Is just a sausage!?!?!

So, the first time I ever heard of people eating sausages other than breakfast was when I moved to Wisconsin. In Puerto Rico, I have had either breakfast sausages, or chorizo, a great ingredient for paella and other delicacies.

Brats, Italian Sausage, Polish Sausage...never heard of them until moving here in 1989.

I love brats and Italian sausages. So we always have them here.

My mother is here visiting from the Island.

Of course, she has no idea of how to make or cook one of the above-mentioned sausages.

My oldest daughter stayed home with her yesterday. She is only 8 years old. At lunch time, my mother is hovering all over her asking many times what she would like for lunch. As many Hispanic mamas, she can be a little over-bearing with her "nietas" (granddaughters). My daughter kept saying she was not hungry.

Around 1 pm, I call the house from work. My dear daughter says she finally had lunch. She had an Italian sausage.

Many people who I related this story to, said at first, "Is just a sausage!?! What is the big deal?".

The sausage was RAW!!!

My daughter showed the box of sausages to my mom and told her she wanted one for lunch. Mind you, my mother is anal and meticulous. She bugs me for everything, and many times, the issues are far less significant. But for a food which she is not familiar with in the least, she could not check with me about how to handle it. She put one gigantic Italian sausage, frozen, in the microwave for 4 minutes, and then fed it to my daughter.

Needless to say, I was furious. I went ballistic.

My daughter has not gotten sick, thank goodness. Our doctor ordered some tests, just to make sure if we have to treat it or not.

Hopefully, it will stay at "it was just a sausage"...

As for my mother, I think she learned her lesson...until next time...

That infamous Latin temper....

My Latin temper blows up pretty fast, but it goes down just as fast. Maybe that's why you seldom hear of ulcers in Latin America. - Desi Arnaz

Ever since I moved to this US of A, there has always been the question: "Do you have a temper?". Ummm, yes. Doesn't everybody?

Not like the Latin Temper, I am led to believe.

From the spitfire image of Carmen Miranda with her fruit hat, to all the other Latinas in movies and theatre, most people think that we do have the WORST temper. But...

Do we really?

I relate very well to the quote above from Desi Arnaz. So, I wonder...is it that we just say things like we see them, and then get over them, while others just keep it all in? Personally, I rather get it out of my system, instead of letting it fester up inside.

When I first moved here, a potential employer called my prior one, and blatantly asked if they ever had problems because of me being Puertorican, because, she said, "you know that Latin temper". My then supervisor gave great references of me.

Little I knew, over the years, I was going to laugh, seeing how most people would lose their temper sooner and faster than I ever allowed myself to in public. Also, little I knew, other ethnic groups also have a "hot" temper reputation, but you just don't hear as much about it. Why?

Why don't we, here in the US, hear about those who lose it just as fast? We have all the stress-related diseases. We have people battling depression, eating disorders and other mental-health-related issues. Ever wonder if the pent-up, bottled anger, may have something to do with it? I come accross stoic people who are too proud, or too embarrassed to admit they have a problem, or to even talk about it with someone who does not live under their same roof. What? Some don't even talk about their problems with their own family!

So, is the Latin temper really that "bad", after all? I don't think so. I am happy. I rarely hold a grudge. Is it really THAT bad?

The Accent of My Life

I have always loved accents. Growing up, I loved listening to people from other Spanish speaking countries, and their accents. Specially, the accents from Spain and Argentina were my favorites. Argentina has a very strong Italian influence. So people there speaks with that Italian intonation...is very melodic. And the Spanish from Spain...with the strongly pronounced S's and Z's and J's...oh! Back then, I could have fallen in love with a man from there just for his accent.

Little I knew, one day, I, too, would have an accent.

From those growing years, fast-forward: 1989. I move to Milwaukee, Wisconsin. And, the first time I enter a bar by myself, I order, try to have conversation with the bartender, apologize for the fact that I am having a hard time understanding her, because back then I was not a very fluent English speaker, and I say that I am from Puerto Rico and still learning...she smiles and says, "Oh, I know; I noticed your accent..". Huh? Accent? I don't detect an accent listening myself speak. As a matter of fact, in Puerto Rico, I was always complimented on how well I pronounced my English words. In my group of single friends, I was the most fluent...now, how ironic: from being the most fluent in Puerto Rico, I went to being less fluent and an accent. If we met guys from the States that were visiting, for example, during spring break, I was the one called upon to interpret for everybody. The first time I heard the phrase "social butterfly" was during one of those occasions when I interpreted, because I went from group to group, person to person, transporting messages in both languages, and one of the gringos said I was the "social butterfly." And of course, someone else ended taking the boy home, after all the work I've done...kidding!

