Sean and I have our own summer superhero movie blockbuster in the works.
Bebe Mosqueda Campbell is due July 25th.
Category Archives: Familia
Fall, football and family
Recently:
I celebrated my big brother Danny’s birthday on Monday with the other siblings and our significant others. It was a chill dinner with lots of jokes and football talk.
While there we talked about Jenni Rivera’s passing. I wasn’t a fan, but was well aware of her family’s role in the banda scene and knew about her career (both the ups and downs) in music and TV. I do have friends and family members who were very affected by her death and are still grieving. Descanse en paz, Jenni.
Her death also brought up a critique from several Latino journalists about the lack of coverage of Latino artists. Gustavo Arellano’s 2003 profile is one of the few long form pieces in the English language MSM.
I discovered the birthplace of the interwebs. It’s a short walk from my office.
I’ve worked with my parents, aunts and uncles on planning for Papá Chepe and Mamá Toni’s 70th wedding anniversary. Yes, seventy! The parties are always fun ’cause all my cousins show up and I get to play with their babies. Plus, the grandparents get all cute and affectionate with each other. It’s adorable.
This quiet bridge on campus adjacent to Royce Hall is one of my favorite spots on campus. I love that it feels like no one is around on a campus with more than 50,000 people. Last Friday night, Sean and I went to a great show by James “Blood” Ullmer’s Memphis Blood (blues) and Meshell Ndegeocello. Each set was amazing. (Losanjealous has photos: Meshells’ set, James “Blood” Ullmer.)
Last month, I returned to the Rose Bowl for the first time in 10+ years. After I quit the band, I didn’t bother going to games. As an alum I’d watch and cheer, but wasn’t interested in making the trip out to the Rose Bowl. I hadn’t ever tailgated. I went twice in two weeks.
I was late to the UCLA vs USC game, but it was okay because I still got to see UCLA beat USC for the first time since 2006.
The game was great, but the weather was awful. I still stayed for the postgame show with the band. Band geek p/v.
The next week I jumped at the chance to go my first tailgate ever for the final game of the season against Stanford. The tacos were yummy and I got to catch up with some old friends. The weather was great (hot!), but the game wasn’t great.
The game was Sean’s first tailgate too. He has an excuse since he went to a school without a football team.
As we were waiting to enter the Rose Bowl, the band marched by. I almost cheered for the trombone line — my former section! — but kept my inner band geek in check. I was only in the band during my first two years at UCLA, but the experience was quite memorable. I quit after I got busier on campus (work, being a student leader, taking on a double major) and the football team started faltering.
Still, I can’t help but get excited when I see the gold capes and see the pregame show that hasn’t changed since I was in then band 13 years ago.
The Soloist
It’s the feast day of the La Virgen de Guadalupe, one of the most important days for a Mexican, especially one was raised by Guadalupanos. I’ve written many posts over the years on December 12th. This post about one of my favorite moments during our wedding Mass has been sitting in my drafts. I thought it was fitting. Sorta.
During my 2004 solo trip to Mexico, I reconnected with dozens of extended family members. I stayed in Guanajuato with my dad’s cousins for a week and then took a bus out to Mexico City where I stayed with another aunt and cousin.
Fabiola and tía Rosa had moved to Mexico City a year or two before so that Fabiola could study canto at the national conservatory. I was impressed by Fabiola’s beautiful voice and her budding career as an opera singer, but I was more impressed by her. I had met her once or twice when I was much younger and barely remembered her, but you wouldn’t have known that since she was so welcoming. Fabiola and other aunts, uncles and cousins made me feel like I was in my second home. They became the main reason Guanajuato is now one of my happy places.
While we weren’t sightseeing around el D.F., Faby and tía Rosa recounted the stressful experience of obtaining a visitor’s visa. In 2003 Faby had been accepted to an opera workshop in Oregon. She was worried that her visa application would be rejected at the consulate. The process is quite unpredictable even when the applicant has all the required documentation and more. Faby got lucky, in part because she demonstrated her singing talents (I may be making that up, but I like the idea of her singing at the consulate). The official was so impressed that she granted Fabiola a visa good for ten years.
This was a big deal to both Faby and tía Rosa as it meant she could go to her workshop, future workshops/contests and could come visit family. I thought of myself. “So this means I have to get married within ten years so you can come and sing for me?”
Faby feigned offense that I would only invite her so she could sing.
“No, no, no, I’d want you there even if you didn’t have an amazing voice.”
Faby was cool with it and we made up, but I never forgot the conversation.
