Family

This past Sunday was Mother's Day and I made reservations at Springwater Grill in Sellwood for us at 10:30am. It was all of us except for Dimitri (he's was with his mother) and Kim (who sadly had to work.)

I know families have their ups and downs. I know families can be close or far apart, but what I took away from my family this past Sunday is this overwhelming love I have for them.

I think when I was younger, I worried that if I didn't have someone, a partner, I'd die a very sad and lonely death. I feared the day would never come when I'd get married and create my own family. I want what my parents have (a 40+ year marriage), I want what my oldest brother has (an almost 10 year marriage) and I want what my older brother has...his media naranja, a marriage. But I now I know, whether I am single or with a partner, my family will always have my back. Being loved and part of a family does not mean I have to find one person solely, I'm loved by many friends and family and I'm finally starting to see, feel and believe that. I am no longer scared of living my life not within a marriage or childless because I have my nephews to love and its such a relief to no longer be scared.

It's really hard for me to articulate exactly what this all means to be, but I guess what I'm trying to say is that I am happy. I am so lucky to have a family this awesome and this close knit. We are not without our faults or our bad days, but I'd rather hang out with them all day, than a whole week with out them.



What's even luckier is that not only are they my family, I like each and everyone that's married into it...even their siblings. Man, my bros did a good job!





Anyway, I'm an inarticulate mess expressing how much I love my family and how lucky I am to have each and everyone of them...even if ONE of them drives me bonkers ;)

*note* These pictures are from Thanksgiving of 09 courtesy of Morgan Matthews.

Karaoke, and past reflection

Since I was a little girl, I've always loved to sing and dance. I was never trained in either, but I loved it nonetheless. I think I have a natural ability for both, since my mom and dad were avid and natural dancers back in their barrio days in Mexico. Looking back at my childhood, I realized that even though I did what was expected of me, what was good, I really rebelled against a lot of what my parents loved. My dad LOVED to dance, so I decided I would NOT dance. He wanted me to learn how to change my oil...I refused to listen. "You need to learn how to cook so you can get a man" I heard early on from him. F that, I thought. I'm my own woman. And what still gets to me is that my dad says "Your mine." Ok, I don't mean to paint my dad in a bad light. He's actually quite an awesome dude. He's super outgoing, funny, not afraid to shake his "bote" to the music and always willing to give advice. All these things were early on in his life and he's become more loose in his old school beliefs as time goes on. He helps my mom around the house cleaning, he folds laundry...but the food he leaves to my mom, but he is by no means helpless. I guess, when I was younger, I just felt like if I had to conform to all these rules about being good, I will rebel in other things and that was just doing the opposite of what my parents like. Also, I went through a brief identity crisis in middle school, so to me being liking what my parents liked made me that much more Mexican...which I did NOT like. Thank GOD I'm over that! Hence why I think little Mexi-American kids need teachers that look like them, yada yada yada...

So anyway, I got really into singing in 6th grade and hadn't stopped until my Freshman year in college. I sang all through middle school, all through high school, took some cheap ass voice lessons from an old crabby drunk emotionally insensitive old lady who would fart all the time, and I was on my way. I competed for regionals and my senior year I made it to state. I didn't with, but at least I finally got there after competing for 4 years. Also, since I was a senior, I could sing a solo at our winter concert. They wanted me to go with the usual, English or Italian, but I rebelled and went with Spanish. My teacher was really upset but I fought and worked hard on my song! When I graduated, I didn't think I would be a singer, but I just enjoyed it far too much. I loved being in the musicals because it allowed to express a side of myself that I don't reveal every day: Performer Andrea. I don't feel comfortable carrying her around in my skin, but she's there and I like her. I think a lot of this has to due with my culture and of course my family.

As a Latino, the best trait you can have is being humble. Never inflate yourself, you'll be seen as a pompous ass. So I never did. Sure, my parents told me I was smart and pretty, but I never felt like I was allowed to say that about myself. I'm still working on that....
So I suppose my point is that I like to be the center of attention. It's a weird mix though. I LOVE to perform and have all eyes on me and I can't wait for the day I get married because that's MY day, which is why I LOVE my birthday. Its the one day I'm allowed to be selfish and want everything to be about me...But, in my daily life, I don't allow myself that luxury but at the same time, I wouldn't want that. I'm not the life of the party, nor do I want to be. I'm not a social butterfly. Hosting parties makes me a bit nervous...but if I were to perform...that's another thing. It's my job, it's what I'm doing, I have a gig.

