Category: Family (Page 1 of 15)

Family at the grocery story today.

“Hey Asier, do you think we should get penne pasta for tonight?”

“Ay papi, it sounds wrong when you say it.”

I had said “penne” (from Italian) like the word “pene” (from Spanish), which means penis. Asier picked up on it and let me know.

“Papi, in Italian, you say the double n like this payn-nay.”

“Oh, yeah?” I repeated it. “Payn-nay. Payn-nay. Thank you Asier. You know so much, my little Italian boy!”

So in the spirit of St. Patrick’s day, Laura whipped up a delicious dish of corned beef and cabbage. The interesting part was the conversation about how the dish came to be, what goes in it, and the dynamic of families that might have shared it together. We meditated on the Irish immigrant families in America that didn’t have access to their preferred pork, and suffering economic hardships, resorted to using cabbage as way to extend the cheap and somewhat familiar corned beef. Add some onions, carrots, and potatoes and it’s a complete and healthy meal.

“You know,” Laura observed, “I just cannot believe that nobody mentioned garlic in this dish.”

“I know, who doesn’t put garlic in a dish like that. It’s sacrilegious,” I replied. “Throw it in. It’s a family dish.”

“Should I add some corn?”

“Oh yeah, definitely, a hint of sweetness, and a native American staple, peasant food with a dash of this and a dash of that, borrowed, available, and left over.”

It doesn’t necessarily look great, but ours was delicious.

The verdict: I don’t know about you, but I could happily survive on family style poverty food.

I was chatting with Jaimito and Javier in the car this evening and we were talking about the feelings of love and new relationships. I mentioned a relationship I had that fizzled out because it went too fast. I remarked that with Laura it took two and a half years for there to be a spark. It was a slow burn.

Jaimito piped up, “It’s like good ribs.”

I paused, not quite getting it.

“Daddy, good ribs are cooked slow and low. So true love is like good ribs.”

We all rolled. “Jaimito, that’s going in my blog. Truer wisdom has never been spoken.”

Asier: Daddy, what should I do with my Pokemon cards?

Me: I dunno, Asier. We should play…

I trailed off a bit, because I knew where this was going. Asier has been fascinated with Pokemon this past year, but his interest has begun to wain. We hadn’t been playing the card game with him. I’ve put him off. His brothers have put him off. So he’s been a little down about his whole Pokemon phase coming to an end as he begins to outgrow it.

Asier: Yeah, but I haven’t asked… it’s because I want you to play for the love of it.

Me: Asier, you are the dearest sweetest self-aware little boy in the world. I want to play, because I love you!

Olaia and Jaimito took part in a music festival this weekend. Their encore was this beautiful rendition of “En Mi Viejo San Juan.” Pardon the stupid wind in the microphone. I have to learn to take a better mic when I go to these things.

We all spilled out onto the terrace, excited to see a lunar eclipse. “What is a lunar eclipse,” someone asked?

“It’s when the earth passes between the sun and the moon,” I replied. I could almost see their little brains all working out that orientation.

I snapped a picture, and by accident got a decent exposure.

Olaia with her telescope, I with my camera, we fiddled, and fussed over our gadgets in search of that elusive moon. A hoard of mosquitoes attacked my ankles increasing my agitation as I blindly toggled and switched buttons in the dark. Damn it, I needed to read the manual again. I wanted to capture what my eyes could not, but the camera was foiling me. Olaia scolded the boys for bumping the table as she lost site of the moon yet again.

After an hour of dancing between my camera and the pool to soothe my ravaged ankles, I got another as the eclipse was peaking.

By this time the boys has already abandoned their posts and gone to bed. I don’t know how to say this, but it was fun. The worst mosquito, equipment inexperience failure, in the dark with your family is better than just about anything else.

“Hey daddy, would this be the night the water benders would be weak?”

I stepped out in the morning to do my garden walk-through. I have been battling rats that like to eat my roma tomatoes (only my roma tomatoes), and since taking out the family, I do a daily inspection for critter activity. I feel like a detective, looking for flattened areas of traffic, disturbed soil, nibbles, toothmarks, half eaten fruit. What a ton of work it is just for my tiny little garden. I couldn’t imagine having to survive on it.

But today there was a new mystery. There is always a mystery. The critters of the night lead a secret existence, the insects, mice, rats, dogs, and iguanas, little forces of nature with their own agendas contrary to my own.

I almost stepped on today’s mystery.

What is this? I picked up one of the several green tomatoes scattered about. I turned it over. It was sticky and had a couple of large puncture marks about the width and size of our Lucy’s canines. The stickiness was Lucy slobber. I’d know that persistent agent anywhere.

What is she doing with my tomatoes? This is bizarre. Is she playing with them? She’s not eating them, but brings them back to the terrace. I scolded her, “Lucy, stop taking my tomatoes!” I knew she didn’t understand, but whatever.

Over the course of the next few weeks every few days, I would find tomatoes in various states of ripeness placed on the terrace. It was exasperating. I’m not the best tomato farmer in the world, so every single one counts. Stupid dog! Stop picking my tomatoes. She knew I was upset and would cower, “I don’t know what I did to make you mad, master, but I’m sorry,” she seemed to say.

She’s a good dog though, very loving, smart, and craves attention. Olaia calls her an, “attention hoarder.” And whenever I go into my garden, she trots along with me and watches. We know how smart she is, because she’s so easy to train and is eager to please.

And still the tomatoes came, rolling around in the hot sun. Maybe I’m thinking about this all wrong. Could Lucy be trying to help me? When I pick the tomatoes I always bring a handful back and place them on the terrace while I clean up. And while I’m pulling weeds and picking them, there’s Lucy watching me. Could she be imitating me? She isn’t eating or playing with the tomatoes. She delicately picking them with minimal tooth marks and brings them back to the house and leaves them. A-ha! I think that’s it. I have a farmer dog, harvest helper.

If only I could train her to only pick the red ones though… and not slobber on them.