religion dilemma solved

Two weeks ago*, I went home for just over a day before heading out to Hawaii with the family. Unfortunately, this meant that I had to spend a Sunday morning at home which meant church time. It's always difficult to be forced to go to mass with my family and, this time, I didn't have Jesse with me to act as a buffer. I figured I'd be the only really, really, really lapsed Catholic in the church.

The church my family goes to is not a regular church. A few years ago, the Diocese of Orange purchased land to build the Diocese's second cathedral. This was before the pedophile priest scandal broke out. The church had not yet been built at the time of the scandal and, in an attempt to build a church community, religious services were held at a nearby grade school auditorium until a Cathedral could be built. A few years later, the Diocese still didn't have the funds to start building on the land they had purchased. Why? Well, they were too busy spending money on those case settlements for the pedophile priests the Diocese had protected**. Just last year, the Diocese bought the church community some portable units and combined them to make a makeshift church-like facility. This has been about a 5 year process. To this day, the Diocese has not yet started building the Cathedral.

When I entered the makeshift church, I noticed the community's demographic--old and young, nothing in between, and mostly Latino. I was greeted by friends of my family and soon sat down and waited for mass to begin.

Unlike all those other times since I've moved out that I've been forced to go to church, I felt like I didn't belong and I was COMFORTABLE with it. I listened to the deacon give his sermon (which was about communication) and felt that the advice was not only helpful, but universal--as in, not just advice for Catholics but for everyone. When the collection plate came by, I refused to put any money into it. Everything was fine and dandy until...

Communion time. We were seated in the second row and, soon it was my row's turn to go up to receive the body and blood of Christ. Catholic teachings require that your soul should be pure before receiving the host and the wine. Considering I violate Catholic teachings every day with my views, I knew that the Church didn't deem me worthy of receiving the body and blood of Christ. However, as I was about to sit down, my mom pinched me hard, forcing me to stay in line to receive the host.

Whenever Jesse and I go to church with my family, I never receive communion. After many years of Catholic school, I know I have sinned by violating the teachings of the Church and the sacrament of Confession requires that you reveal your sins and be sorry for committing them. I do not feel sorry about my views and my job and therefore I have not been to Confession in forever. I think my mom assumes that when I don't go up to receive communion I do it to keep Jesse company (Jesse cannot receive communion since he is not Catholic).

So my mom forces me to stay in line for communion and I know exactly what to do when I get up to the priest. When it is my turn, instead of extending my hands palm up to receive the host, I cross my arms over my chest and look down. This is a common signal to a priest that I want a blessing, not communion. The priest blesses me and I'm on my way. I'm not sure if my mom saw that I didn't take communion because when I went to my seat, she was beaming at me.

That day was remarkable to me for one reason--I realized that day that I am not a lapsed Catholic. I'm a former Catholic. While there will always be some Catholicism in my life as it is so ingrained in my culture, I feel comfortable not subscribing to one particular religion. In fact, I think I will make the following bible passage the main tenet of my religious faith:

"Then the King will say to those on his right, 'Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.'

"Then the righteous will answer him, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?'

"The King will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.'

From the parable of the sheep and goats in Matthew 25: 34-40


*Yes, I know that this story is way late but in the last 20 days, I've spent only 7 days in DC. The rest were business travel and vacation travel days. If you are wondering, yes, I'm still jet-lagged :)
**Everything you wanted to know about the priest sex abuse scandal in Orange County can be found here.

am I ethnic enough?

I know where I come from and I'm proud of my family and our history. But every once in a while, I wonder if I'm Latina enough.

It began when I was little at my Catholic elementary school. The first language I ever knew was Spanish. When I started Kindergarten, I was told that I wasn't allowed to speak Spanish any more (despite the fact that 90% of the class was Latino and spoke Spanish). Over the years, I lost my ability to speak Spanish. I could understand it well, but speaking, grammar, and writing became an issue.

Then I went to high school and took Spanish and it all came back to me--like riding a bike. Honestly, it all came back but one thing. My accent.

Some of you have probably heard me speak Spanish and have thought that I speak with the right accent, but I don't. I listen to Honduran, Mexican, Argentinian, Salvadorean, Columbian, Venezuelan accents all day long and my Spanish doesn't sound like that. Mine sounds different.

My accent isn't the only thing.. My appearance apparently makes me less Latina too. I'm pale skinned with green eyes and (dyed) red hair. A few weeks ago, I was doing a first interview with a potential client when he told me (in Spanish), "Your grammar is very good but you don't look Latina." When I asked him why he thought that, he replied, "Your coloring is off." What does that even mean?

Pondering this question over the weekend, I googled this topic and, time and time again, I came across the list. If anything made me feel even less like a Latina it was this:

10 Ways To Tell You're a Latina

You know you are Latina:

1. If you can't fight the urge to clap on a plane that has just landed!
2. If your boyfriend plucks, waxes or in any other way grooms his eyebrows even more than you do, then you are most likely a Latina...dating a Latino!
3. If even though you're fluent in English, you still refer to going grocery shopping as a compra.
4. If you have ever committed the cardinal sin and fashion faux pas of wearing socks with sandals!
5. If something immensely sad or something immensely adorable both elicit the exact same response of "Hay Bendito!".
6. If your grandmother's chancletas seemed to have some mystical boomerang powers, you know, she threw it at you and somehow it was magically back in her hand before you could even look up from your hiding place, then you are definitely Latina!
7. If Vick's VaporRub was pronounced Bibaporú and used by everyone in your family to cure anything from burns to acne to La Gripa to infertility.
8. If you have ever sat down on a couch and then immediately fallen off because of the slippery smooth surface created by the plastic covering the entire living room set...Latina all the way baby!
9. If you grew up with a mother and/or grandmother who made you eat a ton of their food to prove how much you loved them, and then called you gordita five minutes later while pinching your chichos!
10. If you are completely fed up with being called, fiery, spicy, caliente or any other adjective that could also describe a chili pepper, you are absolutely, positively, undeniably Latina.

In my whole life, I've only experienced #9 (and that's embarrassing to admit).

The fact is that Latinas come in all different colors, accents, sizes and experiences. Think of all the famous Latinas in Hollywood. Did you know that the following people are Latina?

