at their computer keyboards with their ear buds firmly in place. They stop occasionally to inquire about a plot twist or the validity of a character's action. But they keep writing.
Their friends come over for hours of uninterrupted NaNoWriMo-ing. (<--I wonder if that's already been added to the popular lexicon?) It's the best kind of peer pressure I can think of.
Will their novels make the New York Times Bestseller List? Not likely (at least, not without a lot of editing and revision). {Fun Fact: The novel and eventual movie, Water for Elephants began as a NaNoWriMo project.} And, while getting published is maybe their long-term dream, the magic comes in the doing of the thing.
They are writing. At least 1500 to 1600 words a day. They are crafting new worlds. And creating. And honing their storytelling skills. And they are making the time in a culture where a teen's attention is in constant demand.
The creative energy in our home is palpable. This is the part that makes me the happiest.
Of course, if the whole novel writing thing doesn't work out, they could always just start a blog.
My kids (Lucy, 19 and Jonathan, 16) have been doing homegrown improvisational comedy for years now. I've written about this lots of times. Both of them are quite good. (Yes, I know I'm the Cuban mom and I confess to a certain amount of bias, but they are. Shut up.)
So the following exchange which was initiated by Lucy came as no surprise to me:
Lucy: Mom, I want to take an Improv class.
Me: I love that. It's a great idea!
Lucy: For 8 weeks.
Me: That's not too long. You should do it!
Lucy: It's in Hollywood.
Me:Hollywood, Hollywood? *maintains poker face while freaking out inside*
Disclaimer: I had no objection to her going to the class, even if it was in Hollywood. But I'm a Cuban Mother. I was at least going to go with her to her first class (whether she liked it or not) and make sure there was nothing life-threatening about the place. Nice website does not necessarily equal not-shady. (I know. Shut up!)
Lucy had no objections to us dropping her off and hanging out in Hollywood while she was in class. (Smart decision on her part.) Which is how Jonathan and I found ourselves prowling around thrift stores on Hollywood Blvd. on a recent summer afternoon.
Let me share the highlights...
There were a plethora of characters, of course, on Hollywood Blvd. I especially enjoyed the pairing of Marilyn Monroe with the Incredible Hulk with the Storm Trooper looking on, but that's not important right now.
To kill time, and to distract me from my own wild imagination, I decided to introduce Jonathan to World Famous Pink's Hot Dogs on La Brea that I remembered fondly from my misspent youth in LA. (That, and I was hungry. Shut up.)
The walls are covered with photos of famous folks who have eaten there. Jonathan declared that one day his photo would be on that wall. (He's not egotistical, just goal-oriented. LOL!)
We ran into the owner, Richard Pink, himself. Jonathan explained to him that this photo would be valuable one day when he was famous. (My kids are nothing if not confident.)
All of this was going on while killing time in Hollywood waiting for my 19-year-old daughter to finish her first class and keeping myself occupied and distracted from the thought that I had dropped my 19-year-old daughter off in a foreign place somewhere on Hollywood Blvd. Not quite sure when it happened that she became, not just Lucy, but "my 19-year-old daughter." Where do those crazy-drama-thoughts come from? (I blame my Cuban DNA. I know. Shut up.)
Lucy, in the meantime was texting her reassurance:
This place is great! Very clean and air-conditioned! (This proved to be quite soothing to my over-the-top-there's-danger-everywhere Cuban mother imagination. According to this logic, air-conditioning is never to be found in seedy places, is it?)
The instructor is very nice and so knowledgeable!
The other students are awesome!
I'm having a great time!
I'm alive! (She totally gets me.)
A good hour before she got out, I made sure we were parked and waiting. (Por si acaso, you know?) I assure you this was me exercising tremendous self-restraint. (I know. Shut up.)
I'm happy to report that she lived! And has been going back on her own (I know. Who AM I? Shut up.) and has been thoroughly enjoying the classes.
Apparently, there have been others who have been through this experience and have lived to tell the tale.
Eric and I will be celebrating our 20th wedding anniversary this coming August.
When we were first started discussing weddings and rings many months before our engagement in 1992, I told him that I didn't really want a sticky-up-catch-on-everything diamond. It's just my personal preference. I wanted a ring that was simple and different than the traditional diamond solitaire.
And so it was that he found a beautiful sapphire in a simple gold setting surrounded by diamonds. (A poor man's version of Lady Di's classic ring, which I had always loved.) The sapphire, by tradition, symbolizes truth, sincerity, and faithfulness. It's where we get the term, "True Blue."
Googling the meaning of sapphires turned up this gem. (Get it? I know. Shut up.)
Because sapphires represent divine favor, they were the gemstone of choice for kings and high priests. The British Crown Jewels are full of large blue sapphires, the symbol of pure and wise rulers.
Since sapphire symbolizes sincerity and faithfulness, it is an excellent choice for an engagement ring.
It was the perfect ring for me. For us.
But there was another ring. He got it for me as a wedding present. It also had sapphires and diamonds and I wore it on the ring finger of my right hand for many years. I loved that ring, too.
