Migration and Consumption: What We Create

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Title of Installation by El Anatsui

“Africa is alsoour Mexican heritage,” mi tio Pepe would often say when there were familydiscussions about Mexican history, culture, and language.  His words have continually led me toresearch some of those connections. Most recently, I think of the work of Xanath Caraza who weaves Africanrhythms/words into her multi-lingual poetry.  Veracruz, Guerrero, Oaxaca—all historical and present sitesof Afromestizo comunidades. 
This week, Itook my parents to the Denver, Colorado Art Museum and we spent a lot of timemarveling at the work of El Anatsui. My stepfather immediately pointed out his name: “El” Anatsui.  But “El Anatsui,” the artist who worksprimarily in sculpture (wood, ceramic, mixed media), has no direct connectionto Mexico.  He is a Ghanian artist,born in 1944, and has spent most of his adult life creating art inNigeria.

El Anatsui in front of installation, "Stressed World"

A side note:  Ghana is known for successfullycultivating cacao from Mexico. This “side note” does not have much to do with El Anatsui, and yet whenlooking at his work, it certainly does connect in a global sense.  El Anatsui’s bottle cap drapery is allabout, as he has said in more than one interview,  "the history of migration and consumption."

Stressed World

close-up of "Stressed World"

In 2002, Anatsuicame upon a huge collection of metal tops from liquor bottles.  At first he didn’t know what to do withthis material.  While working onother projects, he would contemplate his horde of tin and soon he began weavingthese disparate strips and round caps with copper wire, creating intenselybrilliant tapestries. He calls this installation:  "When I Last Wrote to You About Africa." 

Takari in Blue

I bring some of them toyou today and if you are in the Denver area, check them out.  They are much more poignant/painfully beautiful in person.  Mi tio Pepe would have lovedthese.  "When I Last Wrote to You About Africa" will be at The Denver Art Museum until January 6, 2013.  

Close up to show intricate weaving

Click here for:1.    Denver Art Museum2.    New York Times article on El Anatsui from 2009. 

Sending you all,Queridas y Queridos La Blog readers, abrazos desde Denver!

El Paso, 1942

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A short story


By DanielOlivas
Just before I was murdered, I’dlain with Federico.  The horror of mypast, the mistaken belief of my brother that I had raped Belén, my beautifulniece, had fallen away for a short while in the arms of my love.  When I’d settled in El Paso, Federico was the first man I’d dareto speak with for any length of time.  Ihad to be careful for two reasons. First, my brother, Adolfo, was stubborn, relentless—I’d seen thesetraits repeatedly while growing up—and I had no doubt that my brother would notgive up until he was avenged.  Second, mysecret life with men was always kept wrapped up in my chest, my covert selfthat, if discovered, could get me killed, too.
In El Paso, my situation was almostperfect.  Señora Espinoza’s boardinghouse for men became my home, a single room all to myself, a bathroom down thehall.  She served breakfast and dinnerfor her men, all seven of us who lived there. I think she liked having us around. We became the children she and her late husband could never have.  The señora seemed most blissful feeding us,inquiring if our beds were comfortable, wondering if we have all that weneeded.  She was of an indefinite age,her skin smooth and tight due to being very large.  I suspect that if she’d been a lean woman,her true years would have been more apparent. In any event, this was my new home and I made the best of it.
A month or so at the boardinghouse, I’d gotten use to the other men. They were all Mexican, save for one German who’d lived in Guadalajara his whole life until moving to Texas at the age ofsixteen.  The other men were of anassortment of sizes, ages and histories. And then there was Federico, ten years my senior, who moved in a weekafter I did.  We noticed each other,above the others, for reasons I can’t understand.  He listened intently to everything I said,even the silliest comments.  One evening,he visited my room to borrow a little tobacco, or so he said.  But that visit became the first night wespent together.  After that, we had to bevery careful, of course, making excuses to visit each other.  This was not too unusual because every man inthat house needed friendship since they’d left everyone behind in Mexico.  Sometimes one would visit the other’s room toplay cards or listen to Mexican records. Of course, the other men visited putas whenever they had extramoney.  One or two had realgirlfriends.  And I had Federico.  We had each other.  I was happy.
One evening after sharing his bed,I grew restless and wanted to go out and have a drink.  Federico just wanted to sleep.  So I kissed him and left the boardinghouse.  Down the road was a bar that Ienjoyed called La Bolsa Chica.  Men andwomen, almost all Mexican, came to eat and drink and dance.  I felt like I was at home once I had a fewcopitas of whiskey.  After having morethan was wise, I stumbled out of the bar. The street was virtually deserted, an automobile passing every fewminutes, two or three inebriated couples walking home.  I decided to take a shortcut, down analley.  The dark never scared me.  Never, not even when I was a child.  And it was in the alley, not two blocks fromthe boarding house, that I encountered a man. He smoked a fat, hand-rolled cigarette, obscenely large.  The man seemed harmless enough, lost inthought.  But his face became the last Isaw, when I was alive.
It took many years for Federico tobe with me again.  He’d lived a longlife, mostly alone, after I was murdered. But after he died, we were reunited. He smiled, said hello, and held me tight in his strong arms.  Federico chooses not to visit his loved onesback home.  He says he doesn’t want tointerfere.  I personally find this asuperior gift, being able to visit those I left behind, a gift that I shouldnot waste.  You agree.  ¿No?
[“El Paso, 1942” eventually became part of the novel, The Book of Want(University of  Arizona Press, 2011).]