Alexis Bledel (Rory of Gilmore Girls)
Jordana Brewster (love interest in the Fast and the Furious movies)
Camilla Belle (recently broke the heart of a Jonas Brother)
Cameron Diaz
Zoe Saldana (recently in the new Star Trek movie)
Kelis (hip hop artist of "Milkshake" fame)
Fergie (of the Black Eyed Peas)
LaLa (former MTV VJ)

And that's not counting the Latinos, like NFL QB Tony Romo and NBA star Carmelo Anthony.

There is no one single definition of being Latina. Within our own community there is so much diversity that homogeneity is impossible. And it's not just us. After all, what is Black? What is White? What does it all mean and why does it matter? It's as if society forces us to fit into these boxes that probably makes sense to the government (ie. US Census), but doesn't make any sense at all in the grand scheme of things.

So why tear each other down within the community? During the elections, I was surprised to hear people in the Black community claiming that Barack Obama just isn't Black enough. He was making history and this is what people were saying about him? What does 'being Black' mean? How is Obama not Black enough? As minorities, knowing what it is like to thought of as 'other', it's a shame that people within the same community chastise others for not being "(blank)" enough. As if being "(blank)" was some kind of universally accepted standard.

While I don't think the potential client I mentioned above was intentionally trying to make me feel like 'the other' within my own community, that was the end result of his comments.  I may have assimilated very well into this country, but I should not give anyone the power to make feel less like a part of my community.  

The next time someone makes me feel like I'm not Latina enough, I know exactly how to respond. I may not be Latina enough for them, but I am certainly Latina enough for me.

a week later and i'm still (fighting) mad

This is my final post about my cousin.

I've yet to hit the sadness stage of grief. I'm still stuck on the anger phase. As I mentioned to a friend, I think I'm going to be in this anger phase for quite some time.

I thought I could get over it but burying myself in work. All I've done is stress myself out.  This week, in particular, is going to be pretty crappy.

However, through all of this, I see my clients differently now. I don't feel more capable of helping them.  Now, I feel as though I can really understand them.

Don't get me wrong. I've always been sympathetic. But now it's as if I know their traumas. I know their motivations (or lack of). I know their frustrations.  And I know how a combination of all of these can result in tragedy.

The agency I work for is incredibly accepting. Latinos in the community know that they can walk through our front doors and not be judged by anyone inside. The gays and the straights have their support groups. Transgender Women know that this is a safe haven for them. We're all fighting the same fight. We don't have time to deal with stigma when people are getting infected every 9 and a half minutes. My workplace is a stigma-free zone.

I wish my cousin would've had the same resources that my clients do.

I see my cousin in some of my clients. The same stigma. The same fear. The many deterrents in seeking help.

I can't help my cousin any more. But I've still got a lot of other people to help.

*********

Speaking of helping others, Congresswoman Maxine Waters (of L.A.) has recently re-introduced the Routine HIV Screening Coverage Act (H.R. 822 in the 110th Congress). This bill would require health insurance plans to cover routine HIV tests under the same terms and conditions as other routine health screenings.

Rapid HIV tests are usually free or provided at a very low cost by community health centers. However, to provide an HIV test during a regular check up that also provides screenings for hypertension, diabetes, and cholesterol would NORMALIZE taking an HIV test for everyone. I'm all for including HIV tests as part of regular medical care. The goal here IS to get people to think of HIV tests as the usual fare during regular check-ups, to get them tested regularly without a second thought. Overall, it reduces the stigma of taking the test.

Plus, insurance companies would be footing the bill.  What's not to like about that?

So PLEASE contact your congressperson and urge them to support this legislation!

Don't know how? This website can help.

AIDS: the family secret with a heavy cost

I just found out my cousin has died of AIDS.

It was just a few years ago when he decided not only to come out to my sister and me but to also tell us that he was HIV positive. I'm not sure if I can accurately convey how brave he was to tell us.

He lived in a very rural area of Mexico. He was gay and knew it and the only people he confided in were his Chicana cousins. He reasoned that homosexuality was more accepted in the US so, of course, his family across the border would understand.

I did understand. I urged him to come to me if he needed anything, even if he just needed someone to talk to. It's what I tell all of my clients. Except he wasn't a client. He was my family.

He never did tell anyone about himself and he never did tell his family about the HIV. You just don't talk about those kinds of things in his small pueblo. If you did, you were banished from home and disowned by your family. My cousin had two options: he could either tell everyone and suffer alone or tell no one and live in shame.

AIDS took his life because he never sought treatment. If he had, the whole town would've known.

I am really hating myself right now. For chrissakes I help complete strangers with HIV! I should've done more for my cousin. Why didn't I do more?

I hate his home town. I hate the community he was in, the people he lived with. I hate the family members that lived in denial. HE WAS GAY! How could they not have known? If only my cousin had had the courage to come out. If only the community weren't so narrow minded. If only his family would've supported him had he come out.

He would probably be in treatment right now. He would probably still be alive. But instead he kept quiet.

His silence cost him his life.


I just don't get it. I can't make any sense of it.

Oh Perico. I wish you knew that there are people who love you and accepted you unconditionally. Where you are now, there is no such thing as shame or pain. There is only love and acceptance, much more than what you had here on earth.

I'm sorry our family failed you.

christmas '08: a tale of two orange counties

I hope you all had a wonderful holiday this year! This year, enjoying Christmas seemed to be a daunting task at first, but in the end, I think I was able to pull it out.

This year, we had a pre-Christmas celebration in Orange County, CA with my family. On Christmas Day, we celebrated with Jesse's family in Orange County, VA. Although the two locations couldn't be more different, the end results were similar: both were settings for two different families to get together, eat some delicious food, and open some cool gifts.

image courtesy of orangecountyva.gov

image courtesy of cpec.ca.gov
Yup, the OC is that little piece of land between LA and San Diego.

Although my brother and his family didn't make it to our OC, CA Xmas, my mom, sis, Jesse and I had a wonderful time partaking in family traditions despite their absence. Namely, these traditions consisted of spending the day making tamales, anxiously awaiting for tamales to be cooked, eating said tamales (which were delicious and, yes, we brought some home and, no, we are not sharing) and then opening presents. It was nice that it was just the four of us. Because of the intimate setting, there was no craziness or drama and Jesse and my family were able to interact more and get to know each other even better.

image from http://www.whatweareeating.com/

It was sad to leave my mom and sis on Christmas Eve, but I was grateful to be headed back home to see my fur babies. We had NEVER left them for so long. We came home to find two crying (for attention) kitties. Nicky wouldn't stop yelling at me and Gracie was all over Jesse, wrapping herself around his legs, keeping him from getting around the condo. Oh I missed them so!