So, now, in Milwaukee, I happen to discover that I am the one with an accent...how funny! That was the first encounter with that reality, but not the last. Since then, I have encountered all the possible situations. I have been on the end of jokes, people imitating my accent (and not because they want to pay tribute to it). I have been told to quit faking it by some guy who thought I needed to make an accent up to appear sexy...as if I wanted to appear sexy for him...ugh! And I have been genuinely told that my accent IS sexy. I have been told my accent sounds other than Spanish. I have come a long way with the fluency of my language since my first days here. But I refuse to lose my accent. And I have also learned to appreciate other English accents as well. I particularly like the British accent.

For those who like my accent...that's great-thank you! For those who don't or those who are stupid about it (oh, yes, there are some people outthere who is stupid about it, although I am happy to say, not many), this is my message to them: go learn a foreign language. Then, because that language will be your 2nd language, you, too, will have an accent. And, to those Americans who are really ignorant and mean about it...go to Puerto Rico, and attempt to communicate in Spanish. Your accent will be so funny people will be spitting their drinks when they start laughing. I thought so growing up. As a matter of fact, that accent was my LEAST favorite: a gringo speaking Spanish. But, you know what? In Puerto Rico, everyone is required to learn English, and anyone working in the tourism industry HAS to be bilingual. Most people will help you if you get stuck with your Spanish, and actually, only a few ignorant will spit their drinks when they hear you talk. So, go ahead, make fun of my accent, but before crossing the line from fun to mean, remember, it could be that someday someone will be laughing at YOUR accent...And in the meantime, my accent will still be beautiful...

"Amor de Novela"

Last night, I went to bed late. I was watching a reality show on TV; I will not say the name of the show or the tv network, as I don't want to "advertise". This show was looking for the next "telenovela" star, and went through weeks of competition looking for the person who would go through a series of challenges and in the end win prizes, including a contract to appear in a "novela" in one of the main Spanish-language networks.

A "novela" is more or less the equivalent of the American Soap Opera. But in the "novela", there is a beginning and an end. So is more like a "mini-series", although they are generally longer than an American mini-series...so, in summary, there is not a literal translation for the term.

Growing up, my grandma used to have me sit next to her while she watched her favorite novela. They started on the radio, and then, with the advent of TV, novelas were made for the small screen. My mother did not want my grandma to do this, as she thought the content was inappropriate for children-now I understand she was right! But I loved the drama! My abuela and I had this complicity going on. She would let me watch, but I could not tell my mom. Eventually, it would come out, after one novela ended, but then, the next one would start, and it would start all over again.

In the typical Spanish tele-novela, there are all kinds of plots going on. Star-crossed lovers from different backgrounds who overcome all sorts of obstacles but in the end their love triumphs. Crime. Pre-marital or extra-marital affairs. Mothers forced to give their children up for adoption because they were conceived out of wedlock, or as a result of sexual assault. Or, in the worst case, the children were taken away and the mother made to believe the child was dead. Gossip, intrigue, discrimination...all the possible ranges of human emotion taken to ludicrous extremes. My aunt used to scream, "These people who come up with the novelas are insulting our intelligence!"

The guy who won last night was a handsome Puertorican man who resides in New York. I wish him well. He did well in most of his challenges and showed commitment to the craft. The show, however, was a little cheesy, in my opinion. I don't know if it will come up again for another season. I have not looked to see how well it was received by the audience, Hispanic or not. I don't know that the show portrayed Latinos in a very positive light in general. It did, however, showed what novelas are all about: drama, and our love for it. Viva la novela!!

When senior citizens were respected...

This afternoon, I am sitting in the living room and the news are on...I have been pondering on this, on what it means to be a senior citizen on our society. Then, there come this news break. An 81-year-old woman in Indiana was beaten by a 19-year-old because she was driving too slow. They show the elderly woman, bruised, with a broken leg. Then they show the teenager as she is taken by the police, with her nasty attitude seeping, sticking her tongue out at the camera. I was shocked. My 8-year-old daughter is sitting there, and I looked at her and said, "If you are ever caught doing such a thing, do not expect me to get you out of jail." She looked at me and said, "I would never do something like that!" We talked about it. About how everyone deserved respect.