Rubber Shoes: A Lesson in Gratitude / Los zapatos de goma: una lección de gratitud

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By Gladys Elizabeth Barbieri.Illustrated by Lina Safar.
Spirited Gladys Elizabeth is more than disappointed when her mother buys her the "ugliest" shoes in the world.  She devises a foolproof plan in hopes of destroying her ugly shoes.  However Gladys Elizabeth doesn't account for the sturdiness of her shoes and in the end learns a valuable lesson in gratitude.
Midwest Book Review: Volume 21, Number 11:  November 2011"Rubber Shoes ...A Lesson in Gratitude/ Los zapatos de goma...una lección de gratitud" is a touching bilingual teaching tale about a girl who hates her new brown rubber shoes that her mother bought for her on sale. She hates them so she plots ways to lose or destroy them, but they are the invincible rubber shoes. Finally her mother takes her on a trip to donate the shoes to another little girl whose reaction to the rubber shoes is very different, leading to an epiphany of gratitude for our charming heroine. "Rubber Shoes" is a beautiful lesson in gratitude and humility for children ages 4-8, written in both Spanish and English and tenderly illustrated in gentle semi-anime style.



For more information visit  www.chuchosbooks.com

¿Has visto a María?

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Sandra Cisneros ha escrito una hermosa fábula ilustrada paraadultos sobre la pérdida de un ser querido y la posibilidad de renovación queofrece esta experiencia difícil.
¿Has visto a María? es un libro breve en formato ilustrado cuyolenguaje sencillo podría fácilmente confundirlo con un libro para niños. Sin embargo, es una historia para adultos, en especial paratodo aquel que haya sufrido la pérdida de un ser querido.
Traducido al español por Liliana Valenzuela, estaconmovedora historia explora los sentimientos de pérdida, duelo y recordaciónque la autora experimenta tras la muerte de su madre. Inspirada por hechos reales, la historia se inicia con lavisita de su amiga Rosalinda, acompañada de su gata María, la cual desapareceapenas llegan a la casa de Cisneros.
Había sido un largo viaje por carretera y, según le cuentasu amiga, la gata había chillado todo el camino. Cisneros recién había perdido a su madre, experiencia queentreteje al relato desde el comienzo.
"Yo también tenía ganas de chillar y largarme",escribe. "Mi mamá había muerto unos meses antes. Yo teníacincuenta y tres años y me sentía como una huérfana", relató.
Cisneros describe ese sentimiento de abandono y desolacióncomo "un guante abandonado en la estación de autobuses". Pero ahora que su amiga ha perdido su adorada gata no lequeda más remedio que salir de la casa donde se había refugiado durante meses ylanzarse de lleno a la búsqueda.Las amigas recorren el vecindario de arriba a abajo, colocanvolantes y les preguntan a todos si han visto a la gatita blanquinegra. La búsqueda resuena con el deseo de la autora de encontrarconsuelo por su pérdida y de recibir algún tipo de respuesta al dolor que laacompaña.
La manera en que Cisneros intercala su pena es sumamenteconmovedora, como cuando pasan por una casa donde afuera se mecía una mujertejiendo algo morado. La autora recuerda que su madre solía tejer unas bufandasmuy feas "que nadie se quería poner".
"En ese momento quise tener una de esas bufandas feas,y la nariz me empezó a cosquillear", escribe.
A medida que avanza la búsqueda, vamos recorriendo elvecindario de Cisneros, un entorno verdaderamente diverso tanto en arquitecturacomo en herencia cultural.
Según la autora, parte de lo que se había propuesto con estelibro era también dar a conocer su barrio en San Antonio (Texas), un lugar quemuchos asocian exclusivamente con sus mansiones históricas sin apreciar lasotras casas más modestas y pintorescas que comparten la zona. Cisneros contactó a su amiga la pintora chicana EsterHernández para que participara con ella en el proyecto de ilustrar elvecindario donde la historia toma lugar. Hernández captura con su pincel la riqueza visual delvecindario, con sus personajes típicos, el pastor, la viuda, las niñas colgandode un columpio y también los excéntricos de extraña vestimenta y los que seniegan a abrir la puerta. Las ilustraciones parecen contar una historia paralela, ladel vecindario y cómo todas estas personas, por el mero hecho de estar allí,ayudan a que la autora supere su pérdida, aunque ni siquiera lo sepan.
Este hermoso libro revela lo imperecedero del amor y lacapacidad de renacer que esconde cada pérdida.