A few weeks ago my son, Adam, called to tell us he was very much in love with the beautiful girl he's been dating.
"Mom, I want to marry her."
Those words stopped me dead in my tracks. I knew he was serious about this one. *deep breath*
He also told me he had been saving up for a ring, but he couldn't afford the one he wanted to get her.
I thought of the other ring. The other sapphire sitting in my jewelry box that I hadn't worn for years. The wedding gift from Eric. My husband and I talked late into the night.
I sent the ring to Adam with an explanation. It was my ring and I loved it. But it would give me great pleasure (if he thought she would like it, of course) if he proposed to his girlfriend, Stephanie with that ring.
We crossed our fingers and said prayers and thanked God that our son had found someone so special. Our question was not, "would she say yes?" (We knew she would.) We were wondering, "would she like the ring?"
And then, Adam sent the following photo with the caption, "Got her!"
Internets, meet the future Mrs. Adam Hohneker. She's the one wearing that beautiful sapphire and diamond engagement ring.
And then I had the following text exchange with my future daughter-in-law. (Whoa! I'm going to be someone's mother-in-law? How cool is that?)
Mom...? YES!
Stephanie, welcome to our big, fat, Cuban family. We couldn't be happier for both of you.
I'm going to write about the Hollywood Bowl today.
Just as a warning - this post may get all emotional and gushy (<--is that a word?) because I LOVE the Hollywood Bowl. I love it so much I want to marry it. There's going to be gushing. And photos. And videos. And more gushing. Yes. It's uber-nerd heaven.
The Bowl is just so thoroughly So-Cal-Iconic. And I am totally enthralled and in love with its rich history. I'm pretty sure my first exposure to the Bowl came from Bugs Bunny in Long-Haired Hare, where he plays Leopold Stokowski. (Yes, I'm nerdy enough to know this stuff, but that's not important right now.)
In case you've never seen it, here you go. Watch. And love.
I happen to agree with Bugs: The Bowl is "acoustically poifect." You're welcome.
Of course, one of the most magical Hollywood Bowl Moments happened in August 1964.
The Beatles came to Southern California and performed in this iconic venue. *insert teenage girl scream here*
*sigh* That's history right there.
I'll also never forget the magical night I saw Tito Puente and Celia Cruz there. I was massively pregnant with Lucy at the time and thought my child might be a few weeks early because I started having contractions during the concert, and then I was conflicted because it was CELIA and would I really have to leave if I was having a baby? (That last factoid might have been an over-share. Or it falls under their tag line: There's a story in every seat.)
All that to say this: I love the Hollywood Bowl. It is unparalled as a concert venue and during a show you can even see the Hollywood sign peeking out from the next ridge over. It's quite magical.
So you can imagine my excitement when I was cordially invited to "the Hollywood bowl stage for a cocktail party to celebrate the upcoming summer season" by my friends at the LA Philharmonic.
Wait! Did that say "to the Hollywood Bowl STAGE??"
The evening was beautiful in that perfect Spring-evening-in-Southern-California way.
It's always surprising to me that the Hollywood Bowl is in such an accessible spot. "Yay! We're here!"
And to my everlasting delight, the party was ON. THE. HOLLYWOOD. BOWL. STAGE!
Someone pinch me.
So, I start hyperventilating just a little as we walked on to the stage.
The restaurants in the Bowl venue were all beautifully represented. My particular favorite is the Rooftop Grill. Of course, when you go to an event at the Hollywood Bowl, you must plan on arriving early and either bringing or pre-ordering a picnic. The picnic is a mandatory part of the magic of the experience.
So it was that I found myself with Lucy. Having a picnic. At the Hollywood Bowl. ON THE STAGE. (I may just have to frame this one.)
Wait! Is that Gustavo Dudamel? The conductor of the LA Philharmonic? I may or may not have knocked over a few people to get to him. (My nerdiness knows no bounds.)
He is from Venezuela, and I briefly spoke to him in Spanish (of course) and told him I was Cuban, at that exact same moment a musical piece was playing written by a Cuban. Full disclosure: He was the one who pointed that out. I was in Star-struck Super Fan mode.
"Hola, Maestro! You are my biggest fan!"
Okay, maybe I didn't say exactly that, but I was excited and tongue tied and thrilled to be in the presence of such greatness. By the way, if you live in Los Angeles or the surrounding areas and want to experience classical music in the most engaging way, do yourself a favor and go see Gustavo Dudamel conduct the LA Phil. Seriously.
Let me take a moment from documenting my craziness to tell you about the awesomeness that can be found at the Hollywood Bowl over the summer.
They have THE BEST program for kids called Summer Sounds. I have a friend who religiously takes her kids every summer and swears it's the best thing in town. Watch this:
You can thank me later.
There's way too much fabulousness for me to list here in this one post (please click here for more information) but let me just tell you that we are already looking forward to John Williams (right?!), Ruben Blades (yes, please!), and Placido Domingo, and perhaps even the Grease Sing-a-long. (I have very ecclectic taste in music, okay?)
