This Bothers Me

From cnn.com, this was a comment on Sununu’s remarks on why Colin Powell backs Barack Obama “Sununu needs to go back to Cuba where he belongs. He is not a ‘real’ American.”

It was posted by someone with the tag annebeth66 and really bugged me.  Although I do not agree with Mr. Sununu’s remarks, annebeth66’s comment bothered me.  Why?  Well, who is this person to say who is a “real” American?  What tribe does her family belong to?  Because pretty much everybody who is non-Native American is descended from immigrants.  That’s right, folks, whether you are light brown, dark chocolate or lily white, you are descended from immigrants.  People not born here.  The only people that can actually be classified as “real” Americans, if you are going to take the position annebeth66 takes, are the Native Americans that were here when the Mayflower first docked at Plymouth Rock.

We are a nation of immigrants.  At one point or another our forefathers (and mothers, let’s keep things p.c. here) came to this country in search of a better life, be it freedom of speech, to find work, or freedom of religion.  A great many came over on slave ships.  Remember the folks who came over on the Mayflower?  They came here in search of religious freedom.  Wow, what a concept.  The ability to worship freely.  True, they did claim to be Christians.  So, one may say we were founded as a Christian nation.  But, still, we were founded on the basis of religious freedom.  Not the freedom to worship only as Christians, but the ability to worship freely, without fear of repercussion.  I tend to cringe whenever I hear the term “Christian” these days, because SO many people that bray (the loudest) about being Christian are anything but.  They are quick to point out the perceived faults in others, neglecting to see the huge beam poking out of their eye.  Sometimes I wonder if Jesus looks upon us from Heaven, slaps his forehead, sighs and goes “No, no, no, nooooo!”  Then I remember Mother Teresa, Pope John Paul, Gandhi, the many faceless, but nonetheless still there, people (some of whom I have the privilege of knowing and having as friends) that are in the trenches, quietly going about helping others, away from the spotlight, but truly practicing what others simply preach, and then I think, okay, there is hope.  They have differing political affiliations; however, instead of looking at their differences and arguing about them, they look for the similarities and ask “Okay, how can we work together?”  But I digress.

What makes a “real” American.  Well, hmmm, let’s see, when you are born in a country like ours you tend to take a lot of rights (which are really privileges) as a given and not really value them as the marvelous gifts they are.  Back in high school, it was popular to wear the U.S. flag on the seat of one’s jeans.  A lot of “real” Americans wore those jeans, they seemed to think it a great lark to sit on the symbol of one’s country.  Not one kid from an immigrant family wore those jeans.  Maybe because they couldn’t afford them, I don’t know.  I do know when I made a remark about that particular fashion at the dinner table one evening, I got an earful from both parents about the flag and why one should honor it.  This was around the time when saying the pledge of allegiance became non-mandatory.  A lot of “real” Americans chose to sit and blow spit bubbles while the rest of the kids were reciting it.  Who were the kids saying the pledge of allegiance?  Mostly immigrant kids, who later went on to become naturalized citizens.  You know, not “real” Americans.  We were taught respect.  Maybe those other kids’ parents were unaware their children were not saying the pledge of allegiance, but I tend to think kids, for the most part, mirror what they see at home.  I believe those who choose to become American citizens may be more “real” than those born here who take our precious rights, flag, Constitution for granted, not giving them the respect they so richly deserve.

When one becomes a naturalized citizen, one is CHOOSING to become American.  You are basically saying you are rejecting your birth country for this one.  You take an oath.  One of the phrases contained in that oath (or at least it was in there when I became a citizen many, many years ago, it may have been deleted or revised since) stated you are willing to take up arms against your birth country in defense of the United States.  My father had a problem with that aspect of the oath.  To him it meant he might possibly (not a likely scenario) have to take up arms against other Cubans.  He had family still in Cuba who sided with the Castro regime.  Even though these relatives did not bat an eyelash when he was carted off to jail, he had a problem with the concept of family taking up arms against family.  Not me.  I figured, heck, if I had to take up arms against other Cubans, well, they would be the ones who took my father to jail when Castro took power, or didn’t lift a finger to help him.  I had no trouble taking that oath.  Zip, nyet, nada.  Having arrived in the States when I was very young and having had a typical Southern Californian (back then) childhood, I consider myself American.  Proud of my Cuban heritage, customs, traditions, love the food, but still I consider myself American.  Who the heck is this annebeth66 to say I am not a “real” American?  If she wants me to row my way back to Cuba, because I was not born here, I want to see her row, row, rowing her … boat back to England or Ireland or whatever European nation her forebears came from.