The next day was Christmas and Jesse's family decided to celebrate at his aunt's house in Germanna, VA (which is in the other OC). Normally, the family tradition is a Christmas brunch but this year, Jesse's aunt decided to try something new and cook Chinese (when I told one of my Jewish friends about this choice of Christmas cuisine, she replied, "Hey, that's what I eat for Christmas!") So we had noodles and shrimp with brocoli for lunch (which, as much as I love tamales, was a nice break from eating tamales for breakfast, lunch, and dinner). After the meal, we opened presents and my gift to Jesse garnered much attention (yes, I'm bragging a bit).

I managed to get Jesse a Wii, which he had not been expecting. This means I finally managed to surprise him which is never an easy feat. He was really happy with the Wii, but probably not as happy as his 10-year-old nephew Chauncey, who got a Wii last Christmas from Santa. Chauncey was so excited, he couldn't stop talking about how cool the Wii is (you can hook your iPod to it!!!) and how he had to be 'friends' with him so they could play together (you have to tell me who you are so we can play together when we're online!!!). Jesse is really a big kid at heart, so seeing his nephew get all excited for him was pretty heart warming for me (and Jesse too).

Once we got home from Orange County, VA, we hooked up the Wii and Jesse played for hours. Despite my hatred for video games (except Bioshock on XBox 360), I have to admit that I kinda enjoyed playing the Wii too.

So...how was your Christmas?

the daddy issues in my relationship

My boyfriend/KittyDaddy was at the doctor's recently and the doctor suspected something wrong might be going on with his heart so he was referred to a cardiologist. After several tests, the cardiologist deemed that Jesse was a-ok.

However, on the day of his lastest test, I was stressing out. That test was the most vigorous and the most telling. Being the pessimist that I am, I suspected Jesse might be headed for a pre-mature death and I was terrified. I love him so much and I don't know what I would do without him and I haven't given much thought to how I would function should something awful happen. I can't NOT have him in my life.

I've been feeling so happy and satisfied with my life lately that I'm expecting my world to come crashing down any second Why enjoy the happiness when there is impending doom?

The good stuff can't really last, can it? I'm sure my mom had no idea that her husband/my dad would end up getting cancer and dying before my third birthday. From what I know of that time (before the big C), everything was perfect in my mom's life--she had a husband she adored who was a loving father to two (with me on the way) smart kids with a roof over her head and food on the table. And then one day, my father, who had never smoked a day in his life, suddenly gets lung cancer and passes away within three years of his diagnosis, leaving my mom as a widow and a single mom to three kids.

I get a lump in my throat just typing this.

The thing is, three years prior to my dad's passing, my mom had no idea that her perfect life would suddenly take a turn for the worst possible scenario. Nearly 30 years later, my mom has moved on but she still has her moments. To this day, I know she still wonders what could've been of her life had my father hadn't passed (heck, I wonder that too).

So I've been thinking a lot about my dad lately as Jesse goes through these tests (he's ok, so far). In the interim, we've decided to start living healthier lives by eating better, snacking less, and exercising more. I hope to have a long, happy life with him but you can never be sure about these things.

As Jesse and I continue to talk about marriage and spending the rest of our lives together, I can't help but wonder when will the good times stop? I can't possibly be this lucky to have the perfect boyfriend, great friends, a loving family, the most satisfying job, and two perfect kitties (actually, Gracie's not perfect, now that I think about it).

I find myself so absolutely afraid of losing it all that I can't always enjoy how happy it makes me now.

who are these people and what have they done with my REAL family?

For some reason unknown to even me, I haven't really spoken about the elections with my family. Despite being some seriously traditional, Church-going, Feast-Day-observing, Abortion-hating Catholics, my family tends to vote Dem. My sister is a long-time educator in various capacities over the years in Orange County public schools and she is a fierce opponent of vouchers and No Child Left Behind. My mom is all about helping the less fortunate and I can't remember the last time the Republicans did anything to benefit the poor. And well, my brother is my brother. I couldn't tell you what or who he would vote for because we NEVER talk about politics (to put it into perspective, we can't really talk about college football either since he's a diehard Notre Lame fan).

On election day, my mom called me while at work. "Did you vote today?" she asked me. I replied, "Yes, of course." With hesitiation she asked, "Who did you vote for?" I responded indignantly, "MOM! I can't believe you asked me that! Yes, I voted for Obama!" Not understanding where my attitude came from (yes, I was insulted that my mom, even for a second, assumed I had voted for a Republican for the first time in my life), my mom answered, "Well, I didn't know. You haven't talked to me about it and I thought since you work in DC that maybe you liked Bush." OH. MY. GOD. Not only did my mom think I was backing McCain, she presumed that I supported Bush's presidency! Does she not know who I am?

After calming down, I realized that, despite speaking to my mom nearly every day, I kinda left out the part of my life the past few months where I volunteered for the Obama campaign all those times, especially on Latino night so I could convince my fellow brown peeps to support Obama. I simply didn't tell her because I really didn't think she'd understand what an Obama presidency meant to me.

Later that day, while waiting for the first results to come in, I spoke to my sister about the elections for the first time. She was on her way to drop off her ballot in California. I reminded her to vote for Obama, which was a given. But then I realized that there was one big political question that was not a given with my sister--Prop 8 (which would ban same sex marriage). So I asked her, "You're voting No on Prop 8, right?" Without skipping a beat, "Liz, for some people, voting is a private matter." Despite her pulling a Sarah Palin on me, I knew what that meant. She was voting Yes. And I was ashamed.

After speaking to her, I vented to Jesse. "How could I possibly be related to these people? First my mom thinks I actually liked Bush and now my sister is voting to put discrimination into the constitution of the most liberal state in the Union? Who are these people? How the Eff did I turn out this way?" Before I started to wonder if I was adopted, it dawned on me that I should've pushed the issue with my sister and I should've told my mom about the volunteering I did. Sure, my mom just misunderstood, but I really didn't understand where my sister was coming from. As a minority, we've experienced discrimination before and it sucks. Why my sister would support Prop 8 is beyond me.

Unfortunately, Prop 8 passed. It's not over yet though. I heard the ACLU has filed a suit or brief of some sort so the fight is still on.

