Ana Maria

Marie, I am so glad you finally got around to reading this thing. Welcome, dear. I hear you´ve been sucked back into the dark side...por favor!?

I would like to dedicate this post to the woman who left a gigantic piece of chocolate raspberry cake on my breakfast plate this morning - mi nuevo madre, Ana Maria. I didn´t think Rosa could be replaced or outdone, but cake on the breakfast plate will endear me to you forever.

I feel like I am living with the Cleavers!

Ana Maria is the quintessential housewife. Her entire life is dedicated to her home and her church and her husband and her children. And I like it. There is something so wholesome about this woman - goodness just oozes out of her. I sit down to dinner and before I can think, she´s bounced out of her seat and is hovering over me, cutting my meat for me, muttering nonsensical words and songs under her breath.

Every afternoon when I return home from school, my bed has been made for me, and it´s actually not for lack of me doing it myself. I have pulled the covers up and smoothed and tidied, but every day, she comes in behind me and tucks everything in tightly, opens the curtains, straightens my things. To me, it´s totally unnecessary. To her, it´s her job.

The preparation of the cena, the dinner, is a production every night. Dinner is usually not served until 9 or 9:30, but by 7, you will find Ana Maria in that kitchen, swinging around in her sundress and flip-flops, humming to herself, talking to herself, giggling, chopping.

Home-made empanadas, lamb, noodles with roquefort sauce, roast chicken, salads with avocado and tomato, cakes with fresh cream.

Rosa prepared food. Ana Maria COOKS.

Often, Manuel, the husband, the father, gets involved, too. He´ll labor over the onions while Ana Maria knits and watches TV; he´ll wander in every few minutes to check on the chicken; he´ll sit down and help Ana Maria seal up the empanadas (I have my own method, he says, with a grin).

And then Ari, the daughter, appears to help out. Prepare the salad, set the table, fill the pitchers with juice and water.

Dinner time is a climactic moment. It´s as if the whole day has been spent just for this time of being together and enjoying food and company. The hour before dinner, in particular, is full of clinging clanging footsteps songs smells tastes - I get positively anxious observing it. The day´s not done til the dessert´s been served and the dishes have been washed. Then, we can start all over again. It´s a nice daily rhythm. I lived like this growing up and didn´t realize how much I missed it.

We sit. And we savor. And we chat (those of us who are in the mood to speak Espanish, that is).

Manuel is always the center of dinner conversation. He is every bit the ying to his wife´s yang. There´s something a bit militaristic about him, but I think it´s only in the way he looks - very clean cut and serious. He´s clearly very intelligent (he´s some sort of engineer - don´t ask me), and it comes across in the telling of his stories - not a detail to be left out! And he does love to tell stories. He´s the talker.

He loves his stories more than anyone else, of course, which kills me. He gets this little smirky grin on his face when he´s about to say something funny, and then looks around at us to make sure we´re all laughing - did you get it??

Every now and then, when dessert time rolls around, Ana Maria goes to the counter, throws some things into a big bowl, comes back to the dinner table with the bowl and her hand-mixer, sits, smiles, and starts whipping up that fresh cream. Just a minute! she sings. It´s precious. I want to be her.

When dinner´s over, everyone lingers while dishes are done, tea is made, and then slowly everyone retires to the living room or their bedroom.

Manuel has recently somehow downloaded the new epidsodes of Lost from the internet (because they are currently airing last season now), so the past two nights have been spent in front of the TV with the fam, Ana Maria absentmindedly gurgling questions to her husband, her husband laying it all out for her. The asker and the explainer.

I´m so slowed down here. The life is simple. If you spend three hours preparing and eating your dinner, well then, that´s how you spent three hours of your day. Not wasted, spent. This is what I asked for when I made all those decisions a few months back. Simplicity. Slow me down. Put on the brakes (interesting that I say that right after talking about how bad it is to ride the brakes...hmmm...).

Today, for example, I had class til 1 PM, went to a leisurely lunch, took a siesta, then retired to the park for several hours of hanging out with friends, half-heartedly studying, laying in the grass, having a beer.

I know I can´t do this forever, but ahora, es mi vida.

Onto dinner now. With friends tonight. Not with the Cleavers. And, oh yes, I managed to turn down that cake this morning. Where do I get such self control??