Feeling Needed

I think that one of the things I look forward to most about being a parent is the sense of truly feeling needed by another living being. (No, to the obvious question.)


I know that the pets need us, to open the door, walk them, feed them, etc., but I don't usually feel an emotional need and I don't expect it either. Tonight was different though. There was a thunder storm outside and I was home alone with the pets. I didn't notice the cats reacting, but with each clap of thunder Caramelo came closer to my chair where I was sewing. He laid against it for a minute, but seeing his bed two feet away he got up to go to it. Then it thundered again and he came back to my chair. At this point, I moved his bed closer to me, but that wasn't enough for Caramelo--he put his paws on my knees asked to sit on my lap. I brought him up and with each clap he pushed himself closer against me.


I needed to get up for a minute and when I stood up he clamped onto my arm with his paw. This seems so silly as I write it, but it's what happened. What I found myself doing next is the silliest part--I made a sling and put him in it while I walked around the house. I couldn't help but laugh and I knew I had to take a picture.


Ahh, the sling, something else I can't wait for about motherhood. I think he liked it.

Eating Local

Ever since reading (well, listening to, actually) Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by my favorite author, Barbara Kingsolver, with Steven L. Hopp and Camille Kingsolver last summer I have been trying to be as conscious about eating locally grown foods. While I love that eating local is good for the environment and supports small farmers, often the best thing about eating local is the taste of the food.

We joined a CSA this year for the first time and we've received 3 weeks of food so far. I'm taking a picture each week of our bounty (you can see it at my flickr site), what we received and what I bought at the farmer's market while picking up the share. The taste is truly superior.

Monday night while my parents were visiting we went to eat at the Blue Duck Tavern. They purchase much of their ingredients here in the region and list the origin right on the menu. The food was so delicious and epitomizes the beauty of eating locally--each ingredient must be at its prime and the taste of the food is top priority. Everything we ate was delicious. If you go there some important things to know are, 1. go hungry, 2. the appetizers are listed on the left side of the menu, 3. the portions are large enough to be shared, and 4. save room for dessert--one word, hand cranked seasonal ice cream (ok, that's 5).

Where are you from…

I sometimes think that someday my identity will stop being questioned. First, let me say, that I know it won't but indulge me for a minute.

I just wonder if there will be a day when people will stop asking me, “Where are you from?”. I change my answer pretty frequently, depending on who is asking and how long I feel like talking to them. Lately I answer, "California"—really answering the question, “Where did you move from?”. Though, I never felt like I was from there—that’s one reason why I moved. Other times I answer, "Arizona"—assuming the questions was really, “Where were you born?” since I never really lived there. In fact, when I think about Arizona I think about the inside of Oma’s house and little more. Other times, when I’m feeling generous, I go through the litany of places I have lived, Ecuador, Kenya, Colorado, California—answering the question, “Where did you grow up?”. But I know that none of these answer the true question that most people are asking which inevitably follows the first question, …

“But, where is your family from?” “Oh,” I say, acting surprised, “my family is from Mexico.” This is where the interrogator is typically satisfied, they have placed me. Once in awhile, if they know anything about Mexico, they ask which part, and that’s when I laugh to myself and answer, “Arizona.”

I understand that our society has deemed these acceptable and necessary questions, but they really do tire me. I know I should have more patience with these people because they are just curious or they are trying to make a connection but I also think that most of the time they would not ask me these questions if my hair were a lighter color and my eyes blue.

I know that this country is made up of immigrants and I have no intentions of denying my heritage (I love my family) but…sigh, it’s always the same. It’s as if people are saying, “you don’t fit in, you are different, let me size up the extent of your difference.” The problem is that I don’t want to be different, I want to be unique. I want people to ask me questions about what I am interested in, what inspires me, what makes me, me.

Monday night Juan and I went to see Claudia Schmidt in concert and she recited a poem about place—how long do you have to be in one place before you are “from there.” I could really relate to that poem since in my 27 years I’ve lived in 18 houses, 11 cities and 4 countries.


I wonder if questions of identity ever go away, maybe when I become a parent, maybe when we own a house, maybe when I work in a job that I love, maybe when people no longer look at me as young. I doubt it. I suspect that these questions will always plague me. The funny thing is, the question of identity is universal this just reminds me that I am just one of 6 billion, yet the 6 billion in the world is made up of ones.

Spring is definitely here

I know you think we're still in Chicago, but we're not. The end of our road trip will be posted, but you'll have to wait for the dramatic plot twist a little longer.

I just wanted to write a quick update and hello to everyone.

Spring has definitely sprung here. I don't think I've every appreciated Spring as much as I have this year. To see bare trees suddenly bloom into magnificent cotton candy pink and then the world around you become green is just amazing! The cherry blossoms in DC are really beautiful and worth the trip.

On another note, congratulations are in order to several people we know. Spring has brought little babies to the Cockrofts, the Delgados and the Hopkins! Send us pictures. (If you haven't received our gift, there's one coming shortly.)