Now, mind you, I do not agree with Mr. Sununu’s comment.  I found it distasteful and borderline (I am being generous here) racist.  Because, at least the way I interpreted it, he was inferring Colin Powell backs President Obama because of the race factor.  In other words, he has made his decision based on race, not as an informed, well-educated, intelligent citizen.  That is like saying, okay, well, if Marco Rubio is nominated for President one day, I will vote for him because he is from the same ethnic group I’m from.  Not because I agree with his politics.  I will vote for him merely because he is Cuban-American.  Wrong, wrong, wrong.  Let me go off point for a minute here and say I am sick and tired of the hyphenation deal.  Cuban-American, Italian-American, African-American.  Enough.  We are American.  Period.  Remember right after the horrific events on 9/11, how we came together as a nation?  Mourned together as a nation?  There was no “You’re a Democrat, I’m a Republican” or “You’re Catholic, I’m Baptist.”  We just were American.  We are a melting pot, true.  We retain and are proud of our ethnic backgrounds, but we are Americans.  Just sayin’.

One of our most cherished rights protected by our Constitution is freedom of speech.  So, just as annebeth66 has a right to spew her vitriolic assessment, oh, I do love the first three letters of that word, they do describe so many, many people, so does Mr. Sununu.  Freedom of speech.  Cherish that right, people.  Protect it.  Because the way we seem to be going, it may well disappear one day.

This presidential election is and has been one of the most distasteful, petty, all-out disgusting, on both sides of the coin, elections I can remember.  The name-calling and pettiness have given a well-publicized platform to a plethora of bigots (of all races, ethnicities and creeds).  Still this country, for all it gets beat up in the foreign press, and in our own press, is the best one in the world.  I love this country.  I have loved it since the day we arrived.  We were welcomed, not only by our friends already here, but by our neighbors, strangers who had no clue who these Spanish-speaking people were, but opened their arms just the same and made us feel at home, safe, wanted, welcomed.  I am profoundly grateful every single day to be here.  I am thankful my parents left behind their country, their way of life, language, families, to come here and give me a better life.  One where I would be able to speak freely.  I am mouthy if nothing else.  People risk their lives for the chance to live here.  They may turn around and criticize it out the ying-yang once they do get here.  That is called freedom of speech.  Freedom.  That is what we stand for.  Whether we agree with their opinion or not, the freedom for people to use their voices and be heard.  Please, get out and vote.  It is not a right as some claim, it is a hard-won privilege.

So, you see annebeth66, a “real” American is not necessarily one who was born here.  A “real” American is one who realizes what a privilege it is to be here.  Who cherishes this country, protects your right to speak your mind, even when they don’t necessarily agree with what you are saying.  A “real” American protects and serves, even when they are not an actual citizen, but a resident.  A “real” American pledges allegiance to the flag and is willing to defend with his, or her, life what it stands for.  That is a “real” American.  Oh, wait, one more thing, God bless America.

 

Fall Has (Finally) Arrived ...

Sunday, October 14, 2012

How do I know this?  Well, for one, my a/c turned off automatically, it's been going 24/7 pretty well much since June.  For two, cans of pumpkin puree are in stock at the supermarket (when you see Libby's, Libby's, Libby's on the label, label, label, you will like it, like it, like it on your table, table, table).  For three, my make-up no longer melts in the short walk from my front porch to the car.  That's Fall, tada!

And for four, this afternoon I made my Fall Fabulous Fall soup, which consists of fresh mushrooms, corn, potatoes, onions, red, green and yellow peppers all coming together in a lovely bath of Alfredo sauce and chicken broth.  My own invention.  It simmers on my stove, scenting the house along with a lemon poppyseed cake baking in the oven.  And my a/c just kicked off again, confirming, yes, Virginia, it's true FALL IS HERE!!!  Next weekend it's off to the pumpkin patch with my neighbors.  I did order three pumpkins (small, medium and large) from someone at work, their daughter's school is selling them.  But Fall wouldn't be Fall without the annual trek to the pumpkin patch which sprouts (pun intended) up in a neighborhood church this time of year.