***
I kept in touch with Fabiola over the years. If I was in Guanajuato or she was in LA for an opera contest or wedding, we’d hang out. The last time I saw her was in 2010 for some family weddings. She sang “Ave Maria” at tía Anita and tío Juan Carlos’s wedding. I recorded it and still get goosebumps listening to it again. Being rather emo, her voice makes me want to cry. [Watch on Youtube]
After Sean and I got engaged, she congratulated us and then offered “te iré a cantar a LA!” If that could happen, it would be amazing.
In the spring, we made arrangements so she could come out for the wedding. I spoke to Michael, the organist/music director, and planned the music for the ceremony. The church allows a soloist, but I couldn’t have Fabiola sing the entire Mass. We planned times for her to rehearse and made sure Michael knew that Fabi would sing the Schubert version of Ave Maria in B flat.
Faby arrived on Thursday night as planned. On Saturday, as dad drove me and Lori onto the church grounds I could hear her rehearsing from the car. I snuck in to the sacristy (staging room of sorts for the priest, altar servers) and waited. As I waited Michael came in and offered his impressions.
“Your cousin has a beautiful voice. She almost brought tears to my eyes.”
He rushed out again to be ready to play the entrance march and I went back to trying to keep calm by chatting up the brother/sister altar server team.
***
I loved our bilingual wedding Mass. It was the most important part of the day. Sean and I thoughtfully chose the readings and spent time selecting the music with Michael. My dad was with us when we planned the music and offered his own suggestions since he has tons of experience in that area.
After the entrance I took my place next to Sean at the kneelers in front of the altar. We had our backs to all our guests except Fabiola since she was sitting by Michael and the organ. Her smile instantly calmed my nerves and made me feel happy.
After the first reading by my cousin Beatriz, Faby sang for the firs time. She and Christine (official cantor) switched off singing the verses of the responsorial psalm in English and Spanish. It was lovely. Even better, despite our bilingual set up, our guests were singing along. I tried to sing too, but couldn’t hold notes very long thanks to the tight bodice of my dress.
Traditional Mexican Catholic wedding Masses include the adoration of the Virgin Mary. This takes place almost at the end just before the presentation of the bride and groom. The newlyweds take a bouquet to the Virgin Mary statue and take a moment to say a prayer and ask for her blessings in their marriage and life. As a lifelong Guadalupana (devotee to the Virgen de Guadalupe) I’ve always loved this part of wedding Masses because of the intimate nature of the moment, but also because a soloist sings “Ave Maria.”
As Sean and I slowly walked to the small shrine and said short prayers, Fabi sang the long version. According to dad, she was asked to sing the shorter version but objected saying, “I didn’t come all the way from Mexico to sing the short version.”
Fabi was amazing and made me tear up. Not only was her voice perfect, but it was even more meaningful to me that she took time out of her busy performance schedule and master’s classes to come sing for us. I may have had a chance to get to know her over the years, but she’s only met Sean once. I felt incredible love and joy from family throughout our wedding day, but the love I felt from Fabi singing and sharing her talent was different.
And because she’s awesome, Fabi sang “Si Nos Dejan” for us later backed by the mariachi. My cousin knows me. I adore that song.
She also sang “Caminos de Guanajuato” with my dad but I missed that somehow. I hope it’s on the video!
Grain of wheat
When Sean and I arrived at Tío Johnny’s viewing and Rosary I noticed a few things immediately:
- The open casket (1992 LA Marathon finish line photo propped inside it) surrounded by collages of photos and flowers
- The low murmur of music and a choir singing
- The absence of my father
The second two were odd. The rosary had not begun yet and the first hour was just a viewing for the family. A good number of tía Susana’s side of the family were already seated. The Mosqueda side was on the road.
I figured dad was at the church, but he was rehearsing the music for the services with friends/family members. That’s why I heard faint music.
I walked toward the area the music was coming from, hoping to find an exit to a rehearsal room nearby. I didn’t find anything and was confused. Lupe (old family friend, tía Susana’s sister) noticed and filled me in on the music.
“Qué buscas?”
“Mi papá. Is he practicing over there?”
“No, mija! That’s us… it’s a recording.” She pointed to a grey boom box I had missed initially. “Javier had a recording of us singing and put it on a CD. Your tío John was the one conducting the group.”
And dad was surely playing guitar or bass in the background.
It all made sense. The voices sounded very young. And dad still had not shown. And tío John had made his presence felt at the viewing and rosary in more ways than one.
***
When dad arrived a little later, he set up near the boom box. Danny joined him. Lori did too. Without a question, they would be backing up dad as we usually do in these situations. Los Marcianos — the folks from the youth group/band dad, tío Johnny, tía Susana and several others were part of in the 70s-80s — joined in as well.