I've only Karaoked a handful of times. One time in HS, once in college, a couple times post college. For some reason, I get this weird stage fright that makes me unable to sing in front of family and friends, but strangers, bring it on! But a couple years ago, I decided I needed to change that. Singing was something I was good and I want to share it and I want other so see this skill as well, cuz by golly, I'm pretty good!
After college I took three years of voice lessons with an awesome teacher, but I quit because I felt like I wasn't going anywhere with it. I had no recitals, no musicals, no band to perform with. It was all kind of pointless, but I do realize now, my voice is MUCH better thanks to those three years. So on my 29th birthday, I decided I would have a karaoke party with all of my friends and loved ones. I was SO scared! They were ALL THERE (ok, except for you Kristin!) and all I could think about was, what will they think of me. I've hyped this up so much, they're going to think I suck. I think that's the other thing...the pressure. They know I've been singing since 6th grade so they expect Christina Aguilera up there! Ay!

But whatever, I got up there and I did it and I did it again and again and again... I loved it! I told myself this is something I wanted to do, that I loved singing.
Fast forward almost a year and I'd not returned to a Karaoke bar since. Not because I don't want to but, I don't really have friends who do it and I got really involved with dance and I have friends that do do that. But a friend of a friend was having auditions for this dancing girl group and the auditions were at a karaoke bar.
So, I gathered my two songs, a ballad and an upbeat tempo song, and off I went with a friend. I was so nervous cuz not only was it kind of last minute, I was getting over a cold so my voice was about 95 percent. I had to choose songs that fit with my voice, not that I necessarily wanted to sing, but I went with it.

The first was a miss. I was so nervous and I had to sing after this guy that sang a heavy metal song. So here I come with my ballad by the Dixie Chicks, "I believe in love" to a room full of drunk hipsters. Ah! I had nothing witty to say, so I just started singing. I couldn't find my voice, I couldn't hear my notes, but as the song went on, I got better and loosened up. Thank GOD. The next song was my uptempo, but as the hours dragged one...one, then two, then THREE HOURS, I just wanted to get it over with, so once they called my name I was all "FINALLY!" and just got up there and went with it. Bonnie Tyler's "Holding out for a Hero" was a hit with the now 12 member audience. I know I faltered just a bit, but I even did a little choreographed arms mimicking the video. This is an audition anyway, right? It was so much fun. At times, I closed my eyes and that helped so much, but I just felt like a dork doing that, so I'd open them once in a while.

After it was all said and done, my friend said I did a great job, that he was blown away. A couple other people came up and complimented me. And since I'm new Andrea not old Andrea, all I said was thank you. I didn't down play or make excuses, just "Thank you".

So, I probably won't find out if I made the girl group until this weekend, but regardless of what happens, I'm going to start singing Karaoke. I know I'm a good singer, I have tons of fun and people enjoy my singing, I just need to gain the confidence to get up there and make it look effortless...

First hike of the Season-Klickitack

It's been a while since I posted a book review or well anything as of late. I've been really into self-help books and honestly, no offense, but the social commentary I'd have on those is a little too personal for public blogs, so I'm keeping those nuggets to myself. I need to finish up The Greatest Generation and then I'll start on Hero Street. I'm sure I'll have something to say about that one.

But in the meantime, the weather is finally getting nice here in Portland, Or so a few friends and I have been trying to get out and enjoy with with a few weekend hikes.

A couple weeks ago, by the magic of FB, a friend posted about going on a Sunday hike and if anyone was interested. Luckily, I was actually awake that early enough so I said I'd go. By 11:30am I was at her house and ready to go. I hadn't asked her any details about where we were going, how long, or if I should bring food. You see, I'm a newbie with the whole hiking thing. My family did not go hiking nor camping. Pop always said "Why would I pay to sleep on the floor when I slept on the floor when I was young because we were so poor." Good point. So we never did that and I grew accustomed to indoor activities: movies, dancing, drawing, singing, driving. There was the occasional walk around the neighborhood and maybe trip to the park, but never a full blown day of hiking somewhere beautiful, so when I met my roommate, who is super into the outdoors (except for the camping part!) I made a vow that I was going to get into it too. It's just not one of my default activities, but I'm trying.

So as mentioned, two weeks ago, my friend Kate and I ventured 1.5 hours east to the lovely area of Mt. Hood and crossed the White Salmon bridge into Washington. It was just the perfect temperature and perfect sun light. I even got a little sun on my neck.

