My car’s backseat is usually reserved for my niece goddaughters. NinaCarmen drives them to school, drives them to their activities like soccer and volleyball, and they are usually happy to go wherever Nina goes.
Just because I have youngsters in my car doesn’t necessarily mean that I am a quiet driver, folks get in my way and one is likely to hear, ‘que vas a hacer pendejo?’ or ‘muevete!‘ or ‘get OUT of the way’. The other drivers don’t really hear me, but these lil girls DO. Needless to say, I do get embarassed because it’s not a good example to set.
These girls usually say things to me like ‘Nina!‘ which usually doesn’t stop me from going off. On this particular day, however, I say “I’m sorry mamitas” to which one of them responds, “Nina, you’re like a mexican Karen“. Whaaaat? QueQUE? My mouth was hanging open and all I could do was smile — I don’t know if I was offended or if the truth rendered me silent.
What does Karen mean?Karen is a pejorative slang term for an obnoxious, angry, entitled, and often racist middle-aged white woman who uses her privilege to get her way or police other people’s behaviors.
Well the name is kind of close to Carmen, and if I took each word apart of this definition, I would likely find some situations where I had been obnoxious, angry, entitled, I don’t consider myself racist and I have decided to stop counting numbers where age is concerned. Have I used privilege to get my way or to police other people’s behavior? Sometimes or Unlikely. Depends on the situation.
However, in the interest of giving my goddaughters a better example on dealing with situations, I will work at changing out these words and acting accordingly:
obnoxious to pleasant
angry to happy
entitled to gratitude
racist to not a racist
privilege to disadvantage, I prefer humble
I will watch it, or should I say, watch my words.
Watch your words, the young ones in your life do listen and hang on to your every word, good or bad.
If I have to pick one that affected life most, it was caregiving. I had already been taking care of my Uncle and his affairs and, although he had dementia and under hospice, it really hit me hard when he did pass away. First of all, I wasn’t super close to him and was not into taking care of him, I did it mainly for my sis, who needed me to give them rides, etc. When she was unable to continue, I shocked myself by sticking with him. Sure, he repeated the same things over and over (and over), but he never did forget me up until the end. What did I learn? Meet people where they are. There’s nothing that I can do about someone’s past, I’m not in control of their future, so I kept things super simple and if Uncle was in the 1970s one day, so was I; if he was in the 1940’s the next, so was I, and so on and so on. I got to know my Uncle again and grew to love him.
Fast forward to Fall of this year. I took care of my lil nieces, our Y girls, full time while their mother looked for a house for the entire family. The girls will be going home with their mother in the next couple of days. Am I emotional? Super emotional. How did this experience change my life? I had to put them first, no question about it. I gave them a routine and the certainty that they could count on Nina Carmen no matter what. I was also super honest with them and let them know that “Nina Carmen needs her space” as I left them home with Dad for a couple of hours. It is my hope that my Y girls will remember their worth and to see themselves as I see them: confident, ready to take on their world, doing well in school and in life.
Learning to respect decisions that do not go my way will take time for me to fully grasp. However, once my legal case did not go my way, I was FURIOUS but figured that there MUST be a reason for how it all went down, I’ll let you know once I find it. Acceptance is going to be something that I must grapple with more in 2024. Acceptance that it’s not all about me all of the time, acceptance that people are not going to want the same things as I do, when I want them, acceptance of God’s will in my life (and others’ lives), everything will happen the way its’s supposed to. I just hope that I have enough grace to accept whatever comes my way.
One thing I’m super proud of that I found in 2023: My sense of Aventada-ness. There were a couple of projects that I got super interested in and put together proposals of what I could do, and why they needed me LOL. It was so awesome to get that “yes” from people. Especially after Uncle passed, I felt that, if I was going to shake up my life again, then it would be NOW. I’m blessed to have contracts where I am able to do what I know, what I do best, what I WANT instead of what I have to do. 2024 will be the year for me to show what I’m about. I have never had jobs where I’m NOT stressed, where I’m not worried about what everyone thinks … today, it’s all about being myself, working it the way I know how, being out there in my community, leading others by example, being prepared. Doing things the right way and treating others right is what I was always taught to do — but I was always hesitant, ‘will they like me, will I be cool, will I get fired for speaking up?’ That nonsense is almost gone out of my life — now I am meeting myself where I am and keeping it real…and living with less stress and less need to “people please”, it’s great.
