My little heart sachets are a delight. I scatter them through drawers to keep them fresh with their lavender scent. They are fun to spot as I rifle through drawers, and then, once a year, I gather them in a pretty basket and display them on my dresser.

To line the basket, I used my wedding handkerchief, handmade in Cuba and brought to me by my beloved godmother, Mamá Lala.

The sachets have been collected through countless years; some are gifts, others I found in unexpected places.

Here's the basket from a few years ago, in which I used a different handkerchief to line the basket. Love is in the air. ❤

Honoring My Godmother . . .

She was there when I was born . . .

And when I was baptized . . .

And on my first birthday . . .

And on the second . . .

And on the third . . . And on every other birthday until I was eleven years old and left Cuba with my parents . . .

She was there at my wedding, standing in for my mother, who was too ill to attend . . .

She was there when my first born was baptized . . .

And my second born as well . . .

The cheek-to-cheek photos are so her!  She has always loved children, although she was never able to have any of her own, so, instead, she devoted her life to the other children in the family; they became her life's work.  She now lives in Florida with a cousin whom she raised, yet again helping that cousin raise her son . . .

This is the last photo I have of her taken in 2007, with my son, John.  She won't let anyone take her picture anymore.  She says she is too old and ugly for photographs . . .

I think she is the most beautiful woman that ever lived.  When I look at her, I only see love.  Happy Mother's Day, Mama Lala!

The Afghan Project Update . . . and Photoshopping for a change of pace . . .

Yep.  Still at it.  The afghan is currently close to reaching my ankles.  I'd say I'm about 40% of the way done.  I still find myself unraveling some of the work now and then, and I've come to the conclusion that this stitch is just a pain in the neck. 

Pretty . . . but a pain in the neck . . .

This project has brought a lot of memories of my godmother, Mama Lala, knitting late into the night.  She's the one who taught me how to knit and crochet.  The sweater below was one of the last things she made for me, while I was still in Cuba . . .

I didn't realize when I started to look for this photo, how badly damaged it was, so I spent some time restoring it with Photoshop . . .  Here's the original . . .

I'm so happy to have discovered Photoshop!!!  So, now, what should I do?  . . . Do I crochet . . . do I Photoshop . . . ?  Do I catch up with my fellow bloggers . . . ?  Too many hobbies . . .

I'm joining Susan at Between Naps on the Porch for Metamorphosis Monday. Please stop by and check out some fabulous transformations.

Happy Mother's Day!

I celebrated my first Mother's Day by having my firstborn, John, baptized, on May 11, 1989.


We were surrounded by loved ones, but especially meaningful to me, my beloved godmother, Mamá Lala, as always, was standing by my side.


My beautiful mother-in-law, Lillian, was also there to witness the event. Good memories of a very happy day.


Wishing you happy Mother's Day memories . . .

Yemitas and saints

Yemitas, "little yolks," are the Cuban version of "Yemas de Santa Teresa" (St. Theresa's Candied Egg-yolks). In the Middle Ages, Spanish wine makers used egg whites for clarifying their wines, and they would donate the left-over egg yolks to the nuns of nearby convents, who would then use them in making treats such as these and selling them at a small profit. The influence of the Moorish occupation of Spain, combined with the availability of egg yolks, are two important reasons why there are so many egg-based dishes in Spanish cuisine.

These candied egg yolks were originally made at the famous convent in Avila, which was founded by St. Theresa. The Cuban version is very similar, but the candies are smaller, and are rolled in granulated sugar, instead of confectioners' sugar.

The yemitas are left out overnight, so that they dry a bit and form a "skin." The resulting candy will be crusty and crunchy on the outside, and will have the texture and consistency of fudge on the inside, except flavored with cinnamon, lemon and vanilla.

Yemitas were a special favorite of my godmother, Mama Lala, who would make them every December 3, for the annual vigil of the Feast of St. Barbara, a saint to whom she is devoted. There was a yearly gathering on this day at our house, and I have a memory of Mama Lala, dressed in red (the color associated with St. Barbara) passing a tray of yemitas to the guests.

I hadn't made these in a very long time, and had forgotten how much work they are to make. It occurs to me now that only poor nuns in desperate financial straits would ever want to make these on a regular basis. And, after all that work, the recipe didn't even yield very many of them. Of course, the work was worth it for the wonderful memory it brought back . . .

And this beautiful tray was a Christmas gift last year from my sister-in-law, Angela. I think the colors work rather nicely together . . .

The last hankie

This was my wedding handkerchief. My Aunt Lala had it made in Cuba hoping that she'd be able to send it to me and that some day I'd carry it on my wedding day. She had no idea at the time that she would ultimately be coming to the U.S. herself and bringing it to me in person. She stood in line for a week in order to be able to acquire the embroidery floss from which it was knit. Fabric was scarce, so the linen center of the hankie came from a shirt I wore as an infant.

I snagged one of the threads with my wedding ring, and Mama Lala offered to repair it afterwards, but somehow, we never got around to it. It's just as well, the snag is part of the memories of this day. The arrow in the picture below points to the handkerchief which I'm holding in my right hand. The photo was taken by my brother-in-law, Doug.

October 5, 1969 - Arrival in New York

These photos were taken upon our arrival at La Guardia Airport. For the first two years of our lives in the U.S. we lived in New York City.

Here is a photo of my father, still very tanned from working in the forced labor program imposed by the communist regime upon all those who were waiting for their exit visa to be approved. We waited three years for our visa. In front of him is my brother, Al, who was 9-years-old at the time. The lady on the right is my aunt Rosa.

Here I am getting my cheeks patted by an older cousin.

The blue skirt and cardigan were knitted by my Aunt Lala, who worked incessantly to finish them before we had to leave. The coat was a donation from the Catholic Charities who were on hand in Miami to give us a bit of help. All of the people in this photo, background and foreground are paternal relatives.

Here is my mother drinking a bit of the bubbly that was popped open when we arrived at my Uncle Sergio's home.

And here I am, tasting champagne for the first time. I was only 11 at the time, but it seemed like the occasion called for it. I liked it just fine!

Well, we had finally arrived. Our adventures in the U.S. were about to begin.

Hiccups and burps and wind! Oh, my!

I soaked this hanky laughing so hard. I was in church with Mama Lala, my godmother, and during intercessions, every time the congregation said "Lord, hear our prayer" the baby in front of us hiccupped. When the prayers concluded and the priest said "Amen" the baby let out a huge belch. He then scrunched up his face, as though he were going to start wailing. But no, he was just concentrating very hard . . . to brake wind!


Mama Lala grabbed my hand and we flew out of the church as fast as we could. My goodness, we laughed. We couldn't look at each other, or we'd start laughing again. That's when Mama Lala took out this hanky and thrust it at me so I could wipe my eyes. The "intercessions" part of Mass, has never been the same again.

Baptism - Take 2

All right, all right! This is for all the co-workers and friends who e-mailed me and requested to see more pictures of the baptism. Guys, you need to post comments on the blog!

Here I am, staring at the photographer, whoever he was.

Here I am with my parents.

This one shows the mosquito net draped over the back and sides of the crib.

The cousins being cousins. My half sister, Carely, is holding me.