Since I Arrived...

The biting cold that taunted me at 3am upon my arrival at JFK and the crazed commercialism of the American holiday season aside, I am happy to be home. Very happy, in fact. It's even been fun to layer and bundle up. All sorts of new wardrobe concoctions and combinations to try. And this is a good time of the year to return; family and friends who are happy to see me, hug me and kiss me have simulated, if not eclipsed, the warmth of the Southern hemisphere from which I come.

Here are a few things that have made me chuckle and smile in my first few days home...

I discovered the benefits of traveling with a cane and shamefully gave in to its allure. The cane, a gift for my Grandpa Gus, was too long to fit in my suitcase and so I carried it in hand. That stick spoke silent volumes, resulting in airport security offering me the short line reserved for handicapped travelers and pregnant women, flight attendants carrying my bags and an empty seat next to me on the way to DC. I swear, I didn't do it on purpose. I rejected the first few offers, but then my bag got heavy and the guy who wanted to share my seat on the bus was a little too friendly. So I shut my mouth and let the cane speak for me. New Year's resolution #1: no more omissions of my physical abilities, least I go to hell.

I spent my first night back stateside at Carolina's house. She wasn't there, but her spirit and our memories were. I showered and fell into a deep slumber in a place that's always felt like home. The next morning I read the NYT in hand for the first time in 2 months. I made coffee, cruised channels in hopes of catching up on holiday flicks and prepared a delicious lunch. Octopus and artichoke in a garlic tomato sauce over saffron fettucine dressed with fresh parmesan and parsley. A bit of a mish mash, but delicious. Gotta love having a foodie for a best friend; who else would have these ingredients in a fridge they just "emptied"? It was the perfect welcome.

I awoke on Christmas morning to the smells of my favorite breakfast, blueberry pancakes and sausage. My Mom's bb cakes are legendary, from the slumber party circuit to the ex-boyfriend files. Those perfectly round little cakes full of berry bursts, the salty sausage in perfect harmony with buttery maple syrup. Hmm, makes your mouth jump. Everyone knows that the secret is in the skillet. And so I smiled to see my Mother using the same one I burned myself on when I was 7 or 8 while trying to learn how to flip those brown medallions. My smile deepened as I saw that our faithful skillet had lost its legs but was still in use, propped up by a dishrag so as not to burn the marble countertop. No way anyone in my family, or anyone who has tasted one of these scrumptious treats, would throw that skillet out. Pure treason it'd be.

I have let myself get lost and found in family time. Today I went to my 11 year old cousins tennis match. She is amazing. Made me think about my 11 yr old days, what I was into, what I wasn't, what I would have thought of 5 older cousins coming to watch me play (and kick booty). So nice to see her do her thing. Afterwards we all came home to my Mom's house for some Argentine wine - I'm surprised there is any left! I watched my Mom, who I call Shamoosi, bustle around making sure everyones glasses and bellies were full. She is so gracious, so giving. One of her gifts to us is a digitized collection of our baby and childhood photos. This morning I chose some of Mom looking fly and on high in the 70's, pictures of my parents when they were together, my older sister, my sweet brother. And little me. Having gone far from home, it's quite appropriate and also curious to revisit these photos. To see how far I've come from those days when I had two little afro-puffs on my head and two little hands on my hips. And, at the same time, to understand how close I still am to that person and how much the story makes sense. Have you ever looked at a photo of yourself as a small child and wondered how you've transformed into what you are today?

For better or for worse, our families have played a huge part in our stories. Something we shouldn't and can't forget. And, if we do, the Holiday season is there every year to jog our memories.

Happy Holidays.