Father's Day: Santo Domingo

(From 2013)

When I was growing up in South Florida in the 1970s, if you had asked me where my family was from I'm pretty sure I would have said that we were from New Orleans. 

That's where my parents met and married, that's where my brother and I were born; that's where most of my cousins and aunts and grandparents lived.

In the 1980s, after countless weekends in Miami visiting Cuban relatives (and sometimes leaving Mom and Abuela to visit relatives while Dad took us to Monkey Jungle and Parrot Jungle and Vizcaya)  I would have added that I was Cuban, but I wasn't sure what that meant yet.

My Dad, if he were in earshot and I only mentioned being Cuban, would have reminded me "And you're FRENCH. And IRISH. You have two sides, dammit."

I heard him, but it didn't sink in.

Dad stood back and watched me write my final Master's paper on Cuban immigrants and a dissertation on Cuban-American bankers all the while biting his tongue.

Or maybe he did say something, maybe he mentioned it alot. Probably I didn't listen too hard. I do that sometimes.

Then a few years (months?) ago he sent me an email full of his family history with the title line "This is your island" and attached some papers a family member had scanned that appeared to be a land grant from  the King of Spain to the Santo Domingo family, who then moved to the island of Hispanola and lived in Santo Domingo.

 The family prospered under French and Spanish colonial rule on the island, but as the ideas liberty, equality and Republic and the successes of American and French Revolutions  travelled on boats and by word and in books and in sermons from  through the world, causing an uprising of slaves on the island.

The Santo Domingo family left (translate: FLED) their (namesake?) hometown for Cuba, where they had a son who would be pulled by the lure of the booming Mississippi basin Cuba and join the Creole community in Jefferson Parrish, Louisiana.

From there my Dad's family tree took root in a couple of places in in Louisiana,  and over the next 150 years became an urban braid of Creoles, Irish, and an Italian orphan named Achille Soldani who came to rural  Louisiana on an orphan train and was adopted by a young French couple who didn't change his name.

My parents are hopeless romantics who became engaged on their first date and have been together since.  They always say they would have met somehow, somewhere. 

  Seriously, my stomach hurts when they do that, get all mushy and talk about how they can't stand to be away from each other. I don't get it. I appreciate, I definitely benefit from it, but I think if I ever set off on life to look for someone to complete me like they complete each other, I might have forgotten to apply to grad school. 

But then again, I think maybe they are right.

After all, pieces of  his Santo Domingo-exiled family were in New Orleans and in Cuba when New Orleans sugar planters started Cienfuegos.  The cities are tied by history and blood. The entire Caribbean and Gulf of Mexico are tied the same way, 

I'm not sure if it's been too long or if my father and I  can travel back to Santo Domingo, now, and use my super historian detective powers  find a piece of him and me and us waiting there.  

Maybe we will.  If we do, I promise you that he and I expect the food to be a little better than it was in Cuba.


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Happy Father's Day*

Atomic Cafe

 http://www.snagfilms.com//films/title/the_atomic_cafe?utm_medium=player&utm_campaign=player_referral



AMH 1050 Quiz #7

If You Love Something, Set it Free: The Mosquito Bite Story

It is no big secret that my students and ex-students and colleagues and friends and I serve dinner to Veterans at Veterans Village a few times a month.

 Some weeks I cook huge batches of jambalaya, spiced chicken or curried vegetables. Some weeks I make fancy cakes with swirls and strawberry.  Some weeks I don't cook at all.

This story isn't about cooking.

The room we serve dinner in at Veterans Village is pretty small -- basically it is what you might expect in college-type apartment with a shared common area and 4 bedrooms only for this apartment each bedroom has been turned into an social worker's office and one of the bedrooms was become the food closet.  It is perpetually half empty, filled with too much corn and green beans, the adjacent unused  bathroom is stacked waist high with donated paper and linen and plastic odds and ends left in limbo.

More often than not is pretty darn stuffy so  I usually kept a cold water bottle close to me to keep me chipper for the event.