Looking forward to 2024. Happy New Year All!
Said goodbye to: cousin Gloria Grijalva, Uncle Louie Grijalva, cousin Rosie Prieto, Tia Elvira Torres, Greg Fox from my RadioFam.
Said hello to: New friendships, new job opportunities, finding time for my ‘homie’ friends
Started: The “Ponte Las Pilas” Walk/Run Challenge of 100 miles from now thru Valentine’s Day. This lonja is NO joke. Starting to write again, I missed it so much.
Need to: say goodbye to soda, negative people who drain my energy, stay positive and authentic.
Celebrating: my familia, especially our Yasmin’s 15th birthday, her upcoming quinceanera.
My favorite time of the year is here. My favorite holiday. I’ve said it many times, this holiday and “Coco” helped me to learn to accept death as a part of life thus a lot of the fear I had related to death is gone.
This year, I wanted to keep things simple. Within the last year, we said goodbye to a lot of people, family, famfriends, and more. I sat with my Uncle an entire day on his last day on this earth. I was happy that he did not die alone. A few months earlier, we said goodbye to a couple of my cousins on our Grijalva side. I felt like honoring them “quietly” this year.
My Altar/Ofrenda in Light
We’ve also had to deal with illness on all sides of the family. I didn’t want to do a big celebration like always because I wanted them to be there, and it’s just not possible this year.
There was major traffic all the way on my route home, so when I got in, I was all about road rage and it was directed to my lil niece for not putting her clothes away — not right and I knew it. The look on her face was pure sadness (and maybe a little bit of anger) and I had to make it right. I asked her if she wanted to help me finish our altar. This girl jumped right up and ran to the living room as she would be in charge of putting the flowers on the altar.
My lil one was beyond proud to help with the altar and she worked it! The best way to pass on tradition is to SHARE the tradition with others, and to reenergize by watching things through their eyes. She kept asking me, “does this look good Nina?” and I learned the importance of keeping my road rage in the car before I get into the house and to embrace tradition by passing it on. Little ones don’t need very much more than our time and attention. This was one happy little girl as she went to bed…and this morning when she got up to get ready for school. My bigger lil one had to finish a school assignment and she made her own little ofrenda dedicated to the immortal Selena.
Keeping my emotions in check is a 24/7 job, keeping my lil ones motivated is one of my favorite jobs, and I especially love my cultural traditions job — this holiday is so unique, no one does it the same, and you really have to put your altars together with love and creativity. Along with my altar and the Selena ofrenda by my niece; I will feature some of the fabulous altars made with love by my family and friends.
Regular readers know that I am all about Dia de Los Muertos, it’s my very favorite time of the year, it’s the time where we can honor our past, celebrate the present, and pass on the tradition to others for future celebrations. Today, November 1st, All Saints Day, the day before Dia de Los Muertos, we honor and celebrate those individuals whom God called back to Heaven as babies and children.
In our family, we remember 6 little angels, each died between 1 and 3 years old, babies. These babies, Serafina, Sarita, Pachita, Benjamin, Pancho, and Sigifredo, were born to our grandmother Lupe Lucio, in Michoacan, Mexico. These babies were my father’s younger brothers and sisters. So sad to know that all 6 of these babies were on earth for such a short time. They would have been born in the late 1930’s/early 1940’s.
My dad and tias, at their age (88, 89, and 90), can still remember every detail about these babies. We have seen them cry tears of sadness as they remember these 6 angels. I often wonder what our lives would have been like had we had 6 more aunts and uncles to enjoy, especially as we have had a blast our entire lives with all of our parents, blessed to grow up right next to each other.
