Familia, Fotos

Christmas Past: Danny and Santa (1983)

I went home this weekend partly out of necessity (brother’s birthday, laundry) and partly out of a simple desire to be around my parents, siblings, grandparents and VR (the dog). Plus, I was jealous of my sister’s texts and Facebook updates about the fire going in our fireplace.

Home feels like Christmas. The tree is up and decorated with lights, ornaments and some Christmas cards. The nacimiento (sans baby Jesus, of course) is in its place, but this year isn’t surrounded by the elaborate Santa’s village. Dad strung up the lights on Saturday and put up our stockings. There’s a wreath on the door. Two Christmas lists made by Adrian and Lori are on the fridge. And of course, we watched a Christmas movie (Four Christmases).

I don’t decorate my apartment much. I’m not even sure where I’ve placed my mini Christmas tree. Thus, I’ll decorate my blog with pictures of Christmas past.

(Sidenote: judging from Hollywood movies, I’d assume that all white people dread spending time with their families during the holidays.)

Familia, Fotos

A good age

Happy 31st birthday, Danny!

Randomness

What’s new? Five things

Yes, I’m still in school
I had a set deadline for making solid progress academically. I missed it. I’m actually okay with it because I have made progress thanks to my writing group. In my head, my dissertation sounds great, it even sounds great when I explain it to people. A friend joked, “I’d actually read that, not just skim it.”

Baseball is over, but I still pay attention to my LA teams
I went to my first NBA game on Saturday night. I watched the Clippers beat the Indiana Pacers. Not very exciting, right? Not for me. The game was a match up of two late ’90s UCLA standouts and current/former crushes Baron Davis (owner of my second favorite beard) and Earl Watson. Alan joked that what was an insignificant game to most was my dream match up.

Airborne
I still travel a lot. These days, my trips are much less taxing. After spending a good chunk of Friday either on a plane (listening to an interview with Jason Reitman), on the way to/from an airport, or in the airport, I returned to a chilly LA. That evening, I started my mini-George Clooney movie weekend with Up In the Air. The next day, I watched The Men Who Stare at Goats. I recommend both films.

Let’s go shopping (my sister had this board game… oh gender roles)
I thought I’d like shopping more now that clothes fits. I don’t. Don’t get me wrong, I love looking at clothes online, but just don’t like being in stores, trying to find my size (or figure out my size as it changes a lot these days), trying on clothes, etc. I also simply dislike a lot of current trends. I completely understand why celebrities have stylists. I’d find it a lot easier to dress myself if someone just told me what to wear (and bought it for me too). [Hint, hint.]

Back to tumbling, many, many years later
I’m posting photos, songs, videos, links and other bits at my tumblr blog, 31 and other mini obsessions. See what I like. (I was inspired by Sean’s tumblr blog Sean Loves This.)

Cambios

Recognition

“You’re doing great,” the receptionist said as she recorded my weight and pasted the sticker recording my progress for that week in my pocket guide.

“Thanks,” I said and smiled.

“You’re doing so great. Do you recognize yourself?”

I paused, unsure of what she was asking and how to respond.

“Yeah,” I said tentatively, but wasn’t sure.

I slipped my shoes back on, grabbed my purse and took a seat. As I thought about the receptionists question some more, I realized she asked a different question. At first, I heard, “do you recognize your weight loss progress with small rewards?” Then I reinterpreted it as, “do you recognize the changes in habits — both eating and exercise — since January?”

That was not her question. She asked, “do you recognize yourself… when you look in the mirror?”

“Yes,” I thought to myself. Of course. When I see my face, I still look like Cindy. I don’t even feel that I look much different unless I look at photos. And even then, I see more differences in my clearer skin complexion, or the great tan I had over the summer. Unlike my padrino José, I don’t think my nose looks more prominent or that my face is more “afilada.”

Other people think differently. A few weeks ago, Papá Chepe told me he confused me for my sister, Lori, when he first saw me. Other family members say I look more like my mom (as a 20-year old bride) or cousin Sandy.

Part of me takes the comments as a compliment, another indicator of my progress. But there’s a nagging critic that says, “they don’t recognize you without all the extra weight, that’s why they compare you to your thinner sister, cousin and mom. They’re like the bouncer who didn’t believe you were the girl on your driver’s license.”

I’m still me. I know I am.

Familia

Cochinitos

I was telling a friend about this song a few days ago. I sang the first few lines, but stopped. I never remember the first two verses about the selfish cochinitos even though dad sang the whole song to us.

He’d take breaks from the adult songs (“Camino de Guanajuato,” “Volver, Volver” y “El Rey”) to appease us kids with some classics from Cri Cri. I loved these songs, especially when dad would do silly voices or add in the snoring sound of the sleeping piglets.

These days, when he gets out the guitar, I still ask him to sing “Los Tres Cochinitos” like I did when I was 6 years old. It never gets old.

Some day I’m going to learn to play this song so I can continue the tradition.