Golden Age for Writers?

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Stephen Marche writes a column for Esquire entitled A Thousand Words. Marche gives us his somewhat jaundiced but usually insightful take on "American culture" -- e.g., movies, music, television, and this month (December issue), books, writers, and publishing. The columns entertain and inform, which says a lot, seeing as how they appear in a glossy periodical that consciously saturates itself with bling that passes for entertainment. I check out the column each month if for nothing more than to gauge just how far behind I am in keeping up with the latest trends, fads, ideas, and, I admit it, the generation (not mine, for sure) that rules the pop cultural landscape.

Marche's topic is "The Best of Times: The Golden Age for Writers Is Right Now." If you keep track of these kinds of things you know that the title expresses a concept at odds with the prevailing wisdom. His opening line: "Writers have always been whiners." He continues in the same vein. "For nearly a hundred years, since at least the time of F. Scott Fitzgerald, the death of the novel has been presaged. And now, egged on by BuzzFeed and video games and just general hypercaffeinated, e-mail-all-the-time ADHD, the book is apparently, finally, about to die."

Of course, that's not where Marche ends up. "Literary circles have been so full of pity for so long that they can't accept the optimistic truth: We're living in a golden age for writers and writing." He backs his conclusion with statistics. More on those later, but, FYI, I don't have hard statistics. I do have writer friends. I read books. I try to read many books about many things. I buy books. I attend book events. I write books. I even have a collection of photographs of book stores.

Immortality

Now, I admit I can be as self-pitiful as anyone. Woe is me. I'm a writer and so that has to mean I suffer existential guilt and some paranoia and a smidgen of a persecution complex. Not to mention that I'm sixty-four years old, so there goes any chance for a "career" as a writer. I doubt I'll ever be listed as "trending." It's easy to get caught up in the "death-of-the-novel" zeitgeist. Familiar distractions abound. The multitasking, hectic pace of twenty-first century life provides a handy excuse for the attitude that there is little time for the focus and patience required to read a book, much less write one. Plus, and here is the key ingredient for much of my teeth-grinding, jaw-clenching, insomnia-inducing tension, because I am a male Latino writer who indulges a penchant for crime fiction and noir atmospheric capers, my suffering just has to be that much more intense than, say, the suburban barista who, in her "me time," self-publishes a young adult vampire romance that earns her beau coup bucks each month from Amazon. I know, I'm petty.

We (Latino writers) not only have to deal with the malaise that so many writers have glorified, but don't we also suffer from publisher indifference (some would say racism), reader apathy (some would say Latino illiteracy), and marketing naivete (some would point out the technological divide endemic to Latinos)? However, those thoughts are early-morning wisps that float around the cool house at the tail end of a frigid and depressing November night.  After a cup or two of my famous homemade espresso, I slap myself and realize that, hey, what I have, writing-wise, is a lot more than I ever expected. I am about to publish my eighth novel. I've won awards, been shortlisted for the most prestigious prize in my particular genre, been given a starred review by Publishers Weekly, and have most of my books still in print. I've met and enjoyed the company of numerous writers I admire and respect, established new friendships, traveled to places I never would have visited but for the fact that I published a novel. I've been asked to blurb books that I thought were great (and, of course, some not so great.) I've written stories that people actually want to read. All in all, do I really have a legitimate reason to wallow in the deep pit of writer angst? Well, there is that thing about making real money as a writer - but let's gloss over that for now.

That's my experience. I may be in my own private golden age. But, assuming Marche is correct, is this also the best of times for Latino writers in general? Where do we (escritores de la gente) fit in with all this?

Marche points out a few salient facts. As I read these, I asked, Do any of the numbers attach to Latino writers? Are they relevant to our experience?

