2007: The Year That Was

This might be my last post of the year. I've had the last week or so off, but still haven't been able to catch my breath. Don't tell anyone, but I technically, I am still Christmas shopping! I know, not like me at all. At least I got all my holiday cards out, I think. It's all a bit of a blur and I am more than ready to say goodbye to 2007, but here are some quick highlights before Dick Clark drops the ball:

Toughest thing I had to do: " Hearts will be practical only when they are made unbreakable." The Wizard of Oz. Yeah. Still dealing with this, so I'm not going to get into it. It's been tough. It will get easier. It has to. Moving on....

Proudest Personal/Professional Moment: Completing the Greater New Haven Leadership Program. I had been nominated to be a part of this class before, but this year I really felt ready to do it. Our team developed a four part program for young girls entitled GURLZ: Just Be Yourself! We spent a day with the Girl Scouts talking to them about everything from individuality to inspiration. It was so amazing, I still get teary thinking about it. Here I am with the other GURLZ at graduation. I learned so much from these women. And I learned a lot about myself in the process. It was a wonderful experience that I will cherish forever. By the way, GURLZ stands for Grace, Uniqueness Respect, Leadership and Zest for Life!

Best "What the hell?" moment: Art Weekend II. After a lot of back and forth in my mind (and some not so subtle messages from Kev), I traveled to New Jersey to spend the weekend with some college friends I hadn't seen in years and years. We ate, drank, laughed, made art and spoke that secret language that you can only speak with people you've known since you were seventeen or eighteen. It was just what I needed. I'm glad I went.

Best move in the right direction: Attending the National Writers Workshop this spring. You wouldn't think it would be that hard to do, but the insecure kid in me was scared to death. But I did it, and I'm really looking forward to attending the next one. I know haven't posted much lately, but attending the workshop made me think about my writing, how to make it better and how to keep it interesting for myself.

Best reason to go out on a Tuesday night: Trivia at Anna Liffey's. I know I'm a total freaking geek, but this weekly battle of the brains really opened up a new can of nerd worms for me. The rivalry between our team and One Nut Tattoo is pretty intense. How intense? Our team name changes weekly, but is always a horrible insult to one of the One Nuts. Plus, we laugh our asses off every week and heaven knows I need that lately. Added bonus: sometimes we win cash!

Best reason to stay in on a Wednesday night: America's Next Top Model. The PerKwans and Mrs. Deese come over, we order some food and proceed to heckle Tyra and her faux fierceness for an hour. Is it fixed? Probably. Do we care? Not a stitch. Speaking of stitch... Honorable mention goes to Project Runway for the gayest thing on television. There's the guy with the hats who won't stop crying, the kid with the hair who uses the word "fierce" too, too much, even for a gay guy, the costume designer who reference Joan Crawford in the third episode and, of course, Michael Kors. My favorite quote from this season? "What you got there twirly girly?" "I'm making me a jacket!" This exchange took place between two men.

Best reason for a road trip to the wilds of upstate New York: Poodle's engaged! So, he calls to tell me this wonderful news and for the first time in weeks, the tears I shed are of joy. Scooter and I packed up the hybrid and drove to Ithaca for an engagement party that was not only a true expression of love, but incredibly chic. I don't want to think about how much time they spent baking, all I know is I never ate the same kind of cookie twice. This little party had everything but "Ferns, dancing, every flower east of the Mississippi, wedding cake in the dining room and the groom's cake hidden in the carport." How good was this little fete? I believe the revelers sipped their way through three, yes, THREE bottles of bourbon. Now that's a party! Next day we had breakfast burritos and coffee at the farmers' market. Oh, life in Ithaca is idyllic indeed!

Best rediscovered passion: Dancing. It started one night when I joined the group with no name for a happy hour at Hula Hanks. Next thing I know, I'm looking for people willing to put up with the college crowd just so I can get my groove on. I went out dancing so much this summer, my legs ached on Sunday mornings. It felt great! I'd forgotten how much I love to dance. I think I wore out at least one pair of shoes. Fan-freaking-tastic. Someone needs to open a club that plays Freestyle music, then I'll really be in my element.

Most beautiful place I traveled to: Jackson Hole, Wyoming. This photo says it all. No matter where I looked, there was something beautiful to see. My inner monologue basically consisted of the phrase, "holy crap, would you look at THAT!" I'm glad I went.





Best new family tradition: The Abreu family celebration hat, as modeled by my mom on her seventy-first. birthday. I was the first, but not the last to don this Seussian headpiece. No one was safe from my sister's special purchase. If you were anywhere near her house on your birthday, you were wearing the hat. You'll notice that my mother is SMILING in this picture, so it must be magical. Behold the power of the celebration hat and its ability to make the corners of my mother's mouth turn up in a photo!

I don't think anything can top that last image, so I'll sign off for now. I hope (plan, I mean plan) to be writing more in the coming year, so stay tuned.

A happy and healthy 2008 to you all!