DiaDeLosMuertos is the perfect time to remember all of our loved ones who are no longer with us and remind us to cherish and love those who are still here with us. We will all be together eventually.
I remember these angelitos every year on my ofrenda/altar. Feliz Dia de Los Muertos.
This week, for me, it’s been pozole, especially green pozole.
According to drizzlemeskinny.com, Pozole is a truly ancient recipe, thought to originate in the Aztec empire before the arrival of the Spanish Conquistadores, and could be even older than that. As you might expect from such an old recipe, there are a lot of different variations and takes on Pozole, and almost every family has their own recipe for the meal. That said, almost all of them rely on a couple of different things, a flavorful (and hot) combination of stewed chilies, and pork or chicken, with hominy.
Lots of folks think that pozole and menudo are the same, not. I’d say they were more like cousins.
Menudo is a much more recent soup out of Mexico, though it’s difficult to know exactly where Menudo comes from. Menudo is one of the many amazing dishes that was born out of hardship and is a dish of the working class first and foremost. What is menudo? It’s similar to pozole in spices and ingredients, with one big exception. Instead of pork or chicken, menudo calls for a very specific protein, beef tripe. That’s actually part of how we know that menudo was likely created by and for workers because beef tripe is one of the least popular parts of a beef cow, but it’s a great source of protein and nutrients. That means that beef tripe was affordable, effective for nutrition and energy, and widely available. (source: drizzlemeskinny.com)
I have never been a fan of the texture of tripe and, while it gives menudo it’s awesome flavor, I will not eat it. Green pozole made with chicken and green chile is EXACTLY what I need when I feel “off”, when I’m trying to fight off a cold, when I’m super tired, when I’ve been hungover, or whenever it’s there, I could be full and still want pozole. Team Pozole all the way.
Just like a few minutes ago. I have a ‘to-do’ list this long and I couldn’t concentrate anymore because of hunger. I found an awesome place less than 5 minutes away and got my fix of spicy, green, delicious pozole. I had originally ordered it to go, got there, and promptly asked for a bowl. Cleared my head and sinuses, I’m good to go for a while longer.
Family illness. Death. Commute. Career transition. Court injustice. New family responsibilities.
I’ve been watching one door close, and another door opening for 6 months now. Instead of being negative traumatic, it’s been positively liberating. Instead of feeling like ‘OMG what else is going tohappen?‘, I feel like things are moving the way that they should be moving, like as if I am being led toward these new changes in my life, like I am more ready for them.
It’s like I’m finally doing things my own way, being authentic and transparent, being unafraid to live my truth. I’m trying to remember that, instead of “having” to do anything; that I’m blessed to “get” to do so many things.
Now I’ve got much more to write about, so many things are happening at once. I’ve never lived so much that I have had “no time” to reflect and write. Reflection is important. It’s time to breathe, to make an updated plan for so many areas in my life. It’s also time to start telling my new(er) stories again.
I mopped all of the floors before I left for one of my evening assignments.
Came home to see dirt and mud tracked all over the floors. Upon seeing this, I was going off ‘echandro madres’.
It’s the eternal battle at the Ranch: trying to keep the dirt and the dust outside. I feel as if I live with the broom in my hand all day.
But, as we get ready to say goodbye to our Uncle on Monday, I realize that I don’t have to worry about the things with my father that everyone worries about with their parents. My father is sharp of mind, a sharp dresser, a hilariously sharp sense of humor, full of life. It almost makes us forget that he is, after all, in his eighties, but lives like a man half his age still driving and still working outside at the Ranch.
I’ve been able to have some victories — nothing is left in the living room or the bathroom laying around. Even the kitchen is in better shape than before. As crazy as it makes me, I will let it be. Because this house is open all of the time, Dad is up and working projects day and night, it is rare that this house is quiet for long, the door is opening and closing constantly. I would likely give myself a heart attack if I went off every single time I heard the water hose or the weedeater going outside and the door opening and closing.
