Roanoke Rapids - Here We Come!

Saturday was a great driving day! We even got to Kingsland a but ahead of schedule.

The weather was great and there was no traffic. And the drive went quickly because David and I spent a lot of the time chatting about all sorts of things. You know how when you live together you find yourself more often than not talking about "logistics" and quotidian stuff? Well, yesterday we told stories about our teenage years, we talked about our proms, etc. It was really really nice!

Hopefully today's drive will be as nice or better!

Bah! I have a cold!

Really? Seriously? Four days before I take off on a road trip to Pennsylvania for Thanksgiving I get a cold? A road trip when you're feeling like crap sucks - and I love road trips!

Having a cold and staying home sick was so much better when we were kids! Of course at the time I felt awful but looking back now it was great!

I would get to sleep in and watch TV all day. Depending on the time frame there were the game shows - $25,000/$100,00 Pyramid, Let's Make a Deal, Match Game, Joker's Wild, Concentration, The Dating Game, The Newlywed Game, Hollywood Squares and so many more.

Then there were the soaps - never mind most of the time I was too young to understand what was really going on. Again, depending on the year there was Love of Life (raise your hand if you remember that one!), Ryan's Hope, Dark Shadows, All My Children and General Hospital - this was before VCRs, so it was the only way to catch up on your "story" until Christmas and Summer vacations. Oh and remember the talk shows? The Merv Griffin Show and The Mike Douglas Show were my favorites!

My grandmother would make me comfort food...of course, depending on what was wrong with me the food varied. If it was my stomach she'd make chicken soup with angel hair pasta, potatoes, malanga, etc. It was very close to this recipe in fact.

But if it was a cold, well then she had to feed me so I could get my strength back to fight the cold - which meant - lots of food! There was still the chicken soup, or sometimes she would make "potaje" which is kind of a soupy stew made with vegetables and meat run through a blender. I might even get my ultimate comfort food fried eggs and white rice!

And later when they got home from work, my parents might bring me a comic book or some other inexpensive trinket to distract me. Sleep, TV, good food and a toy! Such a deal!

But guess what! I stayed home sick yesterday. I slept in, watched TV and Hubby warmed up some left over take out Wonton soup and made me fried eggs and white rice for lunch! I didn't get an Archies comic book, but that's OK!

Abi

Did I ever tell you about my maternal grandmother? She lived with us and pretty much raised me while my parents worked. She was born in Spain and moved to Cuba in her 20s when she married my grandfather. Her name was Sofia, I called her "Abi" short for "Abuela".

The Jean Nate scent wafted in the air around her. As she walked into the room, taking her time, the first thing you’d notice was how tiny she was. Under 5 feet tall, she was uniformly petite, her face hands, and limbs were small and thin. Yet, her body was plump and round. Her thin, lined skin was alabaster hued with shades of pink on her cheeks, her bright honey-colored eyes belied her age - alert, aware and inquisitive. Her face was framed by her beautiful silver hair which she kept trimmed in a blunt, round style. Her voice was surprisingly strong and resonant. Everyone else remembers a definite Galician accent but I didn’t hear it I guess my ears were used to it.

She never had a formal job, but when she came from Cuba with my parents, she worked for a while. The first "job", before I was born, was hand-sewing hems for wedding dresses for a shop near their apartment in New York. Later, and I don't know the details of how she pulled this off, she went door to door in the apartment building in which they lived - for some reason there were several other Cuban families living there, and she sold guava bars and other tropical "treats". It was her way of helping the family get through those early exile years.

Abi offered me the most "uncomplicated" love I ever experienced. While I know, like her, my parents loved me unconditionally - her love for me wasn't fraught with the drama that comes with parental love. We never argued even though she was "old school" and she was strict - never letting me get away with spoiled or disrespectful behavior. But then she spoiled me in her way making me the center of her world, or at least making me feel as if I was.

I know no one will ever love me the way she did...I was blessed to have had her in my life until I was in my 20s. As important as my parents were to me, Abi was my foundation, my first teacher and instrumental in the person I became.

These many years later, I often miss her. Today is one of those days...