If you believe…

There’s a lot to be said for unpacking Christmas ornaments by yourself when you’re slightly exhausted and Do They Know It’s Christmas (Feed the World) is playing on the radio. It's a cocktail for tears. To be honest, I was fine until I found the stockings. But, then I pulled out the stockings. I eventually got myself together, blew my nose, hung the wreaths, put out Yukon Cornelius and Hermie (I know you thought it was Herbie, but it’s actually Hermie who wants to be a dentist) and started on my cards while watching back-to-back episodes of Designing Women (I admit to being a fan of Julia Sugarbaker…who isn’t?). I’m not quite full of the holiday spirit, but I’m sure I’ll get there. You know what helps? Maureen O’Hara and Edmund Gwenn.

I watched Miracle on 34^th Street on Sunday. It's so freaking good. Not familiar? First of all, for shame! And secondly, here’s the IMDB synopsis: When a nice old man who claims to be Santa Claus is institutionalized as insane, a young lawyer decides to defend him by arguing in court that he is the real thing. How can that NOT be great, right? I think this is Natalie Wood’s first film and she’s just fantastic. The whole cast is spot on, and the overall message is good and Christmasy. “Faith is believing when common sense tells you not to. Don't you see? It's not just Kris that's on trial, it's everything he stands for. It's kindness and joy and love and all the other intangibles.” That’s what Fred Gailey says to Doris Walker before he walks out on her for not believing in him and in Santa. It helps that Fred Gailey is totally hot in that 1940s pipe-smoking, fedora-wearing, sensitive lawyer with a heart of gold kind of way.

By the way, I’m the dork you hear sniffling in the theater when Santa starts speaking to the little Dutch orphan girl in…wait for it…Dutch! Her adoptive mother is all, “I told her you wouldn’t be able to talk to her, but she insisted on seeing you, and she’s been through so much…” and then, BAM! Kris Kringle speaks Dutch. I cry. Every. Single. Time. How can you not? It’s the classic example of finding that one other person who gets you. That’s what we all want. To connect and be understood and not feel isolated. And if you can't feel that way at Christmas, well what's the point?

The Space Between

"There is so much distance between who you are and where your skin begins." -kpg

Kev said that (or something similar to it) to me last night. I wish I'd written it down, gotten it exactly right. It's good. And it's true. The distance, the difference between who I am, who I think I am and who people perceive me to be is vast. I don't know if that's good or bad.

True story: I didn't realize I wasn't white until I was three or four (possibly five) years old. I looked in the mirror one day and saw a brown face staring back. It didn't freak me out. I didn't think much of it, other than, "hmm, interesting" or something like that. My parents are brown, my siblings are brown. My mother always referred to us as being "paper bag brown." Why didn't I think I was? I guess I didn't think about it at all. Some people might say I still don't realize it. We're not friends with those people.

Being Cuban means being everything from dark-eyed and deep chocolate brown to being blue-eyed and honey-skinned or lighter. When you grow up in a community that is 85% Latino (heavy on the Cubans), you don't think about it. You all eat the same food, dance to the same music, belong to the same club, look out for each other's kids. It doesn't matter. And then, one day, it does.

I was sitting in English class. There was discussion going on, but I can't remember what it was about. And then I heard it. The boy I had a crush on said, "My parents would never let me date someone who wasn't white." What? Wait a minute. He's not white. He's Cuban, like me. But he's not brown. There it was. Someone had said it out loud. And other people in the room, the people that looked like him, agreed. Their parents would never let them go out with someone who wasn't white. Someone who looked like me.

The thing that's tricky is that my appearance is as much part of who I am as my penchant for the films of Merchant Ivory or my deep abiding love for rocky road ice cream served over Entenmann's pound cake. But looking a certain way makes people think certain things, treat you a certain way for better or worse. There are people who will never want to get to know me, men who will never want to date me. And there are people who will think they know me before they even speak to me. I also need to say that it works both ways. I'm not proud of it, just being real. I realize this is not a major breakthrough in the study of human behavior. To be honest, this is the most comfortable I've ever been in my skin, but I still struggle with my identity. Who am I anyway? Who do people think I am? Does it matter? Should I care?

"You're Cuban? You don't look Cuban." What the hell does Cuban look like? Gloria Estefan or Celia Cruz? Eva Mendes or Cameron Diaz ? All of the above. And me.

Long Time, No See

I attended a seminar at the National Writers Workshop last spring entitled Writing Life Stories. The speaker, Bill Roorbach, gave us an assignment, a prompt if you will. He suggested we write a letter to someone we haven't seen in a very long time and explain ourselves. Simple enough. And yet I'm looking at the screen thinking, "Can I really do this?" Here goes.

Dear You,

It's been ten years since you left. Ten years since we last spoke. And yet here you are in my thoughts, in my blog. Blogs didn't even exist when you left. Why am I writing about you here? Shouldn't this be private, just between us? Maybe not.