For awhile I was carrying my super posh way too expensive -- but it was a gift - treasured silver insulated bottle with me -- remember it? the one that keeps ice icy for 24 hours? the one I like to ironically carry like an Olympic Torch when I go running and can't go faster than 13 minutes a mile?

Two weeks ago I left that favorite treasured water bottle at Veterans Village.

I realized it was gone before I'd made it all the way home and ugh. There was no one to call, no one to notify, and honestly, if anyone at Veterans Village wanted my magical amazing posh futuristic water bottle I would've given it to them because it is a spiritual lesson to practice the belief that real treasure should be shared.

So I let my favorite posh water bottle -- the most amazing thing God invented, besides you -- go, praying that it would be used to bless someone.

Every time I missed it (oh, and I DID MISS IT DON"T LET ME KID YOU HERE) I imagined someone much thirstier than myself taking a long cold drink and being incredibly thankful for finding the magic bottle.

I told myself every single day every single time when I missed that bottle that if you love something, you should set it free.  No joke, I said that, I tried. I practiced letting go and being ok with things being gone, even when it didn't come easily.

Ya'll would be proud of how hard I try to be a grown up in my head.

A few weeks ago I found myself coping with 17 mosquito bites on one arm and a crazy sane voice in my head asked myself to consider what if blessings *had* to be delivered by mosquito bites.

 What if, right?

All the sudden those itches turned into sacred torture and then disappeared.

 I'll let you know about the 17 blessings as they appear,  I'm ready to start counting.

Back to the story about the super posh too expensive to ethically replace water bottle.

I bought myself a cheaper, off label, larger insulated bottle on Amazon in attempt to distract my heart from my beloved bottle and tried to go on with my life. No, it didn't keep the water as cold. No, the ice didn't stay icy, but it closed super tight and secure and that's worth something. Something.

Last night as my students and I  were cleaning up from dinner at Veterans Village,  I turned to help one of my students who  was stacking extra portions of dessert in the refrigerator and noticed something shiny on the inside of the fridge door.

It was my precious posh amazing super favorite water bottle.

It had been waiting for me.

 I grabbed it and cheered,  my faith in humanity restored and buoyed, and 100% ready to report on  16 more blessings as they show themselves.

Crazy Frog

My stomach is rolled into a knot of dread, and I can't shake it. Nothing is really wrong,  nothing that should make my stomach hurt like this yet it does and it's almost choking me so  I take deep breaths and get myself to work anyway.  On the walk from my car to the building I see trees laying gracefully down where they should not be, sprawled and leggy like ballerinas curled up for naps outside. 

Just as I put my key in the door, a tiny tiny green frog flies out of nowhere and lands in front of me, then crawls up the door toward my face. Other people might scream, I'm like hello my crazy frog friend, nice to see you.

In my corner of the universe this is a bold sign from heaven of something, its just too funny and perfect not to be.

 I'm sure this frog has seen a lot these past days, but I know better than to stand around and talk to a  crazy frog, so I took this picture for you before I made it to my office, took more deep breaths, and got on with things that had to be done.

Thrift Shop Chronicle: Wu Wei Way and the Coach Purse

Most of the year I have to wake up and get people places, be here and there and back there and then the other place at EXACT times or all hell could break loose.

Summer is different, summer is mine, my time is my own, and I genuinely don’t have to do anything I don’t want to do (except take the dog out).  I have spent the better part of this summer practicing wu wei – the zen art of not doing, and leaving nothing undone. 

I try to practice silence, to not write what doesn’t need to be written, and I find a generosity and grace in that disciplined pause, intentionally creating a place for thoughts and stories to grow roots.

Of course, I’m not sitting around here doing nothing.

I have cakes to bake, veterans to feed, a floor to sweep and  laundry to do over and over and over, but I only do it when I feel like it.

And yes, the dishes will get put away, when I’m ready. 