Ivan

Looking at old pictures and going through old papers can bring back all kinds of memories long dormant. People, places and feelings of which you hadn't thought in years suddenly they’re right there, front and center. The other day I came across a museum program from the late 80s…a lifetime, no at least two lifetimes ago.

Misty water colored memories indeed...

He made his entrance into the museum with his usual flashy style. Ivan wouldn’t just walk into a room, he exploded into it. His long, dark hair, streaked with gray, flowed behind him, as if blown by a wind machine. The white outfit hung on is long, lean body, making him appear taller and thinner and brighter.

As he walked further into the room, his long arms would reach out to everyone, hugging, caressing, shaking hands. Everyone knew he had arrived, especially me. My eyes snapped to him the moment he appeared and I couldn’t stop looking at him after that. But, I didn’t move from my spot by the beautiful gray and taupe colored painting, I waited for him to come to me. And, of course, he did.

Our flirtation had begun in his studio a few weeks prior when I discovered the Bakery Center Art Complex. The Bakery Center housed new artists, providing them with inexpensive studio and display space. I visited every studio, reveling in so much beauty. I walked into Ivan’s studio and instantly fell in love…not with Ivan, but with his work. When I entered the small, cluttered area, it stood empty, except for the canvases. One in particular entranced me as I walked in. It was huge, taking up the entire wall it leaned against, with broad strokes of bright tropical colors depicting a woman overlooking the beach. I stood there, transfixed, gaping at the painting, when I heard a deep, resounding laugh. When I turned I saw a magnificent man, his bare chest tan, sinewy, covered with dark, curly hair and paint. “I love how you look at my work” he said, smilingly widely.

After talking about his work for a while we went to lunch at a nearby Haitian restaurant and talked for a long time, nothing too intense, just introductory banter. Although we exchanged numbers, I wrote it off as another one of those wonderful chance encounters you can enjoy when you’re single, but of little importance. So, his invitation that evening to an opening at a funky little gallery on the Beach caught me by surprise…but thrilled me nonetheless.

That night turned out to be the first of several gallery jaunts and avant-garde adventures, where Ivan exposed me to a side of Miami I didn’t know, but loved. Each time we got together I felt a buzz of excitement and attraction, and he seemed prone to touching me, holding my hand, leaning in to me. Yet, something kept nagging at me about him and that something kept me from taking the physical aspect of our relationship a step further. It was something indefinable, yet there. Maybe it was a cadence in his voice, or his approach to art and aesthetics in general. Or the fact that that he looked at many of the good looking men that crossed our path the same way he looked me.

Now, back at the Museum, as he walked towards me I felt that same attraction, and when he touched my back, the goose bumps erupted instantly. We spent the entire evening together surrounded by friends, admiring the beautiful art, and enjoying the opening party. Our bodies were touching, in some fashion, the entire time. Afterwards, as I got into his old, rusty little car he leaned over and kissed my neck, and I let him. During dinner we barely spoke, but it felt comfortable and intimate nonetheless. His deep, chocolate-brown eyes looking at me made me breathless, and it appeared that same look made our handsome, blond waiter nervous. Afterwards when I returned from the restroom, I saw Ivan gently brush the waiter’s pale face with his strong, dark hand as he smiled at him tenderly, tucking a folded piece of paper into his pocket as I approached. I surprised myself at not being surprised.

After dinner, rather than driving me home, Ivan drove towards the airport. As we drove along Perimeter Road I knew what he had in mind, and I wondered how I should handle it. It had been a while since I had made-out in a car parked on the road running alongside the Miami Airport runway, and I smiled in the darkness as he maneuvered the car so that it would face the runway.

I definitely couldn’t let things get too carried away with a man I suspected of being bisexual - it was dangerous both physically and emotionally. He turned off the motor and got out of the car, quickly coming around to my side and opening the door. I stepped out, still wondering how to handle this. I stepped into the back seat and leaned back closing my eyes as he slid into the seat next to me. I felt his arm pull me close to him as my breath got shallow, my heart beating quickly. I opened my eyes and looked into his beautiful smiling face, “Ivan”, I asked, “are you bisexual?”