Here is a shot of us driving toward Klickatack on the Washington side. Even in a car, its just beautiful



Afterward, Kate mentioned this beautiful rest area with a view. And that it was!





From there, we started. This used to be an old railway area. It was a very easy hike that was a long the river. I couldn't have asked for anything more. I was so happy it wasn't a hard hike either!






We did see a ton of wildlife including a frog, a variety of butterflies, vultures, herons and even seagulls, which I found to be quite funny.



Finally, we were coming to the end of our hike and off in the distance you could see Mt. Hood.



Perfect ending to a lovely day. I'd never hung out with Kate alone, as she is my best-friend from college's childhood friend (think about it...) so it was nice to have a wonderful background to a blossoming new relationship.

Good bye Ugly Betty

It's been 4 years since we first heard and began watching the weekly escapades of Betty, the "ugly" assistant to a high fashion magazine, played by America Ferrera.

It's hard for me to put into words what this show means to me. I kind of see America and Betty as synonymous. First, America starred in Real Woman Have Curves (a movie that spoke to me on multiple levels), then she continued on a road of independent and commercial success (The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, Under the Same Moon.) So it is hard to disassociate her from my love for Betty Suarez.

You see, growing up a Mexican-American girl a white suburb of Portland, Oregon wasn't necessarily hard but it also wasn't that great. I was the only Mexican/Latina girl around for years. Everywhere I turned, no one looked at me. To an extent, I didn't even look like my own mother, who's light skin and dark hair set her a apart from other dark skinned Mexicans. To further put the space between us, my brother told me I was picked up from the garbage, so that didn't really help my sense of feeling a part from everyone.

Now, I do know what its like to be in the majority, rather that the minority and that feels weird too. I lived in Mexico for 2 years when I was younger. Everyone around me looked like me...but I was American and it was almost like they could sniff it out. Something about the way I walked, talked, carried myself, was different from those Mexicans.

Finally back in the states, it was more of the same for me. There was no one on tv, at my school, in movies or even in history books, that I could identify with. No one looked like me, and I think people really underestimate the power that can have on a child. I think this is why I love history so much. It's a constant investigation on looking for myself.

When I went to college, I finally began to meet more Latinos who came from a variety of backgrounds. Those who were recent immigrants, first-generation, or sixth generation and in all honesty, the ones I could identify the most with was with the first generation: our parents spoke Spanish, we were bilingual, we tread the waters between our two cultures with a heavy heart. We don't want to make one feel less...

So years after middle school, high school and even college (a few years that is) comes Betty, this Mexican-American pretty, but dorky, fashion senseless, smart, confident and hard working gal on the television screen. I was blown away. I finally saw myself. I kept thinking "how can I look up to a gal that is 3 years younger than me?" but I did. I looked up to Betty as I look up to America.

The story had multiple layers to it: young woman making it her professional career, Latina woman, ugly duckling, immigration, etc.. but for me, what really struck me was that a family that finally looked like me, was made to seem normal. A family that had their oldest daughter still living at home, was normal. Sitting around the family table chatting and eating, normal. Being so close to your family, normal. All of this was always seen as a joke in other shows, something to be made fun of, but the truth is, this was very much how we grew up. My brother had to move back in and live with us after his divorce. Numerous time my other brother and I moved back in with my parents after college or lay offs...Normal, regular, fit in was all I ever wanted. I guess I just wanted to feel part of this country that I love so much. And that's a bit of what Ugly Betty did for me.

But now its time to move on. I've had her Bettyisms buzzing in my head for four years now. I've had examples of her confidence, and vulnerability taking her to places she wants and deserves to go. Now its my turn. Now its my turn to find my inner Ugly Betty and figure out what life has set out for me.

And for all of this: the "ugliness", the laughter, the vulnerability, the doubts, the love, the warmth-I thank you Ugly Betty, I thank you for making me feel like I belong.

The Greatest Generation By Tom Brokaw

What I've learned from reading a variety of non-fiction books is that journalists say it best and Tom Brokaw is no exception.


I've been reading "The Greatest Generation" by Tom Brokaw for a few months now. One might think its taken me this long because I'm either a slow reader or it's boring. Well, one out two is correct. Usually, I have a tendency to devour books. I over compensate my slow reading with skimming and end up missing most of the point, so I deliberately decided to take my time with this book and only read it while I'm at the gym. Plus, its a hard back so its easy to prop open.