And yes I will go for a run, maybe for 2 miles, maybe for 10, I don’t know when I set out because I give myself freedom to choose and change my mind at any time, to go faster, to go slower, to find new paths.

Wu wei is so quiet that it roars,  keeping me awake, forcing me to ask myself hard questions about how I spend my energy, and cultivating  a gentle response to myself that I absolutely don’t have to do anything I don’t want to do, and doing nothing doesn’t mean I’m less of a person. This is hard to say, hard to think, and I'm not sure it's true.

One thing I don’t love to do is shop for clothes, and so I just really haven’t. My closet is simple: 4 pairs of assorted jeggings jeans from American Eagle (size 8),  one pink blazer from H&M that is 2 sizes too big, 8 tshirts from Target, 3 pairs of yoga pants and that blue shirt I wear way too much.  

This is enough for me.  It is. I’d rather spend my money in other ways, and I usually do.

This summer I asked a colleague if I could lecture in jeans and t-shirts “if I add cute heels” and she reminded me that’s what I’ve been basically wearing for a year.  She was right.

All the sudden I didn’t want to just show up in jeans, I wanted to wear skirts and dresses again and look like I was happy to be at work, but I’ve given all my stuff like that away over the past 2 years.

Time to shop, right? Nope.

 I waited. And I waited. And I didn’t go to the mall.

And I didn’t look at anything online or on TV shopping shows.

On Sunday, when I was ready and when the universe was ready for ME, I suddenly had to go visit a consignment shop that I’d never been to before, mostly because I don’t shop, much less consignment shop, but now we are going in circles, please keep up.

After meeting a student who gave me 2 lucky rocks – one from the Grand Canyon and one from the Pacific, 2 places I’ve never been – I absolutely had to go to that store, and when I saw a sign on the door that everything was 50% off, I ignored it because no way there are sales like that. No way.

Ten minutes later and I am ready to take home 6 suits. An hour later and I have 8 suits, 2 shirts and 3 pairs of super cute heels.

I’m looking through shirts when a woman asks what I think of a particular shirt.

It’s a good one for her, but it has these stripes and she has stripes on her skirt and if she ever work the shirt with that skirt she’d look crazy.

So I ask her, not with that skirt, right? And she laughs.

And we become friends, the kind of friend who says YES buy that! NO that does nothing for you! Try that with a different bra, maybe? And Ooh that’s way too OLD for you (my favorite). She never shops. I never shop. We are both stocking up on a ton of things, giddy like Christmas.

Two hours later the store is closing and I’m in the process of checking out and paying.

My new friend is in line behind me and asks the guy behind the counter if he would show her this cute purse hanging on the wall, and when he grabs it, we both swoon because it is a super cute baby Coach purse.

 I’m not big on status symbols, and neither is my new friend, but this purse was super cute AND a great label.

And it was $13.  She pondered it for a minute and I stopped her from that thinking thing and grabbed hands between mine and said, “It’s $6.50. For a Coach purse,” which was enough to make us both burst out in giddiness.

Just then he hands me my receipt.

My  total is $98.

This can’t be.

The three pairs of shoes, together, should be $100. 

Each suit should be $100.

  I’m dying here.  I really can’t take all this home and not spend $100, it feels unethical, like I’m not doing my part to support local businesses and fight global warming.

I ask my new friend to hand me the Coach purse, and her face falls like  child who has to hand over a baby kitten they had fallen in love with.

I buy the purse for her. I’m now someone who met a complete stranger and bought her a Coach purse. This is awesome, better than any Calvin Klein suit for $11.

 We hug and then I head out in the car, in the rain, readying myself to practice quiet again.

The Succulent Story

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There is a lot of not-writing involved in writing, and I have spent the better part of the last 8 weeks not finishing the story I was telling you about my last trip to Cuba.

 I know what I want to tell you, I know how the story ends, and I’m still working my emotions to a place where I can sit through it, face the grief and find the happy ending.