It has been a drizzly, raining off and on, gray skies, then blue, the gray again, weekend.  Perfect cocooning weather.  Have not had a chance to really work in my teeny tiny garden, but the roses are happy with all the rainwater they've  been getting, the Confederate jasmine has taken off like gangbusters and the ferns and plumbago, I swear, are smiling.  The lavender  appears to be holding its own.  I'm waiting until it is just a scooch cooler to bring on the impatiens.  Love, love, looove this time of year!

Have been in my pajamas all weekend, the only time I have poked my nose outside has been to feed the little homeless ones.  The yellow kit showed up for supper on Friday, have not seen him since.  But the little black one shows up regularly, now with two tiny kittens in tow.  They are beautiful, very skittish although one does prance up to me at times, then scootches back when I reach out to pet it.  Smokey looks on scandalized, how dare I reach out to another cat, no matter how adorable!

I did manage to ModPodge two hearts to the corner of my desk/dining table.  A while back one of my friends brought me some wonnnnderful Godiva chocolates wrapped up in this beautiful hot pink and orange cellophane and I thought, hmmm, these would make beautiful hearts.  So, today I ModPodged two of them next to the letter from Abuelo and the postcards from my godmother.  They looked like they needed a little glitter, so while the ModPodge was still wet I sprinkled some of Miss Jodie's pink glitter over them.  The result, I believe, is quite spectacular.  Am writing another little story for my beloved Whimbles.  If She of the Whimbles and her Faithful Companion, a/k/a The Master Exchequer, lived nearby I would trot on over to deliver the story along with a batch of my deeeelish Fall Fabulous Fall Soup.  But, nope, I will email the story and send a photo of the soup instead.  One day we will be close by.

Actually, FGM Martha (a/k/a She of the Whimbles) is going to be visiting the Cocoon sometime next year.  Which has, of course, set off a tizzy of planning, redecorating and general fluffing up.  So looking forward to her visit!   And Miss J. of my Tallahassee Peeps is hoping to come on down sometime before the holidays, along with her hubby.  Now, if only Miss K. would hitch a ride with them, we could have a grand time.  Of course, there is always the possibility of me driving to Talley before the holidays.  The only hitch there is ... I am afraid I would not want to return.  We will see.  Things work out.  This much I know.

Okay, signing off for now.  There's soup to slurp, stories to write and books to read!

 Until next time, be safe, be blessed, be loved!

Sleepless in Miami



Sunday, October 7, 2012

Can't sleep, too much going on, all good.  There are so many wonderful possibilities and doors opening for me, it is a bit overwhelming and so I find myself making cafe con leche and baking up croissants at 3:30 AM.  I was watching one of the Oprah shows on my DVR, her interview of Mariannne Williamson.  Quite interesting.  One of the things Marianne said was we choose whether to be happy or not, we are our own stumbling blocks, or something along those lines.  To ask yourself what do you want.  So I said "Self, what do you want?" and Self answered "I want my world back."  "Well, Self, that is just not feasible right now.  Short of time travel, you are pretty much SOL on that concept, so what are you going to do about it?"  Self can be rather bitchy at times answered "Bite me!" and blew a raspberry at me.  Is it raspberry or razzberry?  Well, you get the picture.  Speaking of pictures, when all this inner dialogue was going on, I looked at the big memory/vision board I have next to the armoire (my, I do love my armoire, it is just so me, off-white with the palest rose wash, decoupaged with Redoute roses AND Whimble doorknobs ... me) and saw your wedding portrait.  Both of you looking so radiantly happy, seeing what you thought would be a brilliant future, and I thought "That's what I want, I want you, here with me."  Only that's not going to happen, is it?  Not now, but definitely someday.  When I wake up, find myself on the other side, start walking, turn a corner and there you'll be.  But I digress, let me see if I can find my way out of this convoluted, wordy maze I have concocted.