I can't help feeling like I could've done more. I had worked so hard to turn Virginia blue that I hadn't really thought about the elections elsewhere. I assumed that Prop 8 was so ridiculous and hateful that a majority wouldn't consider voting for it.

I guess I was wrong.

well at least it's all over now

Last week, my family came to DC and left to go back to Cali on Saturday.  I feel as though I held my breath for 5 days straight and finally exhaled the minute we dropped them off at National Airport (and no, I will not call it 'Reagan'). 

I've got pictures to share as soon as I have the energy to connect my camera to my laptop (the energy is needed in finding the cord that connects the two).  But I know that at least two of you are dying to know what happened when Jesse's family met mine. 

After sightseeing earlier in the day, we all set out for Jesse's parents house in Clifton for a meal of hamburgers and hot dogs on the grill (yes, there were kids involved) and crabs from the Waterfront.  We actually made it out to DC's Waterfront earlier in the day to get freshly steamed-alive Maryland blue crabs (poor things...so yummy, yet their death is so cruel).  We were afraid of spoilage so as we went to the Air and Space Museum Annex (yawn!), the crabs hung out in the fridge.  When we got back, Jesse decided to re-steam the crabs and I was put in charge of the grill.

Having never grilled anything in my life (although I have hungrily observed grilling many times), I wasn't entirely sure what to do, but I figured that making patties and throwing them on the grill should be easy enough.  My mom, knowing that I had never grilled before, wanted to help but I was just fine despite her insistence.  Pretty soon, Jesse's mom and sis arrived (with niece and nephew in tow) and all were introduced to my mom and sis.  As we prepared the meal in the kitchen, Jesse's peeps and my peeps talked a lot (well, my sister did most of the talking as she usually does).  It seemed that everyone was getting along splendidly.

Terror didn't strike my heart until Jesse's dad came and was left unsupervised.  He's known for weaving quite the tall tales--or rather, his stories start off in truth and somehow, when a detail is forgotten, dramatically swerves towards the fiction until the ending becomes embellished to the point of the nonsensical.  And so, he weaved his tall tales to my mom and sis, who were all hearing his stories for the first time. 

I already knew to take his stories with a grain of salt.  Yes, Jesse's dad is a very entertaining story-teller, but he does seem to require a suspension of disbelief if you know all of the parties involved in the story.  So when Jesse started targeting Jesse with his tales and embarrassing him, it was all downhill from there.  Jesse's dad even had the gumption to reveal something very personal about Jesse (something only me and his family knows about...and no, I am not revealing it here as some of Jesse's friends read this blog) which at the time reflected negatively on him.  The problem is that my family didn't know anything about this 'secret' and its revelation kinda brought the good natured conversation to an incredibly awkward halt.   What's worse is that no time frame was given as to when this 'secret' occurred (a long time ago) so for all I know, my family thinks this is a recent event and, knowing the secret now, may think somewhat negatively of Jesse because of it.

Yeah, I get that families do that--embarrass people in front of others.  I know because my sister did that during the "Welcome to DC" happy hour I planed for them on Tuesday.  But the revelation of the secret was bad.  Very bad. 

The funny part is that, despite the secret, my mom was concerned about one thing and one thing ONLY.  The next day, when we had a few minutes to ourselves, she said, "When is he going to propose?  Jesse hasn't told me anything and I thought he was going to propose last night with the family."  Well, for one, there was no way that Jesse was going to propose in front of his family so I wasn't expecting anything.  I understand that she has a sense of urgency about the marriage thing.  But Jesse and I really good right now (well, I can't say we've ever been really bad tho) and I wish my mom could see that without having to worry about when we're going to get married.

After this week's debacle, last night, I asked Jesse, "Do you still love me?"  He answered: "Yes."  I asked, "Do you still want to marry me?"  He answered, "Yes, of course I do.  Why are you asking that?"  I responded, "Well, after what happened this week, I wasn't exactly on my best behavior.  And my family is kinda crazy."  With a smile, he replied, "That's ok."

Jesse is such an easy going guy that it's really hard to stress him out over anything.  And after this past week, that is exactly the kind of balance I need in my life. 

the golden rule: live it, love it

Last night, my sister and I were g-chatting and she was telling me about some horrific dates she's been on lately. Actually, one of the dates was a good one, but then the guy decided to go back to his ex. I cannot attest to the validity of his story, but my sister seemed to buy it. Why he was on an internet dating website when he was in talks of going back to the ex is beyond me though.

She went on this one date with this guy who seemed pretty good on paper. And then she met him. Although he had gone through extensive schooling and even taught at a local university, he sounded ghetto. Apparently, he thought that speaking like a young man from 'da hood' is the way an associate professor should speak. However, my sister, who is no stranger to extensive schooling herself, was incredibly turned off.

And rightfully so. My sister teaches at an elementary school in the ghetto of Orange County (yes, the OC has a ghetto). Her students speak the way this adult educator was speaking. There's something wrong with this picture.

Unfortunately for my sis, Ghetto Boy took a strong liking to her. After the date, he called and texted and emailed incessantly. My sister, who clearly didn't want to see him again and was disgusted when he tried to kiss her at the end of the date, has been avoiding him like the plague. Yet, Ghetto Boy can't take a hint.

So I advised her to tell him. She needs to tell him that she's sorry but unfortunately, she didn't feel anything but friend-type feelings and she's not interested in him in a romantic way.

My sis replied: "Really? You think"

Ummm, yes. Do onto others, dude. If my sister had been the one in Ghetto Boy's shoes, she wouldn't appreciate being left hanging. Yeah, I know it's hard to reject someone. But it's the right thing to do.

Hopefully, letting him down gently will reduce the multi-forms of communication harassment. If not, a restraining order should work nicely.

world war three? the future in-laws meet

My family is coming to visit. And I'm really nervous.

The funny thing is that I've brought this stress upon myself. I was the one who, upon returning home from California after my sister's 40th birthday in February, suggested that maybe my family should come to DC. After all, they haven't been here in years and I now have a new place that they've never seen.

But really I invited them because I think it's time for my family to meet Jesse's.

Having bicoastal home addresses has prevented our families from meeting in the past. But with my mom and sis coming to town, this would be the perfect opportunity for everyone to get acquainted before the wedding planning begins (actually, that's a total lie. The wedding planning has been going on in my head for quite some time). With my mom's disdain for this Coast, I was beginning to think that our families would be meeting for the first time at our wedding. And that could be bad.