It brought me back to my own childhood. How respect and compassion for others has always been a part of who I am. Ever since I remember, I could feel a knot forming in my chest when I encountered frail, elderly people, or disabled people. Granted, sometimes, they were objects of curiosity-have you ever seen a child stare at someone in crutches, or lacking a limb? But that is more the product of an inquiring mind than anything else. In Puerto Rico, and in many Hispanic countries, our "viejos" (our elders) are revered, and live with the rest of the family until almost the end of their lives. The speed of life today forces everyone to seek a nursing home everywhere for an ailing, aging family member. But when I was little, only "bad" sons or daughters sought such a solution for their parents. And I am no saint. I can remember times when, with a group of friends, we would make fun of someone in a seemingly disadvantaged position. This may have been cruel, but, believe me, it was just for fun nevertheless. No real cruelty, no harm intended. Because, I bet you anything, neither me or any of my friends would have ever thought of doing what that 19-year-old did. And, darn it! On top, her last name is Vazquez. A Hispanic name, like we don't have enough for people to blame us for.

But the point is, in what type of environment did this young person grew in that she feels she can do such a thing? How are her parents? Did they instill in her the slightest idea of what compassion and love and consideration are? Maybe. We can't blame parents all the time. Maybe they tried to give her the best of everything. Granted, we all have become cynical in todays society. I remember how, after moving here almost 19 years ago, I encountered seniors who had the same entitlement attitude. Seniors today are not what they used to be. They are more active and in better health at a more advanced age than the prior generation. They are also more independent. And, yes, you run into the ones that think that because they are seniors, they can run me over with their grocery cart, or they can skip in front of me at the deli counter, or...you get the idea! And then, there are the ones that we feel should not be driving. But for a lot of them, is the last trace of independence left, and is hard to give it up. So they drive, and they are slow, and erratic at times. And, yes, they do get on my nerves! We live in such a hurried, stressed society, we need to get everywhere fast. So we waive, and curse, and maybe even hunk, while the person is trying to focus on the road. When I see that the slow poke in front of me is a little old lady trying to get somewhere, I feel like a heel for being so stupid and impatient. So, how is it that this girl thinks she has the right to do what she did? Did she have older people in her life, ever? A grandma? A neighbor? And the biggest question...does she think that she will be forever young? She better watch out for the time when she is old, and driving slow...

Life and Death - Part 3

So, our friend has been laid to rest...

We had a service in her daughter's church yesterday, and the burial was this morning.

So different than everything I knew from my younger years. I remember when my grandma died. The visitation - "el funeral" was the fun part. All the grandkids-about 20 in total, including me (I was about 9 at the time)- were having lots of fun. The visitation was not a 2 or 3 hour deal, nothing of this "pay your respects" and leave. It was an around-the-clock affair. It was, besides, a social event. You mingled, you stayed as long as possible, you prayed a rosary or two (that, if you were catholic-there was always a person skilled in praying the rosary at every funeral). There was always a kitchen with "galletas export soda y chocolate caliente" (saltines and hot cocoa), and even pastries at times. Around 10 or 11 pm, only the close family remained, and many stayed the whole night, because they can't "dejar el muerto solo" (leave the dead body alone-that is no longer allowed in Puerto Rico; everyone leaves at midnight and come back the next day).

Our friend's funeral was emotional, but subdued. You could hear sniffles, and everyone had tears. But no loud wailing. At the burial site, no one had to be restrained so they would not jump in the hole where the casket was to be buried...a common occurrence in Latino burials. I never seen anyone actually jump in, but they tried...

The one thing that is the same: It hurts. We may show it differently, but it hurts. Is all over now. She rests and is at peace. Life goes on. We will miss her but eventually we will be at peace with her departure. My postings from now on will be more cheerful (hopefully), unless, of course, we are faced with a huge loss like this!

Rest in peace, Sharon. We would be forever grateful for everything, especially for being such a spoiling, surrogate abuela to our daughters...they better keep an orderly, neat office up there, somewhere for you!