He caressed my face and laughed a wonderful, throaty laugh, his eyes sparkling as he looked at me. Just then I made my decision, as I pulled his face towards mine. I really wanted to kiss him, that’s all…just kiss him. And that’s exactly what I did, as a plane roared into the darkness, causing the earth to shake…at least…I think it was the plane.

We saw each other for a while and then drifted away as so often happens. I don't know where he is, but I hope wherever he is, he's happy and being his fabulous self. And I hope if he remembers me, that the memory makes him smile that dazzling smile.

Bye Erica...the end of an era

After several weeks of speculation it was confirmed today that long-running ABC soaps "All My Children" and "One Life To Live" are being canceled. All My Children will end its 41 year run in September, and One Life to Live will end its 43 year run in January 2012.

Although I've watched "One Life to Live" in sprints, I've been watching "All My Children" regularlyish since day one. I actually saw the very first episode in January 1970!

It was during my Christmas vacation in second grade. I remember Susan Lucci's Erica Kane was a high school senior, along with her rival Tara Martin. Of course I had no idea what was going on, but I was entertained. After that I would watch whenever I was sick at home or on school breaks.

Once VCRs came into the picture I'd tape it and watch with my mother after school and work. We did this until I got married and left my parents' house. Mami watched it every day until the day she died. Of course she'd forget what she saw the minute it was over and she wasn't able to follow the storyline, but she did recognize the old characters. Right now I'm going through a phase of not recording and watching it, but I keep up with the general story line by participating in a Usenet forum and watching it if I'm home.

I think the writing has deteriorated significantly in the last few years, but at its best it tackled social issues long before prime time did. They dealt with the Vietnam War, abortion, drunk driving, drug use, interracial marriage, homosexuality, AIDS, hate crimes, mental health and transgender issues along with the traditional soap opera story lines.

They had the first legal abortion on television just months after Roe v. Wade was decided. They incorporated an actress' face lift into the plot and for the first time cosmetic surgery and its physical and psychological issues were discussed. They presented daytime television's first lesbian kiss and wedding and there were many other firsts. I learned a lot about the "real world" watching it and "General Hospital" - which will now remain ABC's only soap opera.

"All My Children" is part of our culture and part of my life...even if I wasn't watching I'm saddened by this news. I'll miss knowing it's there.

Patrick Swayze

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Patrick Swayze has died. Like Farrah, we all knew it was coming and like Farrah, death was a welcome relief from a terrible disease. There are several parallels with Farrah Fawcett's death earlier this year. Both enjoyed (endured?) enormous fame - but arguably more so for being beautiful than for being talented actors, both were diagnosed with types of cancer which are virtual death sentences, both outlived expectations, and both left my generation with vivid memories.

We all watched as, despite defying the odds and living almost two years after being diagnosed, the strong, handsome Swayze deteriorated into a man who looked decades older than his 57 years. In my mind's eye, however, he'll always look like Johnny Castle from "Dirty Dancing" (above) or Sam Wheat from "Ghost".

I smile as I write this because it takes me back to a Saturday night in 1987 - I was 24 years old - and for some reason all the girls from my group of friends were dateless, so we all got together for dinner and to see "Dirty Dancing". I remember sitting there and watching Swayze - who I was aware of from previous movies but who hadn't really registered with me - oh my God he was beautiful! Like, painful beautiful. And the dancing, his body, the music, all of it right there on the huge screen. We all followed the sweet and simple rich girl falls for boy from the wrong side of the tracks story, we thrilled to the dancing and swooned to the love scenes.

One love scene in particular - the one where Baby goes to a shirtless Johnny's cabin and they wind up making love. Remember? We don't really see anything other than him taking her shirt off to reveal a chaste white bra and then running his fingers along her body as they dance. To this day, I find that to be one of the sexiest movie scenes I've ever seen. Nothing graphic, just sensual and romantic and...sigh. And then the ending, his redemption in her father's eyes, their triumphant final dance where Baby finally gets the lift right! At some level we knew they probably wouldn't go on to get married, but they - and we - will always have that summer in the Catskills.