My mom and sis have booked flights and hotel rooms and everything is so official now. They really are coming. Jesse's family heard the news this weekend and we've already made arrangements with them for a big family dinner. This is all starting to come together. And I just can't help feeling a teensy bit of dread.

I wish I knew what to expect. I wish I could prepare myself to deal with disaster. But really, I wish I could just let the chips fall where they may and not worry about things I have no control over (this is Jesse's way of coping with EVERYTHING).

I really don't know how this is going to go.

The way I see it, it could go one of two ways. It could turn out really well. Jesse's dad and my sister will probably dominate the conversation the entire time (they are the family chatterboxes). I could see Jesse's mom and my mom getting along really well due to their mutual love of Lifetime TV and home improvement shows. I could see my sister playing with Jesse's sister's kids--probably doing girly things with London and pretending to like sports for Chauncey's sake. I could see me, worrying and stressing out over everything only for it all to turn out ok.

Or it could be a disaster. Maybe my sister and Jesse's dad will want to talk so much that they will be fighting to be the center of attention (not like physical fighting, but more like talking over each other and the like). Maybe Jesse's mom (who has been experiencing a religious conversion as of late) and my mom will start talking about religion and each mom will try to convert the other to their respective faiths. Perhaps no one will understand my mom because her accent is still pretty thick despite living in the US for over 40 years. Maybe Chauncey will think my sister is a nerd and London will ignore my sister (actually, that's a possibility in both scenarios). My sister will probably complain about the smell of crabs (we're planning on buying a bushel and my sister is anti-seafood) the whole time. And I'll burn the hot dogs and Jesse's hamburgers will come out rare and our hope for a pleasant family BBQ will be dashed.

Their visit is a month away and it really is too early to start freaking out. Yet, I am because this is what I do.

In complete seriousness, I fear that my family might be looked down upon. Granted, I have nothing to go on here. Jesse's family has been nothing but super sweet to me. They've always made me feel like a member of their family. And I realize that these are my own insecurities at play.

So I should probably deal before my family gets here. Thank goodness I've got a month.

dog meet world

As you guys know, Heidi, the family dog, passed away last month. Not too long ago, I asked the question, "How soon is too soon to get a new dog?" My mom was up for getting a new dog because she really missed Heidi. My sister was not so receptive.

But all of that changed a couple of weeks ago when my mom and sis had to dogsit for my brother's family dog. Dundee spent the week at my mom's house while my brother and his family went camping or some outdoorsy thing like that. Despite the fact that she was still hurting, my sister couldn't ignore the dog. She spent a lot of time with him during the course of the week, feeding him, playing with him, taking him on walks. She really began to miss having a dog around.

I know that people get over tragedies differently. And I really thought that my sis would be sad for a long time. But thanks to Dundee, the healing process was short.

After an unsuccessful trip to the Mission Viejo Animal Shelter, my mom and sis received a text from my brother over the weekend. Apparently, one of his friends has labs who recently had puppies and the friend was trying to find homes for the puppies. A lab would be perfect for my family--my mom thinks they are super cute and my sister didn't want another German Shepherd (Heidi could never be replaced). On Sunday, they checked out the pups and fell in love with one.

And now, making her blog debut is Jenny, the yellow lab puppy and the newest addition to our family.


Isn't she precious?

P.S. That is my mom holding her. I love that she still wears her wedding ring even though she's been a widow for most of my life.

happy father's day, MOM

I was 10 years old and it was the last week of school. The Sunday after the last day of school just so happened to be Father's Day. Final grades were already turned it, so the last week of school was all fluff and nothing academic. So my teacher made us create Father's Day cards as 'art.'

With my father having passed away 8 years ago, I didn't have a father to give my Father's Day card to. As everyone started to paint and glue and draw, I sat in my desk, idle and numb. Suddenly, I had a thought. I'll make a card for my mom instead. After all, she was the person in my life that I looked up to. She was both my father and mother as she was raising me on her own. She deserves two celebrations: Mother's and Father's Days.

Determined in what I wanted to do, I went over to the teacher's desk and asked her in a whisper, "Can I make my card for my mom instead?" Understandingly, she replied, "Yes, of course. That's a great idea."

Happily, I returned to my seat and proceeded to create my masterpiece. As I was putting the finishing touches on the front of my card (which boldly read, "Happy Father's Day, MOM"), a bully in my class came over to see what I was doing. His parents knew my mom very well and he was well aware that my father had died. But that didn't stop him from saying out loud to the whole class, "Happy Father's Day, mom? That's dumb. Father's day is for fathers, not mothers. You're so stupid."

I remember this moment quite vividly. The way my heart broke. How my excitement in making my mom happy changed to sadness over my father's absence immediately. The way my face flushed red by being called out as a fatherless child in front of my classmates. I became upset and started to cry. The teacher gave me permission to run to the bathroom, where my bawling continued.

Ten years later and nearly 28 years after my father's passing, Father's Day hurts a little less but it still hurts. Instead I focus on my mom and the endless sacrifices she made so that I could have a relatively normal childhood. I wish I had known my father. But I've got an amazing mom that almost makes up for his absence.

Because of this, I've realized that fathers come in many different forms. Sometimes they are the much wiser older brother. Sometimes they are the uncle who raised you or the grandfather who made sure you never went without. Or maybe they're the family friend who taught you how to ride a bike and then took you to get your drivers' license. Whoever your father is don't forget to remember him this Sunday. A phone call and an "I love you" can go a long way.

As for me on Sunday? I'll be telling my mom that she's the best dad a girl could ever have.

an open letter to...

the daughter of my brother's wife (not technically my niece but I think of her as such)

Dear Kaylee,

Congratulations, Smarty Pants. You've achieved another end-of-school-year best-student-ever award. Yup, I know you're proud and you should be. And some of your peers might even congratulate you and help you celebrate your achievements. Seeing as that this is something that the people you know have come to expect of you (since you get this award every year), I may be the only one who knows that this one feels just as sweet as the previous ones, even if everyone around you has become jaded by the experience. That is because once upon a time, I was you.