Did I mention we were standing on THE SAME STAGE where all this amazingness will take place?
I was completely giddy thinking of all the times I had been here and all the amazing acts that have stood on this very stage. So I gushed to Lucy (much like I'm doing to you now) and sighed and laughed out loud. And I pointed to the different seats I had occupied and of course, I told her once again the story of when I thought she might be born prematurely in this same spot because I just couldn't bear the thought of leaving this magical place in the middle of a show.
And then she turned to me and said, "I didn't get it until just now."
Summer can't get here soon enough.
{A special thank you to the Hollywood Bowl, the LA Philharmonic, and alPunto Advertising for a magical evening.}
In case you missed last year's surprise Mother's Day post, here is the link.
Also: Mom. You really should change your password once in awhile...
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Mami taught me how to have great adventures.
We have driven to Vegas together more times than I can count. Today, I love driving and am always ready to take a road trip.
We saw the GoGo's at Mandalay Bay (outside on "the beach" - aka The Pool) and we got drenched. Afterwards, we were sitting, still dripping, and having a cafecito while watching the people who had just come from an Il Divo concert head into the casino. We couldn't stop laughing about the people being dressed to the nines while we were dripping. I wish I could remember what was so funny about the guy we met in the elevator, but at the time it was the funniest thing we'd ever heard. When a friend invited me to the symphony, I knew how to dress because of that dripping in Vegas moment... and I still make friends with people in elevators.
She took me to New York with her right after 9/11. We FLEW. The two towers were still burning, but we went. When she mentioned a trip to San Antonio to cook Cuban food for our troops, I bought my ticket right away.
We have gone to Miami plenty of times for Cuba Nostalgia because she had taught me to be proud of my heritage and my culture. When abuela asked if I would take her to Cuba to be reunited with her siblings (for the first time since fidel took over) I did not hesitate; I went to Cuba.
We have met totally famous people and been total dorks about it. People have treated us like we're famous and we have been total dorks about it.
We saw (presidential hopeful) Mike Huckabee at the airport, but I was convinced it wasn't him. She went up and shook his hand. She was right. We were in L.A. and I said "Mami, that's Pitbull," but she wasn't convinced it was him. We eventually shook his hand. I was right.
Mami taught me to be fearless. And to be right. ;-)
Love,
Kiki Amy
- - -
My mom taught me to appreciate comfort.
I can remember sitting on mom's lap at Luza's old house, in the living room in the dark when she was trying to put me to sleep. I remember sucking on her finger while she tried to rock me to sleep. She always played with my hair to calm me down and I still run my fingers through my hair to relax now when I'm all wound up. She would always say, "Who loves you more then anyone else in the whole wide world?"
She asked because she already knew the answer. And so do I.
Love,
Adam
- - -
Mom taught me to be fearless.
I remember the first time I had auditioned for my first musical. I was an extremely nervous, shy and quiet person. (Hard to believe now, I know.) Before I left, my Mom told me: "Be fearless. If you are fearless... they will respect you."
Every audition I’ve had since then, I have chosen to be fearless. All because my Mom, I am now outgoing, well-spoken, respected and trusted by my friends. Thank you Mom, for teaching me to be fearless.
I love you, Mom! And thank you for letting me live. ;-)
Love,
Jon
- - -
My wife taught me the importance of telling stories.
When we are out at some family gathering or just out doing something fun together, she will stop and take photos or little video clips. I have to admit it used to drive me crazy.
But later when she writes about our time together or glues down the pictures in her scrapbook or tells these stories to our friends, I am grateful. She helps me slow down and see myself as part of a great story. Happy Mother's Day, honey. I love you.
Love,
Eric
- - -
My mom taught me how to learn… and learn quickly.
Imitation was a skill I developed at a young age. And I had always believed that if mom could do it, I could do it too. My mom taught me how to bake a perfect cake (from scratch), how to do laundry (don’t mix whites with dark colors), how to sew (keep your finger away from the needle), how to clean the bathtub (it’s not a fun job, but someone’s gotta do it)...
My favorite compliment was to be called “mommy’s little helper.”
Later, she encouraged me to pursue my own interests. If I wanted to know how to do something, I had more than enough resources to learn how to do it myself.
My mom is an intensely curious, playful, thoughtful, and opinionated woman with the greatest sense of humor. She’s brave and honest and deeply connected to her culture. She had an excellent fashion sense, she makes the greatest pastelitos de guayaba, and she loves a good story.
Thanks to mom, I learned how to be a good listener, how to take care of myself, how to apologize, how to be creative, how to write, how to take a beautiful photograph and, most importantly, how to say “I love you.” and mean it.
Here’s to the best teacher I ever had. Happy mother’s day, mom! I love you so much I could spit.
Love,
Lucy
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Also, bonus picture of mom singing karaoke to Neil Diamond at the top of her lungs... on Christmas Day.