AND, we are very very excited that we will soon have a new niece or nephew! Congratulations to Libby and Victor! I can't wait to hold your little one.

Spring is definitely a great time of the year--it's even better with a little antihistamine.

Road Trip - Day 4: Crossing over Rivers

It took no time to reach the Nebraska-Iowa border which is delineated on the map by the flow the Missouri river. Honestly, I was not that impressed! I still think the Amazon river in South America kicks butt.
Below is a sample of what to expect from the stretch between Iowa and Illinois.

Now, when it came time to cross from Iowa into Illinois over the Mississippi river, I did let go a wow! The river is huge; I can't imagine how much wider it gets when the Missouri joins the Mississippi in St. Louis.

This leg of the trip was short: about 468 miles in 8.5 hours, of which the last 1.5 hours were spent in traffic on I-55 cruising through the south side of Chicago.

Road Trip - Day 3: The Continental Divide

Do not be alarmed! We did not hit the road for a cross-country trip again; I (Juan) am just continuing the story where I left last November.

So, after our descent from the Rockies, we made reservations to spend the night at a pet friendly motel in Rawlings, Wyoming. In contrast to our first motel stay in Utah, the operators at Rawling charged a $25 fee for each pet. In retrospective, we should have paid the money to have a clear conscience but we didn't; we sneaked the pets into our room. That doesn't sound too bad, except that the front office and clerk's bedroom was one room away from ours. We walked pass the front office with Caramelo (doggy) inside a blanket. Then, we carried the cat's kennels passing them for suit cases, at least we thought they would. Finally, we brought our luggage. Wow, three trips in front of the clerk for an overnight stay. Whatever, his reasons, we were thankful the clerk looked away.

The next morning, we got up at 5:00 am to avoid repeating the same scene before the motel clerk. Of course, that proved to be futile since the clerk bid us a farewell from his window.

With the sun rising before us, and Rita fixed with a cup of non-fat latte wet cappuccino that she scrapped out of a tiny business along the freeway on-ramp, we continued our journey through the state of Wyoming pass the Continental Divide (What's that? Click here: http://nationalatlas.gov/mld/condivl.html)




Wyoming offered an endless sight of high plains populated by cattle and horses. As we moved further east, the high plains gave place to a prairie where we had our first glimpse of vast American corn fields a.k.a. cow power food. By the time we crossed into Nebraska, the scenary remained pretty much corn all throughout.



During a pit stop, I took pictures of our caravan and front passengers of the truck.




After 648 miles and 11 hours driving (the longest leg in our trip), we decided to skip dinner at McDonald's for some juicy Omaha-grown steak at a privately owned restaurant. Yum!

Four girls and a diaper bag

(Written Sunday 2/24/08) I just returned a couple hours ago from Rachel's house after a weekend that truly refreshed my soul.

It all begins with my decision to make a diaper bag for an upcoming baby gift. These last few months I've spent A LOT of time browsing the Internet for sewing ideas and repeatedly came across the same diaper bag pattern by Amy Butler. So, last week I bought the fabric and ordered the pattern in order to take advantage of the President's Day sales. I was so excited to get going on the project, but had one thing holding me back--I don't have my sewing machine right now. (My sewing machine has been in California getting a spa treatment, after a stressful holiday season, and won't be back home until mid-March.) That was OK, since the baby's not due until the following month.

BUT, then I found out that there is an Amy Butler Inspired bag contest ending February 29 and I really wanted to enter my bag. What to do? Graciously, Rachel's roommate, Alice, offered to let me use her sewing machine over the weekend.

To prepare I spent Thursday and Friday evenings pre-washing, cutting and appliqueing. And Saturday we headed up to visit Rachel.

This is when the weekend really got wonderful. First, there was a nice visit from Katie, Indian pizza, and then I commenced to sew without stopping until the early hours of the morning (Juan gave up and came home around 8pm). I truly believe I had a red tent experience. Spending the evening talking with Alice about birth, babies and sewing while she worked on her own bag, and singing and laughing with Rachel while she made cards was so wonderful. Imagery at 2:30 am of birthing a bag while pulling the whole thing through a 4 inch hole will surely lead to hysterical, belly aching laughter. At 4:30 am the bag was finished!

The morning was no less wonderful. A yummy breakfast, coffee, and a short walk. And then a visit from Christy to photograph the bag and share storied over more coffee. The pictures came out so fun, but the company was even better. (see some of her other work here).

After Rachel was so nice to drive the hour drive to get me home I realized how refreshed and ready to face the world I felt. Spending time with other women, learning from one another, laughing and giving your time and talents to one another was the best prize I could ever win. Despite our many advances in life I believe that in our hectic, integrated world ancient traditions should sometimes be revisited. No, I don't believe that women should be hidden and segregated once a month with the new moon, but I do think that there are times that a weekend of spending quality time with other women is just what we need to come back to this world and thrive. Thank you ladies, let's do it again.