I’m not there yet. Instead, I run, I do load after load of laundry, and I watch Netflix, Hulu and Amazon Prime with the zealous dedication I throw into everything I do.

Also, I have been spending a lot of quality time with my plants. 

Yes, my plants. Not the huge tall ones in my office that I water and turn once a week – they are all about a decade old, they are strong and happy and quite ok with the peace they have found without people being in the office chattering about grades and wars and essays and projects.   I brought the smaller plants home and now I have plants. In my house.

 I know, I should have thought of it sooner, noticed the void, thought about things like fresh air and décor but really, at home my job is to keep everyone alive and moving forward and plants haven’t played into that equation.

So these long summer days where I am not getting up at 5am, driving kids in circles, explaining the Yalta Conference (repeatedly), I find deep meaning and pleasure in watering my plants and feeding them bright blue kool-aid looking plant food, turning them towards the sun, taking secret delight pleasure in every tiny new leaf or root bud that shoots out of these plants into this universe.   This is symbolic of nothing; or maybe it is everything. I hope they know I love them. I think they do. 

But since I can't tell them stories (I can, I do, but lets drop that for now) I'll tell you one.

Here it is. 

Here are the plants on their morning table; later in the day they sit by a different window to watch the sun set.

 

Last Wednesday while I was getting my hair done by one my favorite people I finally asked what I had to ask, the question that had been burning in my stomach since her baby shower months and months ago.

While she ran her fingers through my hair, coaxing all the foamy bubbles out (I hate every thing that involves me sitting still, this is torture, she knows it and moves quickly), I ask Tina straight out, “How do you keep your tiny cactuses so cute and perfect? I literally have not been able to stop thinking about them since your baby shower…. ”

Once I’ve said it I am completely sure it sounded crazy.  This woman has a tiny baby at home and I'm asking about her plants. That's exactly how crazy looks and stalkers begin right? and I’m thinking any other woman here in this salon in the deep South might could be overhearing my confession and sending a silent “bless her heart” my way.   Cringe.

Tina answers as though she gets crazy questions all the time, “My succulents? On the coffee table? I found them at the craft store in the 75% off……”

And before she could even finish, I stopped her.  “No. No. Those sweet perfect baby cacti of my dreams? They were fake?”

She keeps washing my hair like the whole world isn’t collapsing in on me. “Yes they are fake! I can’t keep plants alive!”

I fall down a little bit in my chair laughing and  wondering what other things I am probably completely wrong about. 

I See What You Did There: The Umbrella Story

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I spent the better part of the morning of April First trying to convince Facebook that Fidel Castro was dead and/or the Cuba Pavilion would be opening soon in EPCOT.  

After work I spent the usual time driving in circles to get the kids, first one, then just as I could have taken the perfect nap, then off to get the other.  I needed to go to Target before the looming storms hit, and managed to pick my son up and get him home just as the sky opened up.

I could’ve stayed home and waited for the rain to pass but I’m pretty much unable to stop myself once I’ve decided to do something and I was definitely going to finish my errands instead of putting them off.

Minutes after I leave the house the rain is pouring so heavily that everything is grey like a filter is muting out the greens and reds.  I turn carefully out onto another street and before I can decide how fast to go I see a man walking alone in this downpour.

He has is wearing a t-shirt and jeans and is walking into the rain with his head turned down.

I have an umbrella but I’m wearing a raincoat.

 I decide to give him my umbrella. I want to be someone who sees someone in need and then helps them. I’m an umbrella-er.

 Then I decide it would be too dangerous to take a U-turn in this pouring rain and stop in one-way traffic to hand him an umbrella.

I drive on for three seconds, four seconds, five seconds, and the idea of that poor man walking in this horrible rain tortures me.

I can’t be someone who does nothing.

I take a Uturn and that puts me in a position where he is walking towards me in traffic.

I roll down the window and offer my umbrella.

Take the umbrella! Please!

He shrugs. No!

I offer again, and he shouts NO I NEED TO WALK IN THIS RAIN.