A few months back, my mom had a stack of books my brother was giving away, kind of a purging of his collection. I saw the book and remember hearing good reviews, this however, was before I discovered my love for all things WWII. I picked it up and asked my mom "How can Renato be giving this away?!" she said his wife had a copy, so if I wanted this one, I could have it. So I snatched it up. It sat on my bookshelf, along with all my other anxious books (yeah, I totally just anthropomorphize my book, what?! They're excited to get read, I know it!) until I felt a pull toward it. In the meantime, I read a few books of fiction, a non-fiction book about past lives, some short stories, many self help and finally, I was back to WWII and I settled in for this epic story, as if I were sitting at the feet of my grandfather (note to readers: I've never met any of my grandfathers, and even if I did, they wouldn't have been in WWII, they were both Mexican. More on that later.)


I often wonder why I have this "draw" to WWII or history in general. I love all things history. If I narrow it down, I come up with US History as my main focus and if I look a little deeper, I have a swelling heart for Ethnic Studies, any US History related to people of color. Within US History, what draws me the most is WWII, the Civil Rights movement, the civil war and the contact, in no particular order. But yet, time after time, I'm drawn to WWII, the greatest generation. Perhaps (and seriously, I'm just throwing theories out there) it's because my family wasn't here yet. I find it odd that I'd be drawn to something I'm not a part of. I think its also looking for this sense of belonging, looking for faces like mine during "The Greatest Generation" just so I know, I belong too. As I've mentioned, my family wasn't here in the 40s. My family's US history begins in 1969, after my parents got married and my dad moved back to the US. In history class, we'd have projects where they said "go ask your grandparents about WWII or where were they when Kennedy got shot?" And I never could. For one, my grandfathers were both in Mexico at the time and had no involvement in WWII, not even as the Aztec Eagle (Mexican fighter pilots that helped the US during WWII). I suppose, I always felt out of place, like I didn't belong. I think legions of immigrants post 1950s might feel that way, not having a kind of connection to the toddlerness that was our country at the turn of the century. I constantly fight for a sense of belonging here, even though I often see myself as an other. And the thing is, I am an other, but that doesn't make me less of an American than any one else. And I don't say that because someone has outright said that, I think I say it because I too am trying to convince myself that I belong in this country, even if sometimes it doesn't feel that way. I've lived in Mexico, and although I blend in, I still feel different. I live here and even though I've slowly started to not stick out like a sore thumb, I do sometimes feel like an other. So again, that's why I look through our US history to try to find myself in it, why during WWII? Perhaps because it was one of the most important times in our country, one of the most complicated times in our country, a kind of schizophrenia was going on. We must save the Jews from Nazi persecution, but yet, we had segregated armed forces. African-American, Indian-American, Asian-American soldiers all fought one enemy over seas, but came back to find themselves fighting another one: prejudice, Jim Crow etc. I find all this fascinating in a disturbing kind of way, but still I search, I search for a face that looks like mine through all the historical rubble.


Another side to this coin is a sense of responsibility. I feel our generation has lost touch with what's important in life. We're all about instant gratification: twitter, Facebook, pop culture. I want, instead of I need, right now, instead of patience. Rash decision, instead of carefully thought out plans. I'm not sure I'm making much sense on this, but all I can say is that reading about what people had to go through to get to wear they are, especially woman, has given me more of a sense of responsibility to do my part as well as a sense gratitude for the crap they had to endure just so I could go to college and/or not have to avoid restaurants that had signs saying "No Mexicans or dogs allowed".


I guess what I'm getting to with this entry is that history is an important part in the global sense of connection and belonging. Through someones act somewhere, I am where I am, and I personally find comfort in that. My sense of belonging has been damaged for quite sometime now but slowly, I've been finding ways to chisel away at the those parts of myself.


I'm not yet done with this book. I probably have 100 more pages to go, but I highly recommend it, not just to a WWII lover, but a lover of personal stories, personal histories. We all have one, we are all important, we all belong.

It's been a while

Why hello there Portland, it's been a while, about 4 months to be exact. These last two have gone by so fast, I barely knew what happened.


I've not written much because well, I'm not reading, nor am I running. I've been reading Tom Brokav's "The Greatest Generation"for about 2 months now. (A post about that should be coming.) I've not finished it because its boring, it's just that its the book I read while I'm at the gym. It's a hard back (which I rarely own) so its easy to prop on the elliptical or stationary bike. The other part of this equation as to why I've not finished is because I've not gone to the gym as often as I'd like. The holidays came in like a tornado and spit me out 6 pounds heavier, then I'm moving from NW to SE and this is my last week at my apartment, so I've been packing and anxiety ridden because of it, which yes, exercise is supposed to help with all that, but I'm a stubborn little woman, so instead, I just go home and click on another episode of Law and Order: SVU. I'm waiting till I've moved to stop the madness, or until I suspect every man on the street wants to rape me...which ever comes first.