As we left the movie, one of my friends, usually very straight-laced and conservative, looking quite flushed cried out..."Ay! I need a Slurpee!" We all did...

And a couple of years later "Ghost" - plot-wise a better movie than "Dirty Dancing" - with equally memorable scenes by two ridiculously beautiful people - Swayze and Demi Moore. I mean really...who cries better than Demi Moore in "Ghost" with that lone tear streaming down her perfect cheek? And remember the pottery scene - again, incredibly sensual and we really see nothing? And then of course the final kiss where Swayze is all glowy.

From all reports Swayze was a kind, decent man. Loyal to his wife to whom he was married for 34 years - nary a scandal about him, despite being People Magazine's Sexiest Man Alive in 1991. So I guess the last line Sam says to his wife Molly in "Ghost" just as his spirit is set free to go to heaven truly applies to the actor who so memorably portrayed him:

"It's amazing, Molly. The love inside, you take it with you."

I hope he in fact takes his love with him as he joins the constellation of bright stars who have left us this year.

Rest in peace Patrick Swayze, thank you for giving so many of us "the time of our lives"...

Back to School

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It seems summer vacation is ending much earlier than it did "in my day" (I'm over 40 I'm allowed to say that without irony). I did however start school slightly later than everyone else. Most people started school shortly after Labor Day, however, since I went to a very Cuban-American grade school (1st-8th grade) we didn't start until after September 8 which is the feast day of Cuba's patron saint La Virgen de la Caridad (Our Lady of Charity).

But my favorite part of going back to school was, of course, shopping for school supplies. Even now I'm a bit of an office supply junkie, but school supplies are so much better. Because I went to a private school we didn't have to worry about shopping for clothes because we had a uniform so it was all about the supplies. I know that today parents usually get a list ahead of time for what to get, but 142 years ago, when I was in grade school, the parents got nothing ahead of time. So before school started we would head off to the now defunct Zayre's, which was sort of like a Wal-Mart only not soul-suckingly evil, and buy general stuff.

General stuff was pencils - I would get 2 packs of pretty yellow unsharpened #2 pencils, a pencil sharpener - the black one with the domed plastic lid, depending on the grade either spiral notebooks or plastic three-ring binders with three hole punched college ruled paper, a wooden ruler, and starting around 5th grade we had to get ball point pens - a pack of blue, a pack of black and a pack of red. Then there was the matter of a carrying method - this was before backpacks and rolling suitcases were an option. When I was little I would get a book bag that looked like a soft sided briefcase with a buckle on the front - I can't find a picture of anything like it. Later on I was too too cool for book bags so I got those elastic book bands with hooks to hold the books together and hitched the pile of books and notebooks on my hip. Oh and there was that glorious time when the Trapper Keeper entered my life - as John Mayer said (although he was talking about the 80s generation it applies to me as well) it was "the genesis of obsessive compulsive disorder for my generation." I never needed a pencil case or pencil box because my mom would get me bank deposit pouches from work.

On the first day of school the teacher would give us the list of specific items we would need - crayons, scissors, and as we got older calculators, protractors, compasses (shudder!), etc. But best of all, we would get our books for the year. Again, because I was in private school we would buy our books, so each year we would get brand new books - people didn't sell used text books back then. I remember the crack sound when I opened them, the smell of new book...they were so pretty and shiny, so full of promise. Later that night my father would cover them, first in clear contact paper to protect them and then with whatever book covers I had chosen for the year which wound up lasting about a week tops. It was awesome.

Then of course, the second day of school we'd get homework and everything went downhill from there as I counted the days to the next summer vacation.

I hope everyone's 2009 back-to-school day is (or was) uneventful and full of promise!

image sources: pencil sharpener, elastic book bands, bank deposit pouch, clear contact paper

We'll Miss You Lucky

Today a dear friend of the family is being put to rest after a very long, very difficult, very cruel bout with MS and other conditions. He's actually a friend of Hubby's family - I got him when I got married. Lucky and his wife are my in-laws' "bestest" friends and they immediately adopted me. I've considered them family ever since.