I stayed in the pews with Sean, Adrian, and my grandparents thinking I wouldn’t be able to sing for tío Johnny because of my cold. I felt sad about it, but knew that I’d already sung for him on Tuesday night. When we arrived at the house in San Gabriel, my aunts were singing for tío John hoping he could hear us. I joined in, especially when dad arrived and they brought out a guitar.
On Tuesday I was okay, by Friday I was much worse. Mom asked me why I wasn’t lining up with the choir. I mentioned being sick. Two minutes later, I was standing next to Lori and asking around for cough drops. I couldn’t stay away. I had to sing as best I could and I needed to be near my dad and siblings.
I sang with my dad, Danny, Lori and over a dozen Marcianos who knew and loved tío Johnny since he was a teen. The next morning during the funeral Mass and burial at the cemetery, we did the same. This time, Adrian joined the group on drums; Danny played tío Johnny’s newest guitar. Despite no formal rehearsals, the priest complimented the choir as the best he had ever heard at a funeral.
***
I had the songs we sang for tío Johnny stuck in my head for more than a week. I must have sang “Entre Tus Manos” at least half a dozen times. “Amor Eterno” twice; tears both times, of course. “Pescador de Hombres” three times. “Felicidad” — a new one for me — four times. “Vaso Nuevo” at least twice. There were a few Beatles songs and a couple of English hymns, but “Entre Tus Manos” stuck the most. It also makes me the most emotional… It’s the last two lines.
Entre Tus manos
Está mi vida, Señor
Entre Tus manos
Pongo mi existir
Hay que morir para vivir
Entre Tus manos confío me ser
Si el grano de trigo no muere
Si no muere solo quedará,
Pero si muere en abundancia dará
Un fruto eterno que no morirá.
I know this grain of wheat is still giving abundant fruit. I can hear it and will sing along to it with my family.
“In your hands” loose translation:
In your hands / Is my life, Lord / In your hands / I place my being / One must die to live / In your hands I entrust my life
If the grain of wheat does not die / If it does not die, it will remain alone / But if it dies, it will give in abundance / An eternal fruit that will not die.]
Group photo borrowed from Lupe P.
Nonagenarian second time voters
Four years ago Lori called while I waited in line to vote. She had a story she wanted me to blog about. Papá Chepe and Mamá Toni (grandparents), first time voters, had just cast their ballot for this guy:
The following is a repost from Octogenarian first-time voters.
Mamá Toni (86) and Papá Chepe (88), first-time voters
I got to my polling place at about ten. The line was wrapped around the small Episcopal church. It was incredibly quiet, save for a few conversations between neighbors and friends. I took out my iPod and entertained myself with non-election related podcasts and games.
After 45 minutes in line, I got a call from my sister.
“Hey, I have a blog topic for you. The grandparents just returned from voting. They have their stickers on and I took a picture. It’s on Flickr.”
“Oh, cool! I’ve been waiting like 45 minutes at my polling place.”
“Dad said Mamá Toni punched too many holes on her ballot and had to get a new one.
“Oh, well. I think you’re allowed a new one if you made a mistake.”
“They’re all excited and proud of their stickers. It’s so cute.”
Papá Chepe and Mamá Toni became citizens a few years ago. I think it was around 2002, but I don’t remember exactly. They finally registered to vote a few weeks ago. Papá Chepe bugged my parents to get him registered, he wanted to cast his vote for Obama. I lagged on picking up a voter registration form for them. Eventually, dad registered them online through Rock the Vote. (Ironic, I know.)
This morning, despite both having nagging colds, Papá Chepe and Mamá Toni went out to vote. My dad helped them fill out their sample ballots and drove them to their polling place in Hacienda Heights. They waited half an hour before voting. When they got home, Lori made them pose for a photo. They were proud to show off their stickers. Later, I called Papá Chepe on his cell phone.
“¿Votaron por Obama?” I asked.
“Sí,” Papá Chepe responded. “Lo tenemos que meter.”
Photo by Lori
***
Today I texted my siblings and dad while in line to vote at 7:30 am.
“Don’t forget to vote! Take the grandparents too!”
Danny replied with a joke. Dad replied with something more serious. He said that Papá Chepe planned to sit this election out. He wasn’t happy about Obama’s track record with undocumented immigrants. He’s not impressed (as am I) with the record number of undocumented immigrants Immigrations and Customs Enforcement have deported since he took office. I was sad, but I couldn’t argue. My grandpa is informed and not spouting lies. (PolitiFact has the number at 1.4 million, less than George W. Bush’s 2 million, but that was over 8 years.)
I offered some other reasons my grandparents should vote — propositions for education funding and others — as well as some other info on Obama’s deferred action for Dream Act youth and the Justice Department’s challenge to SB 1070. Last I heard that bit of info was enough to get him to the polls.
Lotería Chicana 