What I want is you, my family, back together.  Here with me.  However, this is not possible, again, for now.  So, I have a choice, do I go forward and continue building a new life without you in it.  Or do I stay stuck yearning for what once was.  Afraid of truly moving forward, because it means accepting your absence and, in a way, leaving you behind.  This has formed a bumpy circle in my brain.  On the one hand, I am raring to go, create, fly, BE.  On the other hand, I feel a bit guilty that I am raring to go, because you are not here to share it with me.  And I don't want to share it with anyone else.  I want to share it with you and I feel if I really take off and fly, I will be leaving you behind.  Like I said, bumpy little circle.  I have had this conversation with myself many a time.  Sometimes more often than others.  This summer I had it a LOT.  Then serendipity stepped in.  You know what they say about serendipity, right?  It's God's way of remaining anonymous.  I pulled out the album for that lovely trip Mami and I went on, many, many years ago.  When the world was new, bright, full of possibility and wonderful adventures. When I thought I would conquer the world.  And there on the very last page was the card Mami had bought on our weekend trip to that magical, tiny slice of Heaven called Solvang, in the hills of Santa Barbara.  When I translated what it said "Wherever I am, you are there also" she said, "That's us.  That is us three."  I looked at that card, it is the very last thing in the album and I thought of that wonderful time, preserved in my memory like one perfect, clear drop of pure joy, and I realized it is time to fly, I am not leaving you behind.  You are always with me.  You are the air I breathe, the ideas I have, the joy and peace I feel when I am home in my cocoon.  You are my heart and my soul.  I could never leave you behind, it is impossible.  Because you are an integral part of me.  Because wherever I am, you are there also.

Someone at work remarked that their 11-year old daughter was starting to find herself.  She lives part of the time with her dad and part of the time with her mom.  I thought I never went through that phase of "finding myself."  I have always known who I am.  I am my father's daughter.  I am my mother's daughter.  Granddaughter of a toymaker/spinner of magnificent fairy tales and a housewife who was born to be a grandmother and made the best chicken soup.  Ever.  I never had an issue with being identified as my father's or mother's daughter.  Once at a family get-together someone came up to me and said "You are so much your father's daughter, he could never deny you."  I smiled and answered "Nor I him."  Once after my father had transitioned and I was living with my aunt she asked me "Who are you now, your mother is gone, your father is gone."  I told her, well, just because they are no longer here, doesn't mean I stop being me. They were not perfect, but they were there for each other and for me always.  Even in the middle of hell, we took comfort in each others' presence.  We walked through fire together and I am still their daughter.  I am me.

Reading Frances Schultz' recent blog posting on Yayoi Kusama, I became entranced by her Firefllies on the Water.  It took me right back to summer nights long ago and far away, the very last summer I spent with my godmother.  We would sit outside and listen to the nighttime concert of crickets, catch fireflies and my grandfather and godmother would spin fairy tales for me.  I have been obsessed with fireflies ever since, they always bring back a sense of wonder and magic for me.  Now that I have my own little nest and have been busy planting my (very miniscule) garden, I want plants that will attract fireflies, butterflies and birds.  Have this idea of sitting in my little terrace, once the weather cools off a bit more, having my morning coffee, butterflies flitting about, birdsong filling the air. I have been thinking of my godmother a lot lately, remembering and writing down my memories of her.  Often I have thought of traveling to where she died, going into the police records, investigating her death.  Someone asked me why, it was over 40 years ago, let it go.  I wonder if it was one of their loved ones, would they so easily dismiss it.  Her death was a catastrophic event which changed my family, tore it apart, my world turned upside down.  True, delving into the past will not bring her back, but maybe it would answer some questions and it would, in a way, enable me to spend a bit of time with her.  Touch history, if you will.

I came home last night to find the two little homeless cats I feed waiting for me on my porch. The boy had been gone for a while. He is painfully skinny and as I got closer I saw he has this horrible, gaping wound on his back, his fur has been ripped off.  You can see the muscles exposed.  I tried getting close to him, but he ran off.  So I put some food out for them.  This morning when I woke up and went out to water my hanging basket, there he was, meowing.  He ate two pouches of the wet food Miss Smokey snarfs at night.  Two.  Poor little thing was ravenous.  I managed to sit on the porch close to him, while he was wolfing the food down, and squeezed some antibiotic cream into the wound.  The sun was out, it was a beautiful, warm, early morning.  I watched as the warmth of the sun helped to spread the ointment, watched it sink into his exposed muscles.  He let me pat him on the head, BIG improvement!  Then he ran off a bit and just sat there looking at me, making it clear that is about as close a contact as he is going to allow.  And I thought, probably his wound was caused by a cat fight.  He is not neutered, Lord how I wish I could get him to a vet.  So I am guessing he got into a fight with another male cat.  But if his wound was caused by a human, on purpose, then my fervent prayer is that whoever caused it, suffer the same kind of hurt, of wound, only much, much deeper, to his or her very core.  I have no sympathy for those who inflict hurt on innocents.  I don't care how horrific your childhood, what abuse you suffered.  You know it's wrong and you make a choice to go ahead, you should suffer the consequences.  I am tired of people being asses and blaming it on something.  Sorry, that doesn't fly with me.