He seems so sad and so mad and angry that pain that it vibrates from him.

I roll my window up and slip back (carefully) into traffic.

 Unexpected tears well up in my eyes, I feel sorry for him, and embarrassingly stupid for thinking I could help write a happier ending to his day.   

I think I’ve done that – I think I’ve sent away blessings – I’m sure I have and I apologize to the universe and to everyone who found me as thick and lost as this guy.

For the better part of the next hour I roam the aisles of Target, rehashing the scene, more and more certain that I’ll never give a stranger an umbrella ever again.

As I check out the nice lady who works there asked if she just saw me yesterday and I said yes, and she said thanks she wanted to make sure she wasn’t losing her mind. We talk about regular customers and coffee shops and then I tell her about my umbrella rejection story.

She laughs and covers her mouth then laughs some more. He didn’t take the umbrella? That’s hilarious.

I laugh with her. Yes, it is kind of funny, him waving me away like I was threatening him with $100 bills or something. We laugh. I finish up, load the car and drive home into the pouring rain.

On the turn from this street to that one I see a middle school student I recognize from my son’s school because he passes my car on his walk home.  I glance at my clock. It’s 445 – this kid has been walking for the past 55 minutes in the rain without a jacket, umbrella, hat or boots.

My first instinct is to pass him by and let him enjoy the rest of his five-plus mile walk in the cold driving rain.

But I didn’t fall into that, and instead pulled over and rolled my window down.

He looked at me like I was crazy.

Take this umbrella! I pass it to him through the window.

He smiled. His blue eyes lit up and he didn’t say a word as he took the umbrella.

Are you OK?

He nodded. I said good, and we smiled at each other again before I rolled the window up and drove off.

I take a minute to imagine how awful I would have felt passing that kid and having no umbrella to give him.  I’m suddenly thankful the first guy rejected me! I laugh and proclaim, “I see what You did there!”  in praise and delight for how this perfectly amazing universe works.

Service Project: I want to live in a world filled with compassion, love, and laughter.

            “We need more kindness, more compassion, more joy, more laughter. I definitely want to contribute to that.” - Ellen DeGeneres

            I picked the quote above firstly, because I am 110% sure that Ellen DeGeneres is my spirit animal, and secondly, because what she is saying could not be truer. The world we live in today is becoming filled with more negativity, hate, and crime each day and it frightens me. I want to live in a world filled with compassion, love, and laughter. So, as a broke college student I thought to myself “What can I do to bring a smile to someone’s face while giving them something to help them look up and realize that they are not alone?” I looked directly at my peers and something grand came to my mind.

            Earlier this semester, a suicide happened that absolutely shook me. At the Onyx apartment complex, a college student walked through his living room, passing his roommates’ with a blank stare, and jumped off his balcony.  A girl I work with later that night then showed me a picture she got of it and I swear I couldn’t sleep for a few days.

            The amount of stress a college student alone has to go through is overlooked by many people, but what is rarely thought of is the stress that students whom are not from here go through. I am from the Tallahassee/Wakulla area so I always have my family and friends to easily call or bombard at their homes but I can’t imagine being at a large campus filled with new faces and even living with strangers. After doing research and even looking at the app “Yik-Yak” many anonymous posts are put online talking about how alone they feel, and even wanting to take their life!

            So, during the most stressful week known to college students nationwide, I decided to make a difference! I took my crafting skills to the test! I got small cards, sharpies, and multiple bags of candy and decorated the cards each with an individual saying on them, making sure that each one was unique but ending each one with “You Matter!” and on the back I wrote “Enjoy each day!” This took longer than it looks, trust me! On the back I also taped a piece of candy to each one! I wanted to make sure that each person that got one would be thankful to have gotten one, because you never know by looking at a person how their morning is going. A person could have woken up and had to fight to get out of bed and debated on staying home. A person could have gotten zero sleep stressing about their final they had to take. Who knows what someone is going through? So I took these things I made and passed them out to other students around FSU campus. The enjoyment I saw on all of their  faces was all I needed to see to know that I had done a good deed.