What have I been up to? Well, since you asked...I stayed here. Right where you left me. Well, not right where you left me, on the other side of town. Way on the other side. I have a different job, a different home, some new friends, but a lot of the old ones are still around too. I've grown up a lot. I am a very responsible person, except when I am completely irresponsible and do foolish things. Sometimes alcohol is involved, but sometimes not. Sometimes it's just me going with my gut, and my gut being horribly wrong.

My dad died. It's been four years. I still can't believe he's gone. I can't tell you how much I miss picking up the phone and hearing his voice. Today for example, it was cooler than it's been and I thought, "If I called today, he would tell me to stay warm, the weather's changing." I'd give anything to hear him tell me to bundle up, because "You always come down with something when the weather changes." Isn't that crazy? I wanted to call my Dad and have him tell me to bundle up. Of all the things I would want to hear him say, that's all I can come up with now? But that's what he would say, that was one of the ways he would tell me that he loved me.

He was sick for a long time and we were all with him when he passed. I'm blessed to have had him in my life and to have been there when he left his.

Now, let me tell you some good things before you get to thinking that everything has been a mess for the last decade. I live in an adorable apartment, I have a good job, I have some of the greatest friends in the world, and a loving family to keep me grounded. Plus I'm writing again, which I think is a huge deal.

After you left, I wrote a lot. I kept a journal for years. Then I slowed down. When my dad's health got really bad, I stopped completely. I didn't write for a long time. I couldn't write. I wouldn't write. I know, I always write when I'm hurting. It usually helps. But this was different. How was I going to write about this pain without everything inside me going haywire? I thought I had nothing left to say, no words to say it with anymore. I was wrong. I had a lot to say and about a million words at my disposal. I write for work, I write on my blog, I write long letters to people I will probably never see again, I write short cards to people I see all the time. I think I've gotten better as a writer. I even went to a national workshop for writers. And there were some "real" writers there. I guess that makes me real too. Like the Velveteen Rabbit or something.

You've been on my mind a lot lately. That's not so surprising, considering that I've been looking at the stuff I wrote when you were here. I've been tweaking it, posting it, showing it to people. I've been wondering what to do with the book, my book, our book. Should I try to get it published? Is it enough that it exists? These questions are slightly rhetorical, since I think I already know what you think.

Thank you, by the way. For always encouraging me, for being a fan of mine, for everything. Really. I know back then things sometimes seemed a mess, but you know what? I think back to that time and smile. We were young, slightly crazy and slightly a lot of other things. We were supposed to be a mess. Maybe time has colored my memories, but I think, for the most part, we had fun. I relish the good times and I appreciate everything I learned from you. And, yes, I miss you. And...yes...I love you still. Because we grew up together and because you were the first person I felt that way about. And because when you weren't making me crazy, you were making me happy.

Someone asked me once what I would do if you walked back into my life today. Well, once I got over the shock of seeing you and released you from a giant hug, I guess I'd ask you what you've been up to for the last decade. We'd probably end up at Rudy's, because that's where we always ended up. They have real food there now. I know that sounds like crazy talk, but it's totally true.

There's a lot more I want tell you, but I think that's enough for now. In a nutshell, I'm thirty-five years old, living completely alone for the first time in my life and trying to make the most of things. I'm not at the top of my game, but I'm not, as you once put it, "in a foxhole with shells going off around me." I'm not a superman, or a decoy. I'm just a woman in transition. I know there's a bright side somewhere. And I know I'm going to get there soon. I figure as long as I get out the door every morning, anything is possible. I know, I'm still a closet optimist. But that's what you loved about me.

I hope this letter finds you well and happy. And someday, I hope this letter finds you.

Always,
Me

Happy Thoughts

Lord knows I love to make a list, so I thought I would make one of things that have made me smile in the last two weeks. And no, it's not a cop out entry, it's an affirmation of the good things in my life.

Art Weekend II....every freaking minute of it. More on that later.

Beating out One-Nut-Tattoo at Liffey's, AGAIN and feeling like a total robot from the stars.

Eating Indian food and watching ANTM with the PerKwans.

Drew's map and prescription for a happy life.

Getting thank you notes from my niece and nephew.

Poodle's email.

Feeling like a friendship I thought was broken beyond repair might still have a fighting chance.

116 Crown.

Sitting on the living room floor, listening to music and getting tipsy with friends.

Running into an old friend at the Farmers' Market.

Helping a friend find the perfect boots at the Nine West Outlet.

Seeing Lars & the Real Girl with Peter. Then talking about what a great movie it is over beers.

Sleeping "all the way in," then having breakfast on the couch.

Talking to ML while I waited for my laundry to be done.

Laughing out loud while reading Bill Bryson's book, The Life & Times of the Thunderbolt Kid.

Napping.

Making myself a nice Sunday dinner.

Eating that nice Sunday dinner while watching VH1 Classic ALbums: The Joshua Tree.

Reading Wunderkammer: A Together Life and feeling connected to my friends.

That's a lot of good stuff for a little over ten days, huh? I'm a lucky girl. Hopefully, I'll remember that the next time I feel crappy.