Yup, yup. I was/am a nerd. Just like you. I got the straight A's and the academic accolades that come with such a record during the course of many, many years. Along with those accolades came the teasing and harassment from my peers who didn't like me because I always set the curve on the test or because I always had the right answer when I rose my hand. I had very few friends in grade school. My junior high years weren't any easier. As I ventured into my teens, being popular became so much more important then it had been. And, Kaylee, I was NOT popular, by any means. I was so removed from popularity that I was practically invisible. People only noticed me when the teacher was handing back graded tests and the teacher would single out the person with the highest score (that would be me). And my descent into oblivion continued for a while.

I clung to the few friends I did have. They were my life lines. And then something magical happened. I went to high school.

Now, I haven't heard anything from my brother about what high school you'll be going to one day, but I should tell you that it's super important. High school saved my life. It was there that I found other people who shared my commitment to academics. Maybe some of them were the social pariahs of their junior highs. Or maybe getting good grades was the cool thing to do at their old schools. I don't know and it didn't matter. What mattered is that I found myself surrounded by people I could truly consider my intellectual peers.

While I had never been the social butterfly before, I began to flourish in high school, making friends in all of my honors and AP classes, some of whom I still talk to today. They never made me feel like less of a person because I was smart. "Nerd" became a term of endearment. And people who didn't understand something that was said in class would come to me for help, not because they were using me but because they respected me for being smart.

You know how they say that high school prepares you for college? Well, it truly does. Had I not met the friends I made in high school, I don't think I would've been socially prepared for college. And if you decide to go to the best university in the country (ahem, that would be USC not that Notre Lame your papa likes) I can speak from experience that you will find LOTS of other nerds there. It's like a big nerd convention with tons of people thirsty for knowledge and eager to learn new, complicated things.

So ultimately, what I want to tell you (if it would even be appropriate to send you this) is that you are perfect just the way you are. Just keep on reading books way beyond your grade level and being smart and doing your thing. Yeah, school can be rough sometimes. Yup, there are bullies and mean girls and people who are jealous of you for being smart. And trust me, I know it can be really hard.

But one day when you're older and out conquering the world, you'll look back on this time of your life and think, "I was a nerd and I'm proud of it!"

super secret trip to the west coast

I have a confession to make. I went to California. I've been there for the last few days. And I didn't tell any of my Cali peeps that I was there.

I LOVE seeing my friends when I go back home (and I'm so sorry for not having told you guys), but this particular trip was about family time. My sister has had a problem for a couple of years now with one of her arms and her back. The root of the problem was finally discovered a few months ago. Apparently, my sister had two slipped disks in her spine. These were partially cutting off the flow of spinal fluid. According to the doctor, if she didn't have surgery to repair the problem and it just got worse, she would eventually become paralyzed.

Her spinal surgery was last week and I flew home for a couple of days to be with my family. My mom had been particularly stressed out about the whole event, but everything turned out ok. My sister's surgery was a success. Instead of two crappy disks, she now has two pieces of plastic held together by a metal rod in her spine. After a few weeks of physical therapy, she'll be better than new. Her only inconvenience is that she will always be strip searched at an airport because the metal rod will always set off the metal detectors.

Also, she has a Frankenstein-like suture on her neck that I'm hoping will not turn into a scar. I couldn't even bear to look at it, so I'm glad it was mostly hidden by her neck brace. She couldn't talk for a few days after the surgery, but now she's little miss chatterbox (again; if you know my sister, then you know she LOVES to talk). And she's back to consuming regular, non-liquefied food as long as she chews it enough.

My mom was playing nurse maid and doting on her fragile patient 24/7. I took my mom out and helped her with errands (tasks that my sister usually does with/for her). Before I moved, this was primarily my responsibility and it was just like old times, including the eventual impatience after having run errands for 5 hours straight. I do regret not having the time to really take my mom out for something fun, like dinner or coffee. She was nice enough to took some delicious home-cooked meals for me and I was incredibly grateful.

I guess my mom liked the feel of 'old times.' Yesterday, I called her after boarding my plane at LAX on the way back to DC. After making the usual plane boarding small talk (Yes, mom, I was able to eat something before getting on the plane), she burst into tears. "I missed you. I really miss the time we used to spend together. I just feel like we don't do that any more and maybe we won't again. Maybe I just have to accept the fact that you are growing up and that you're not my baby any more. But I just don't want to let go."

Had I not been told to turn off all portable devices, I would've told her, "Yes, I am growing up, but I'll always be your baby."

meow, meow, hiss, hiss, snuggle, snuggle

The conversation started innocently enough and rather out-of-the-blue.

Jesse: Why do you love Nicky more than me?

This is Nicky, in case you don't know:


Yes, he's a cat. My boyfriend of nearly 4 years whom I love dearly is asking me if I love the cat more than him. Yet, strangely, I hesitate.

Liz: Don't be silly. It's a different kind of love. The way I love you is not the same way I love Nicky.
Jesse: It just seems that you're more happy to see him than me and you hardly ever pay attention to me any more.
Liz: Awww...it's not like that. I'm happy to see the two of you. I love you both and you both make me very happy.
Jesse: Oh, ok. *goes in for the smooch*
Liz: *smooches back*

Phew. I sure dodged that bullet. :)

The truth is I have plenty of love to go around. So much so that we've added another little kitty to our family. And now for her blog debut...

Blog peeps, meet Gracie!


We got her yesterday from a local rescue. They named her Gracie (probably because she's gray, although the techinical term is Russian Blue) and we're not sure if we want to keep it that way, but we haven't thought of other names. Feel free to pass along any suggestions.

So far Gracie's a sweetheart...well to her new parents that is. She's not so nice to her new brother, Dominick. Every encounter between them has involved friendly curiosity from his part and a hiss on her part. Hopefully this won't last much longer.

This morning, Gracie did everything possible to keep me from getting ready to go to work. She played with my flat iron cord until I decided that it would be a waste of time to flat iron (hey Cali peeps, it's raining buckets here). She kept on getting into the sink when I was brushing my teeth. And she laid down outside of the bedroom right next to the door. Which normally would be fine, but considering Dominick was on the other side and he was crying because he wanted to play with her, I thought that was a little prissy of her. She's quite the little diva already.

Hopefully they'll play together nicely this afternoon. Cross your fingers!

haven't i been here before?