Dirt can be cleaned. My life would be very sad without my father. So I will bite my tongue, roll my eyes, and apologize for going OFF on him. If I can get him to use a broom, that will be one fine day. Today, however, it’s Dirt 1, my floors 0.
Dirty floors + active father + No Yelling +happy father = happy familia.
When I drove by this certain school the other day, my thoughts immediately flew to the year that we went to Summer School there. Summer School with the Mexicano Migrant Students. Remember, in my house, we did not grow up speaking Spanish. The Spanish words we knew were the very basic ones: leche, pan, buenos dias, etc.
I’ve often wondered why my parents sent us to school with these kids. Looking back, they probably did it so that we could be immersed in our motherland tongue and perhaps learn how to understand and speak Spanish better. Today, I think my parents were so progressive and I totally admire their vision for us, they knew that this experience would help us and it has. Back then, however, it was another story.
So here we were, with kids who were merciless, teased us about being from “here” and not knowing Spanish, well me, anyway. I didn’t really know how these kids were with my siblings, I’m kind of glad I didn’t know or broncas would ensue. All I know is that, without a doubt, we were different for sure. “OMG you’ve NEVER been to Mexico?” More American than Mexican with these kids, and more Mexican than American than other kids in regular school. This is the classic experience we shared with kids like us all over the US.
We went on a lot of field trips and outings that summer. I remember one time we were either going to or coming back from swimming and I was on the bus with these “mean kids” on every side of me, poking at me, pinching me, pulling my hair, telling me that I didn’t know Spanish and what was I doing there with them? I was trying to ignore them and I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes. I told one of the adults that they were bothering me and she told me to try to ignore them and to concentrate on the radio, we were almost “home”.
So I went back to my seat and did just that. I concentrated on the songs I was listening to on the radio and I started to tune the kids out. I was silently singing all of the songs that I was hearing and they kept on teasing me that I didn’t know Spanish. They were begging the teacher to change the radio station to Spanish radio. I will NEVER forget what happened next. Turns out, I also KNEW the songs that came on in Spanish! Homegirls could NOT believe it and I shut them down that day. Me being me, I gave them that look as if to say, “now whatta you gotta say? ‘ora que?” And my big mouth said, “at least I try to speak Spanish, you don’t even try to talk in English“.
That was the day that I was powerful, that day, I knew that I had something special that they did not: I was bilingual. Well somewhat anyway. They asked me how I knew the songs in Spanish and it all changed with them when I told them that my Dad had a band. That was the first time I had ever told anyone about the band and you better know that it wasn’t the last time LOL. It was respect after that, and they asked me to interpret for them with the teachers from time to time.
I was starting to find my voice, to find the confidence, to find the pride in being able to walk both sides of the fence, to relate to anyone from the motherland, to relate to anyone like me from here, to know that I had double of everything: friends, music, family, opportunities, culture. I was a little girl and, from that moment on, I stopped caring what anyone said to me or thought about me wanting to promote my culture. If you know me, you KNOW that absolutely nothing has changed, this part of me has always been front and center in both my personal and professional lives.
I’ve always had two types of friends: the ones who speak Spanish who can tease but no more bullying; and I have friends who are Mexicans, Latinos, and others from here. Both sides regularly “cap” on the other, ni modo. One of the first things you learn when you want to become an Interpreter is to study with someone who knows the other language better than you do, so I always studied with folks who speak Spanish better than me and made some awesome friends, you know who you are.
Looking back, I feel bad for those “mean kids” who were maybe misguided or misunderstood kids. It would have been easier for us had both sides had a little more compassion but we were very young. I hope that they were able to find their opportunities, voice, confidence and pride. I hope that this type of same-culture bullying no longer exists. I think it still does.
In case you want to know what songs I knew (we Torres5 know everything :), every time I hear these, I think of that bus ride. English Ones: Ain’t No Sunshine – Bill Withers, Mr Big Stuff – Jean Knight, Knock Three Times, Tony Orlando Dawn. Spanish Ones: Libro Abierto – Gerardo Reyes, Rosa Maria – Los Moonlights, Donde Estas Yolanda – Sonora Santanera
Tonight, I had been feeling sad and restless… and then I looked at the clock. It was around this exact time LAST week that my Uncle passed away. My Uncle with dementia.