Ah, I am rambling.  It has been that kind of day, a little of this, a little of that.  A bit, actually a lot of gardening.  Some writing.  A truly splendiferous and very, very late breakfast.  Now it is clouding up a bit, the sky looks gray, as if a thunderstorm is trying to make up its mind whether to douse us or not.  Fall is slowly making its presence felt.  Slowly.  I set out my Halloween tableau, Halloween cats from Most Marvelous Magical Fabulous Fleaing Fairy GodMother, my purple witch, placed new fragrant votives in my little mercury glass Halloween votive holders, three etched with Jack O'Lanterns and one with a witch's hat etched in the middle.  I switched out the Spring/Summer wreath with its pink and fuchsia roses for my Fall one, its colors matching the new planter where my lavender resides.  I am hoping it will be  happy there.  This is my third one.  I bought two earlier when they first became available at my neighborhood Publix, they didn't make it through September.  But I am stubborn and do love the scent, so clean and fresh, so I am going for a third.  So far, so good!



I have been burning my Fresh Cut Roses candle since I got up and brewed my morning coffee.  Strangely enough, even though I slept only a few hours, I am not sleepy.  Can't believe I was up at 4:30 baking croissants, their scent still lingers mixing with coffee and the rose candle, it smells of home.  Next week out comes the big silver bowl to fill with Halloween candy (mini Snickers and Reese's Peanut Butter Cups) and I go hunting for pumpkins to carve the weekend before
Halloween.  Next month I bring out the Noel scented oil to go in the light bulb diffusers.  Already put pumpkin puree (from Libby's Libby's Libby's), brown sugar, baking soda and spices on my shopping list.  It is cocooning time.  Well, for me it is ALWAYS cocooning time, but this time of year even more so.

Yesterday, Friday, I had lunch with my boss.  My friemily will be very proud of me when I tell them that even though I had never been to that particular restaurant, Seasons 52, I did not, repeat, did NOT steal the menu.  Mainly because I was with my boss and she goes there a lot.  Don't want the serving staff going "Ah, there is that attorney with the loony assistant who stole a menu!" the next time she goes there.  My boss is a very complex person.  We met at a firm I worked at a few years ago, which got royally skewered by a bunch of nimrods and subsequently went under because of what I still believe was a vendetta, but I digress.  I like her.  Always have, always will.  The first day she walked into my department, I was the new girl on the block, they gave me her project.  Because the others did not want to work on it.  That always amazes me, but it turned out nicely for me.  We hit it off.  She was (and is) known for being persnickety and a perfectionist, I have no problem with that.  After all, it is her name on the documents.  I left the firm shortly after it changed hands and went to work for another firm, where I was quite happy and fully expected to retire from.  But ... that one ran into major problems and I was faced with finding a new job.  Enter my boss, who called one afternoon saying she had heard I was looking for a job and would I like to go interview for the position of her assistant.  I did and the rest is history.  Without a doubt, this is the most stressful job I have ever had.  Mainly because every time I think I am getting a handle on it, something new pops up, or a rule changes, or a judge decides to change whatever.  I am always worried I will miss something, muck something up, but I muddle through. The environment around me is very noisy and I have to make a conscious effort to concentrate on the job at hand and not let it distract me.  Sometimes I want to tell everybody to shut the f' up, but I bite my tongue. She has been incredibly patient.  I am good at the secretarial part of it, the legal part of it still gives me hives.  But we go along.  I have found her to be quite kind, generous, funny and fair.  She is a brilliant attorney and tolerates no guff.  From anyone.  I like that in people.  I hope we are a team for a long time.  At times I feel secure and confident.  Others the snargles return full force, biting into my happy like a hungry jackal.  I have learned to slow down and breathe when that happens.  Drink a lot of water and ride it out.  A few weeks ago they were back in full force.  I beat those f'ers back with a stick.  I am my father's and mother's daughter, I refuse to be intimidated, I will see the good, I will see the good, I will bless my circumstances, through gritted teeth if necessary.  That is from Simple Abundance.  I will remember "Wherever I am, you are there also."

Signing off for now ... Until next time, be safe, be happy, be blessed.