I went back to Cali this weekend for my sister's 40th birthday bash. The bash was Saturday and I stayed on Sunday before flying back to DC on Monday morning. I had hoped to have a nice, quiet Sunday with my family. But then again, it was Sunday which is the Lord's Day (and the day lots of devoted Catholics--including my mom and sis--go to church). I should've known that would cause some trouble.
My loyal blog peeps already know why I don't willingly go to church any more (in case you've missed it, I'm pro-choice, pro-gay rights, pro-condom usage, and anti-pedophiliac priests). So when it was time for my mom and sis to go to Church on Sunday afternoon, I told them that I wouldn't be going. Why? Because I'm sick of being a hypocrite.

Naturally, my mom wasn't happy about this. She tried to convince me to go to church, even went so far as to blame my generalized anxiety disorder on how I'm no longer close to the Lord. All I had to do was spend one hour a week with Him, that's all He asks. "The Lord welcomes the sinner into His home," she said, clearly implying that it's ok for me to go even if my relationship with the Church has become estranged. How nice.

The truth is that I still believe in God. I still believe that Jesus is His son. I still believe in basic Christian ideals (be good, give to the poor, etc). But I don't believe in all of the other things that the Church says I should believe in if I am to be a devout Catholic. I'm not a bad person, but apparently it's a sin for me to give out condoms while doing HIV testing (according to recent doctrine announced by Pope Benedict). I believe that all people should be treated equally and fairly, yet my gay friends cannot get married or express themselves physically.

So I explained the following to my mom: "The Church says that all of these things that I strongly believe in are wrong. That promoting condoms is a sin. That homosexuality is a sin. Well, I don't believe that. In order to be forgiven for my sins, I need to be sorry for them. Well, I'm not sorry for believing that gays should be allowed to marry. I'm not sorry for handing out condom packets when I do outreach."

My sister pitched in and offered her theory that I view this issue from a political lens--as if my refusal to go to Church is a protest of some sort. Yes, that's true. If I go to Mass and sit there in silence, I feel that I am supporting this. By not going, I won't be supporting the Church and it's teachings. I explained to my sister that the Church's teachings are out of date with the times. Unless the Church evolves and catches up with the rest of the world, then I won't support it.

"Ok then. You're an adult. It's your decision. You know how mom and I feel," my sister said. My mom continued to plead her case and convince me to go with them. I sat there and listened out of courtesy. But my mom already knows how stubborn I can be.

Yes, I am an adult. And it is my decision. And I'll continue to develop my own relationship with God

I just wish my family would truly respect that.

lookin' for love in all the right places...

I was just passing by when I turned and our eyes locked. As I continued to walk past him, he followed me with eyes as green as emeralds. He kept looking for me even when I had passed him by. But the look in his eyes made me stop and turn around. You just can't ignore a look like that--the interest and longing his eyes expressed were inescapable. I was beginning to fall in love.

I turned to Jesse and said, "Isn't he beautiful?" Jesse replied, pointing to his friend, "I kinda like the other one." I went to grab the volunteer. "Could we visit with this one?" I asked her. Happily, she said, "Sure." She went to grab the one that Jesse preferred and I was disappointed, but I hid it. As we walked to the visitor's room, I couldn't stop thinking about those eyes. There was a connection there I couldn't deny.

In the visitor's room, Jesse and I played with Danny, a tiger striped domestic short hair cat who was staying at the animal shelter in Arlington. Danny was playful and all, but I was curious about his roommate, the sleek black cat with magnificent green eyes. After playing with Danny, I asked the volunteer to bring in his roommate. I just had to know.

Sawyer/Kitty in a file photo from the shelter

The volunteer brought in Sawyer, the black cat. Sawyer is still a kitten at 6 months. He is all black with just a little spot of white fur on his chest. He sniffed around the room curiously at first. When he was satisfied with his surroundings, he began looking for love. While looking for love, he got distracted by my jacket and started to play with the dangling zipper. I showed him some love by scratching his head and he responded by nudging my hand as if to say, "More love, please."

When he had become comfortable with me, he headed over to Jesse who was entertaining Danny. Apparently, Sawyer was playful again, running around and trying to get some attention. Jesse reached out his hand and Sawyer happily nudged it, looking for some lovin'. He got some. Sawyer was definitely a charmer and too cute to resist.

We thought about taking them both, but apparently, we need permission from our home owner's association board in order to have two pets. The choice was clear. Sawyer and I had a connection and he managed to win Jesse over. He was coming home with us, no buts about it.

One thing Jesse and I decided on quickly was the name. We weren't keeping Sawyer. Jesse had a friend in college named Sawyer who stole a hat of his, so 'Sawyer' brings negative connotations with it. So, for now, kitty is just 'Kitty'. We're still debating on the name. Right now, we're leaning towards Cole, seeing as that the kitty is as black as coal. We're open to suggestions, though.

Thanks to Kitty, Jesse and I had a rough night last night. Apparently, he likes to jump on the bed and walk on our faces while we're sleeping.

It's so hard to get mad at him though. He's just looking for some love. We've all been there, haven't we?

what’s worse—the post-it or text message?

My sister is notorious for going too fast in a relationship. So when I heard back in November that her boyfriend of one month (Dave) was already talking rings, I wasn’t surprised. This kind of thing has happened to her before. Before Dave (the recovering leukemia patient whom I suspected to have a “seize the day” type of attitude) there was Jason, Mr. I-Love-You-After-3-Dates. My sister and Jason went to Disneyland on their 3rd date and apparently he got all sappy outside of Cinderella’s castle and told her that he loved her. On a third date!

Naturally, when I went home for the holidays, I was curious to see what was going on with my sister and Dave. I had been preparing to flip my lid if she ended up getting engaged for Christmas. After all, I’m the one who was hoping for a Christmas proposal (obviously, blog peeps, I didn’t get it). So on the way back from the airport, I had to ask what was up.

Me: So what’s new with your love life?

L: Oh, you’re not going to believe this. Dave broke up with me.

Me: What? Why?

L: I don’t know, actually. He said he wasn’t ready for a relationship right now.

Me: Did you ask him why?

L: No, I couldn’t. He broke up with me by text message.

Me: WHAT? Did you know this was coming?

L: Well, he stopped talking to me after Thanksgiving. First he was working too much. Then he got sick and lost his voice. He’d text me but he couldn’t talk on the phone. And then I didn’t hear from him for a week before he sent me the text message breaking up with me. I tried calling him because I just really wanted to know why. But he wouldn’t return my calls.