How to describe Lucky?

Let's start with Lucky - the man of music. He was a school music teacher for many years, directed children's musicals, was a talented organist, piano player, accordionist, etc. As a child he even performed on the Ted Mack Amateur Hour! He had a beautiful singing voice and was a great choir conductor. He was very generous with these talents - be it in his church where he held several organist/choir director/choir participant positions in various churches - sometimes even those of a different faith than his, in community activites with kids, etc. In fact since my in-laws are the organist and choir director at the church where we got married, they obviously needed stand-ins the day of our wedding - so my uncle took over organist duties for my MIL and Lucky directed the choir in my FIL's stead.

Then there's Lucky the collector. His obit mentions that he collected coins and trains, but there was so much more. Before they moved from their old home to an adult community, Lucky and Trudi's house was a treasure trove of cool stuff! Everywhere you looked there was something interesting, be it a picture, or a knick-knack. I would love asking Lucky about something I saw because you could tell he loved telling the story that accompanied the object. And for your entertainment while you were in their guest bathroom, they even had a Merlin that still worked!

Next, Lucky the man who loved to laugh and make people laugh. I have never been a laugh-out-loud person, I mean I laugh a lot but usually chuckle or whatever, but with Lucky there were times when I would laugh so hard I would cry. They and my in-laws started playing a game they call The Dictionary Game which is very similar to today's Balderdash - only they've been playing it for over 30 years - where one player looks up a word in the dictionary and everyone has to write a definition for it while the looker-upper copies the actual definition, then everyone has to guess which is the correct definition. Well, I imagine that 30+ years ago they started out with good intentions and they actually kept score, etc. But as the years went by it morphed into who can write the weirdest or funniest definitions so everyone else will crack up and nobody even bothers to keep score anymore. A classic example of typical game play: the word is motmot - one of the definitions given (I think by Lucky) was something like "a traditional instrument played on backwards day at the Indian reservation". OK, maybe you have to be there, but this is pee-in-your-pants funny stuff - and mind you this happens with everyone being stone-cold sober. It didn't matter if Lucky was writing a definition, performing a dramatic interpretation of others people's definitions or just laughing that giggle/chortle laugh of his - it was physically impossible to not crack up.

His disease was long and difficult with many complications and truly debilitating conditions - but Lucky kept going and most of the time he did it with his humor at full throttle. Even when everyone knew he was in pain or uncomfortable or exhausted, you always got the big Lucky twinkly-eyed ear to ear smile.

And finally there's Lucky the family man. Lucky was blessed to have Trudi, an amazing woman, as his wife. When I grow up I want to be just like her. When they were together, even through the bad times during his illness, you just knew Lucky adored Trudi. I saw them as the mythical perfect couple who finished each other's sentences, knew what the other was thinking and who seemed to thoroughly enjoy each other's company. I'm sure there were difficult times as there are in any marriage, but their love was - and will always be - solid. As Lucky's condition deteriorated Trudi was steadfast in her commitment and devotion to taking care of him. But even throughout the illness, when he was able, they shared fantastic vacations - a riverboat cruise along the Mississippi, trips to Europe, all kinds of cool stuff.

And he had his daughter Heidi. Like Heidi, I was blessed to be the only daughter of an extraordinarily loving and supportive father. Lucky would have done anything for Heidi, she was the proverbial apple of his eye. I know exactly what she's going through now and my heart aches for her. When you have that kind of relationship with your father and then he's gone, regardless of all the love and support you still have, it's like your center suddenly shifts and everything is askew. That feeling will pass, but I know Heidi will miss Lucky every day and I also know he'll always be with her.

There's some wonderful music being played in heaven - maybe on an accordion, or a piano or an organ, it doesn't really matter. What matters is the spirit of the musician - a spirit full of love, laughter, strength and faith. Heaven is indeed "lucky" to have Lucky now, just as we were all lucky to have him as long as we did.

I love you Lucky, and I miss that I won't see you over the holidays this year. Thank you for being my friend.