Service Project: I love my family and just want what is best for them.

The best way to find yourself is to lose yourself in the service of others.  I can truly say I have found myself through my sisters. 

Have you ever lived in a house with three pregnant girls? I must say it is a challenge. At the time I was staying with my mom and 3 of my siblings were pregnant. It was hard dealing with their hormones and cravings. Not only was that hard it was also hard getting them to their doctor‘s appointment because they didn’t have transportation so I had to take them. I work at the waffle house where I am a waitress. I work 10 hour shifts 9:00pm to 7:00am. I am also a full time college student where I am trying to graduate with my AA degree this semester fall 2015. So it is very hard trying to work around my schedule to make sure that each of them make every appointment. When they make appointments I thought that it would be nice if they could all schedule their appointments on one day. That way I would only miss class or work one day to take all of them instead of having to take 3 days off in one week just to make sure they all make their appointment. But of course they don’t think like that. I don’t even think thought about the stress they were putting me through. My mom also help a lot with them but it is only so much she can do. My mom work at home doing hair so she don’t have a dependable check coming in every week or other two weeks. She just have to depend on her customers to come to her and make appointments. So it is pretty hard for her to try to pay all the bills in the house and also take care of them.

  I have moved out into my own place so I do have my own bills to pay and I also have to still help out with them. I don’t know how I manage to get it all done but I do. When people hear about my situation they always ask me why do I help them? Or they ask why do I stress myself out to make sure they okay? I completely understand why everyone feel the way they do I understand why people ask me these questions. Honestly I do it because I love them. I also do it because there are innocent young kids involved. They didn’t ask to be in this world. So if I am asked to buy diapers, clothes, and shoes for them because they mothers don’t have it I will. 

  I do stress out about between helping them, being a full time college student, and going to work full time.  I also push myself hard so my sisters can see all my accomplishments so it can motive them to get back on track and to do the right things. I just want them to know just because they are now mothers they shouldn’t quit on their dream. Not only should I be a motivation but their kids should really be a motivation for them. I just want what is right for my family. I am a 21 years old I am halfway through college, I have my own apartment, I just paid off my first car, I have a job that is well enough for now, and I don’t have any kids so I am happy. I’m not leading the best life but I’m happy with it. I just want my sisters to be the same way. I want them to know how it feels to accomplish things. Once they get that feeling nothing will be able to stop them. I love my family and just want what is best for them.

Service Project: For my service project I wanted to make a record of all the jokes, advice and rescue missions my dad has completed.

“Every person, all the events of your life are there because you have drawn them there. What you choose to do with them is up to you.” My father has had the biggest impact on my life out of anyone that I’ve known. He has always been there to make me laugh, give advice, and rescue me from all my bad decisions. Knowing that something as evil as cancer has started to attack his organs is heartbreaking. The most caring, hard working, dedicated father has stage four cancer.

When it hit me that my dad may not ever see me graduate from college let alone walk me down the aisle or hold his grandchildren it made me extremely depressed. My mother passed away three years ago so I’ve felt the intense pain of losing a parent. The thought of going through that again, without the strength of my father makes me weak. Even in three short years I’ve already started to lose the memory of the sound of my mom’s voice and the warmth of her hugs. Because I had no warning of her death, I never got the chance to prepare.

Knowing that I have at least have two more years to savor as many memories with my dad as possible leaves me a little more at ease. For my service project I wanted to make a record of all the jokes, advice and rescue missions my dad has completed. From the things I never thought I would miss like “If your clothes aren’t picked up by tomorrow they’re going in the garage!” -The Most Effective Way to Clean a Bedroom. To the stuff I know I will miss more than anything, like the fact that he is the only man who answers all my phone calls. Through this project I hope to be able to show my children the amazing man their grandfather was. Although nothing will ever replace his presence, having this project will make losing him a little less devastating.