Me: Oh no. You shouldn’t have called.

L: But I just wanted closure.

Me: Yeah, well most of the time, you don’t get it from the guy.

L: You’re so lucky to be out of the dating scene. It’s rough out there for the single girls.

Honestly, I’ve been in a relationship for so long that I kinda forgot what it was like to date. But if Jesse and I don’t work out, the dating scene really freaks me out. I’ve heard so many people complain about dating in DC and I’m not sure how I’d make out if I jumped back into the DC dating pool.

I mean, come on! Who breaks up by text message? That’s so wussy.

the honeymoon is over

I arrived in California at 9:30 a.m. on Sunday morning. I flew into Long Beach, which is my favorite airport in Southern California simply because it is so not complicated. There is only one terminal and it’s the smallest terminal I’ve ever seen. And you deplane on the tarmac which is super cool. So I got off the plane and started peeling off my layers. I put on my sunglasses, felt the warmth of the sun on my skin and thought, “Oh yeah, I’m home.”

My family picked me up at the airport and we’ve been together every waking minute since. Right off the bat, I realized something. My family is loud. They talk loud. They argue even louder. And they might be deaf too. The radio and the TV is always at a loud volume and maybe that’s because they talk so loud that the only way they can hear the TV is if it’s louder than they are.

I spent most of Sunday and Monday saying, “Calm down.” My mom and sister argue a lot and the volume at which they argue is deafening. I can’t believe that my family embodies the “Mexicans are loud” stereotype.

I didn’t fly all the way across the country to argue with my family. I prefer to stay out of it (or gently point out how pointless the fights are). So things were going well until yesterday evening. After a long day of running errands (like my hair which is back to its goth look), I really just wanted to relax at home. My sister had other plans.

When my mom finally got cable (for all my life, my mom thought cable was a waste of money), she conveniently forgot to give me access in my room. My tiny TV in my old bedroom is still using rabbit ears. Normally, I wouldn’t attempt to get my mom and sis to watch I Love NY 2 with me, but seeing as that the season finale was last night, I simply had to watch the impending train wreck.

Sure enough, my mom was appalled that I would watch that show. I explained to her how every one I knew watches it. In fact, every Tuesday morning at work, my co-workers and I would dissect the previous night’s episode in detail. I knew my mom wouldn’t get the appeal so I had to explain to her and my sister that it’s trashy TV and I simply watch it to be entertained. My mom was disappointed in me. My sister bitched about it for 23 minutes.

Yes, I kept track.

After spending all day with them as the rational one, I finally broke. I wanted to watch the show without being criticized, so I loudly said, “Shut up.”

Yeah, it wasn’t such a great comeback. And yes, I stooped to my sister’s level. But I was done with taking all of their crap and playing peacemaker all day. I snapped.

I’m human. What can I say?

Well, my sister snapped even more and got all angry. Hmmm, I thought, it had to happen eventually. The honeymoon is finally over. Reality is setting in. My sister was so angry that she refused to speak to me for the rest of the night. My mom was so upset at me for pissing my sister off that she also didn’t speak to me. It was an all too familiar situation.

I truly am home.

that macy's parade ain't got nothing on me

Thanksgiving is really not a big deal in my family. Christmas is a big deal and our birthdays are a big deal, but Thanksgiving? Not so much. Yeah, we do the whole turkey meal with mashed potatoes and stuffing, but I don’t make it a point to go home for Thanksgiving. When I was younger, Thanksgiving was just another day except we’d eat a large meal at the end of the day.

Thanksgiving took on a whole new meaning for me when I moved here a few years ago. My first few months in the city, I got by on the kindness of people whom I barely knew, people who opened their homes and their hearts to me—a lonely girl who knew no one in the city. This got me thinking about all that is important to me in my life. I started to truly appreciate what I had back at home—friends and family. However, I had started a new life in DC and I was beginning to see value in that too. I thought about how rare it is for me to tell people how much I love and appreciate them, even though I do, very much.

So I started my own Thanksgiving tradition. Every year, I think about what I’m thankful for and put it down on paper. And then I share my list.

• My family and friends being alive and well in 2007
• Being pneumonia free since the end of October!!!
• MY NEW JOB!!! DC’s got a new AIDS activist…
• Serena Rose, my 2-year-old niece who has the amazing ability to break my heart and make me smile at the same time
• Gary and Misha--my bicoastal hair team—for dealing with my hair’s multiple personalities this year.
• Coach and all of the Coach stuff I’ve received this year which I totally love.
• My dear, faithful blog peeps, without whom I probably wouldn’t be keeping a blog
• The blog for being the cheapest form of therapy ever…oh and for getting me on Slate and CNN.
• Ted (still my bartender) and the door man at Millie and Al's who always remember me
• The Dems taking control of Virginia! Woo Hoo!
• Law and Order: SVU marathons on USA network
• Annie and Smarticus for making me think and engaging me in debate
• Shama, Jeff, and Victoria—The Cool Kids—for keeping me sane at work and helping me gain a sense of perspective when I need it most.
• Josh, Shama and Roo Roos for providing excellent references for me. I couldn’t have gotten that job offer without you.
• Gwen Stefani for going on tour this year and putting on an awesome show.
• Bill and Beth, the most welcoming Hokies I know
• My mom and sis for putting on an awesome birthday party for me
• Kattie, my sweet and thoughtful soul sister (and the original DC drinking buddy) who took the time to come out to San Francisco so I wouldn’t be alone on my birthday (and ended up getting sick because I didn’t know I had pneumonia until after my birthday).
• My shrink for helping me understand me
  
• Shell, who recently graced me with her presence by coming to visit. I’m glad we’re starting a new drinking tradition although I’d love to play our Super Mario Brothers drinking game again some time.
• Project Runway for finally coming back!
• Aditi who always understands and listens and gives the best advice.
• Lisa, the only Bruin I associate with. I know we haven’t seen much of each other this year (and now you’re in Japan so we won’t see each other soon) but you’ll always have a special spot in my heart
• Jesse who still gives me butterflies every time he looks at me.
  

To everyone on the list and those who are in my heart but unnamed, I love you and appreciate you. You make my life wonderful and lucky and worthwhile. I hope that I have shown you the same love and kindness that you have shown me over the years. Even though I may not call you back right away or email you as often as I should, I want you to know that you are in my heart always.

Have a fabulous Thanksgiving!