I had been called to his care home that morning, “your Uncle is transitioning“. I didn’t know what to expect, you see, I’m not the one who is called during these times, it’s usually other members of the family who handle this part of the journey.
Uncle was quiet the entire day, I was unsure of what to do, what to say, how to act. I would talk to him from time to time, although he was no longer awake. As it got later, I noticed a slight change in his breathing and, thankfully, my sister showed up. First thing she says is, “it’s close“. She brought in a Deacon and a Priest to perform last rites. Once the Deacon finished, I left the room to walk him out, and during those few minutes, Uncle breathed his last breath.
While super grateful that Uncle did not die alone, my sleep, my energy, my days and nights have been troubled. Wondering if he is at peace, if he’s been able to meet up with his family, if he is no longer suffering.
Truth be told, this is not a job I chose to do, it was something that had to be done. The right thing to do.
I used to wonder if I would be able to answer such a call. Words that come to mind are dignity, compassion, duty, and again, the right thing to do. I know that Uncle was always grateful to me for taking him wherever he needed to go, to bring him his favorite lemonade (just like Mama), for buying him beer and letting him have an “open container” in the car and sometimes in the care home LOL, getting his haircuts, taking him to Mexican restaurants which he loved, to see the band, to the bank “to get out all of my money“. I didn’t know what else to do for him other than these kinds of things.
One thing I have learned: our viejitos need NOTHING but our time. For the most part, I was able to do this for Uncle. Monday nights will be my time to remember him, pray for his safe passage on this part of his journey, and to hold my family closer.
Thanks for remembering me to the end. Rest In Peace Uncle.
I admit it. I had stopped going. I stopped visiting. I just stopped.
As each day passed, I worried, I felt guilty, I felt shame, I felt bad. This person needs nothing but a visit, Uncle did not want to be forgotten.
It got to the point that I had no peace of mind. Every time I got a call from his care home, I was praying that he was still alive. I was now afraid that I had waited too long, that he would be angry with me, that he would die before I got a chance to make things right.
For caregivers, painful feelings — such as guilt, sadness and anger — are like any other pain. It’s your body’s way of saying, “Pay attention.”
I decided ‘ENOUGH’ of this mess, I was going to go back, scared or not, to visit my Uncle, suffering from dementia, what if he’d forgotten me? worse, what if he remembered me? and threw it in my face?
I was super nervous but went in to see him. Uncle had declined. It took him a minute to recognize me. He looked weak and not well. I decided to be completely honest with him, whether he understood or not, whether he cared or not.
Be compassionate with yourself: When you give yourself permission to have any feeling, and recognize that your feelings don’t control your actions, your guilt will subside.
The one thing that really got me was his speech. It was like he had not spoken to ANYONE in a long time, as if his mouth and tongue needed help to make sounds and form words. That was it. I made a silent promise to finish what I started, to be there for him. It didn’t matter anymore that I hadn’t been there in a long time, what mattered now is that I handle it – nothing more, nothing less.
In my attempt to be a perfect caregiver, I ended up being unable to do anything at all.
Guilt is a common feeling in the landscape of caregiving. Guilt can propel you to be the best you can be…or it can immobilize you.
I kept saying that I had no time to get it all done in a day while all Uncle has is time. Now it is up to me to make the time so that he feels safe and comfortable.
Take action: Meet your needs. Needs are not bad or good; they just are.
I go for a little while each day. I don’t have to stay long, all he needs is to see family, and he has no real sense of time so I will no longer feel guilty about how long I visit. I don’t want him to die feeling all alone. I want him to be at peace and content. I want him to know that he has not been forgotten.
Saludos to all of you who are caregivers, try not to feel guilty and don’t forget to take care of “you”.
Unleashing My Inner Chingona 