So yes, I'm moving. Again...ok, well after almost 3.5 in NW Portland, I'm moving across the river to the scary side of town. My mom always warned all us youn ins growing up that "downtown" was scary, which also encompassed anything that had eastin its name. So, not until I moved to Portland AFTER college, did I begin to explore the parts of the East side that were supposedly scary. Sure, there are sketch parts that I know now to avoid, but I've also fallen quite in love with the NE: Irvington, Alameda, Broadway, Freemont and I was really looking forward to exploring the newly established hip NoPo (or North Portland), but alas, the new roomie and I decided on the SE Sellwood area. Its quite a quaint little spot and I really look forward to exploring it. On one of our unpacking excursions, we drove around SE Tacoma, SE 13th and SE Milwauakie and much to my giddy surprise there were quaint little coffee shops and TONS of antique shops...this fits me quite well.


One of the main questions people have asked me is: Are you nervous to have a roommate after living alone for some many years? To be honest: I'm not. I'm really excited. That might be the me of "silver lining, glass half full, frown upside..." but I really am. Its one of those "one door closes, another opens" and I just gotta see it for what it is, an opportunity. I'm going to save money and have a live in buddy! The last 5 years I honestly thought I was done with the whole roommate thing. Not because I didn't want it (ok, a piece of me didn't want it) but because I was in a long-term committed relationship which we both expected to end in marriage. This would have been the year him and I moved in together, probably gotten married and two years from now planned on having children...but it was not to be, and as sad as letting go of that dream is, I'm excited to have another chance at exploring life with a new set of characters. I now get to discover and explore Portland as a single gal. I've not done that since HS. So yes, I'm excited. I feel like this is the perfect timing for something like this. Ok, perfect is not the right word, I'm hesitant to EVER use the word perfect, but the timing is just right. When I was starting to think about cutting my rent in half, I met a wonderful friend through dance who would later become my roommate. Honestly, I didn't know it was possible to be such good friends with someone after just a few months. These things have happened few and far between the years. When it was time to look for a place, there she was. And now, I feel restless at my old place, my lazy habits beating out the healthy ones, I'm moving which will force me to put back in play my healthy habits which I'm really looking forward to. I'll be working out in the morning, which gives me the evening to do cooking or meet a friend at happy hour. I'll have a buddy to laze around with on Sunday mornings or to spontaneously go grab a drink at the local watering hole (once we find it!) And, I'll also have to force myself to take time for myself in the forms of writing, reading and projects. I've always been the kind of person that is better with little time to do many things, than having ALL THE TIME in the world to do one, so I think this arrangement will suit me well...until its time for another change. It could be 6 months, it could be 2 years. I honestly have no idea what's going to happen, but I'm ready for it, my knees are slightly bent, my stance is strong: world, I'm ready for whatever you have to throw at me!

Eat Pray Love

I've gotten back into reading again, I can say happily. These last three weeks I've devoured books. I was in a "fiction" mood so that's all I've wanted. I read The Memory Keeper's Daughter and was reintroduced into why I love good fiction. The Sugar Queen, and Garden Spells and it too reminded me of why I love magical realism. Ah, sweet sweet fiction. So I was surprised as to why I decided to pick up Eat, Pray, Love after being in such a fictionous state (yeah, I just made it up, so what!) Eat, Pray, Love is a memoir of a woman who'd traveled to Italy, India and Indonesia after a horrible divorce. It was CERTAINLY not something I wanted to read at all and I just wanted either heavy FICTION or light and fluffy, with meaning. I found that in those previous three books I mentioned. But something made me open up EPL and I am forever thankful.

I'm not good with expressing myself with the written word. I'm an extremely emotional person, so I have a hard time articulating my thoughts and my feelings verbally or written. Not until I picked up EPL did I finally see much of what I was thinking, feeling and believing on a written page. I don't mean to say that I'm exactly like the protagonist, because I'm not, but her experiences, more her feelings, really reflect much of what I was feeling a few months back and have dripped into my present life. I have a reason to believe that this book came into my life for a reason, right place and right time.

And that's just what I choose.

(note, this was written a while back, yikes!)