Two Icons From My Youth - gone in one day

"Farrah Fawcett is dead". Sadly, this was a statement for which we were prepared and based on reports of her suffering on her last days it came as a relief. But my God, she really was gorgeous...just look at her on "the poster" - the perfect embodiment of the all-American golden girl. Arguably her "talent" was questionable, but really, did it matter?

I remember never missing an episode of "Charlie's Angels" and there she was a vision of teeth, hair and tan. Now, to be honest, Jill wasn't my favorite - we were too different. I could never be her: blonde athletic and gorgeous - even at 13 I knew that just wasn't going to happen.

She embodied an era, she was a powerful symbol of American womanhood and for better or worse a role model or a lust object for millions. Would she have been an icon today? I don't think so - the world has changed and perceptions of women have changed. But for those of my generation - in our collective memory, she'll always be the quintessential all-American golden girl.

May she be at peace...beautiful again with the sun beaming from behind her flowing hair.

A bit later in the day after news of Farrah's passing two or three news alert e-mail messages hit my inbox. "Michael Jackson Suffers Cardiac Arrest!" What? I'm working from home today so I switched to CNN and there was Wolf Blitzer clearly distressed. It was true. CNN had reporters all over the place: the house, the hospital, Sanjay Gupta, some other medical correspondent, all of them talking, all saying the same things - but there was no music. Until later. Once Wolf announced that several outlets were reporting Michael Jackson after being in a coma had died, he said "now let's watch a 10 year old Michael Jackson with his brothers performing "I Want You Back". And there he was, clearly a star even then. I switched to MTV where they're playing back-to-back videos of a grown-up Michael Jackson. "Bad", "Thriller", "Beat It", "The Way You Make Me Feel", "PYT-Pretty Young Thing", and more. So much music...and "We Are The World".

His life became a circus the last few years - weirdness, the rumors, the indiscretions. I hope that's not for what he's remembered. That's not what I'll remember. I'll remember the sweet-faced boy singing "ABC", "I'll Be There", "Dancing Machine" and "Ben". I'll remember his electric performance of "Billie Jean" at the Motown 25th anniversary special - it's almost like the world stopped when he did the moonwalk the first time. I'll remember when I went to see him and his brothers in concert for the Victory tour in the mid 80s.

Today the world lost Farrah - an epitome of beauty and Michael - an epitome of musical genius.

Is today the day "our" music died?

Happy Birthday Papi!

My father would have turned 78 today.

I remember we used to always make a big deal of his birthday, because as I've said before my father would make up excuses to have people over to eat and drink - so when there was an actual reason like a birthday he was all over it. My mother and I were never big on parties for ourselves, so he was forced to focus on his own.

I specifically remember one year we celebrated his birthday with a cheese and wine party - at the time they had not come back into style yet, so it was a retro 70s thing. As a theme he picked wines and cheeses from Spain. In case you didn't know there are a lot of different types of Spanish cheese! And happily just as many types of wine.

He went all out - he researched different cheeses online before there was Wikipedia or Google to simplify things, he contacted restaurants and wineries and then drove all over the Greater Miami area looking for the different cheeses and wines. We wound up having quite a selection. We got these little tooth-picky sign things so we could label the different types of cheese and indicate the region they were from. He printed out pairing information and details about the cheese and wine areas and then put them in those report binders (wine-colored of course) with the clear covers so everyone could take one home. The whole decor was wine themed - I'm telling you he was totally into this - in short, he had a blast.

Old friends and family were invited, around 30 people showed up. The Cuban music was playing and the Spanish wine flowing. Everyone had a great time comparing the different cheeses, picking their favorites, figuring out the best pairings, etc. His friends still talk about that party.

In fact, years later on the day of his funeral, one of his friends brought the binder he had been given at the party. He said he had kept it because of all the great information it provided and that he still referred to it and annotated it whenever he heard of a new Spanish wine. Papi must've have loved that as he watched the last and biggest party given in his honor.

¡Feliz cumpleaños Papi! I hope you're having a phenomenal party with Mami and all the friends that have joined you.

I love you and I still miss you every day.