1.  "Writers are prospering as never before, on all levels." Two of  Marche's examples:  "J.K. Rowling is a billionaire. Tom Wolfe was paid $7 million for his last novel." He mentions other well-paid writers who have no legitimate claim to whining. Latino examples: Well, we know all about Junot Díaz. The man has published one novel and two collections of short stories but he snatched up a MacArthur "Genius" Fellowship. His sales are off the charts. Sandra Cisneros has published a handful of poetry and short story collections, one major novel, and a classic (masterpiece) novella. Is any writer (Chicana or otherwise) more famous or sought-after as a speaker? But these examples, if anything, may prove to be the exceptions that define the rule. Are these the only superstars of Latino Literature?

2.  "Small presses have never produced more or had an easier time getting their product into the hands of readers. In 2010 the National Book Award and the Pulitzer for fiction both went to books from small presses." Small presses are the backbone of Latino literature. If anything, Latina/o writers have thrived precisely because of the numerous small or university presses that have been willing and eager to publish our works. And we have a special tradition in this regard. Probably beginning with the legendary small press Quinto Sol, Latinos have not been shy about creating our own presses to showcase our literary product: Arte Público Press, Aztlan Libre Press, Chusma House, Calaca Press -- to name only a few. Not all survive. Publishing is a harsh, unforgiving world. But new small presses continue to open.

2.  "It's not just the novel, either. The essay -- long or short, literary or plain -- has never been stronger. Practically every week, some truly fantastic piece of long-form nonfiction appears." I have to point out that almost every week La Bloga features at least one excellent opinion piece. La Bloga contributors write about everything from education to politics; from health care issues to recipes. In terms of more formal publication, the signs are encouraging, none more so than the recent release of Sergio Troncoso's essay collection, Crossing Borders, or that the well-known fiction author and poet Lucha Corpi is working on her own book of personal essays.

3. "With a few notable exceptions, almost every magazine in the world is in its best shape ever, right now." Marche points out that the magazines that have survived the recent economic crises are excellent because of the highly competitive nature of the magazine business. "Good old-fashioned competition -- from the Internet and the expanding marketplace -- has forced [magazines] to improve." Latino magazines tend to come and go. There are some bright lights, however, I think the question is not whether we have any Latino magazines but whether a traditional hard copy magazine makes sense these days.

Marche's next three points are different ways of saying the same thing -- more people are reading more books.

4.  "Revenue for adult hardcover books is up 8.3 percent from 2011, and paperback sales are up 5.2 percent. Book sales for young adults and children grew by 12 percent last year. E-books accounted for 30 percent of net publisher sales in the adult fiction category in 2011 -- compared with 13 percent in 2010 -- but there's little evidence that those numbers represent anything other than a shift in format.The e-reader is creating a new market, not destroying an old one."

5.  On average, adult Americans "read seventeen books in 2011 -- a number that hasn't been higher since Gallup and Pew began tracking the figure in 1990."

6.  "The percentage of Americans who told the National Endowment for the Arts that they read literature rose in 2008 (their most recent survey) by 3.5 percentage points to more than half the population -- the first gain in twenty-six years."

The nine regular contributors to La Bloga are a prolific lot. In 2012, new books, poems, or stories were published by Rudy Garcia, Ernest Hogan, René Colato Laínez, Daniel Olivas, Melinda Palacio, and Manuel Ramos (hope I didn't leave anyone out - please correct me if I did.) These were in a wide variety of genres and formats. Everything from a tug-at-the-heartstrings immigration saga to an outrageous speculative fantasy. Lydia Gil continues to write reviews and literary articles for international outlets. Amelia ML Montes continues to teach English and Ethnic Studies and write scholarly articles about, of all things, Latina writers. And, in his own inimitable fashion, Em Sedano contributes mightily to the dissemination and propagation of Latino literature with his untiring work on behalf of new writers, Poets Responding to SB 1070, Flor y Canto, La Bloga, y más. Surely this is a golden age for La Bloga's writers?

In addition to our regulars, La Bloga has always featured guest contributors. We actively seek out and encourage contributors to write on anything that is remotely relevant to what La Bloga is all about. If this is a golden age for Latino writers, La Bloga, in our own small way, has helped create it.

Take a quick look around. Latino writers are everywhere, in every genre. Self-published bestsellers. Young adult and children's books (read any of Rene's columns for La Bloga.) Graphic novel trend-setters (the Hernandez Bros continue to amaze but they are only the tip of the illustrated novel iceberg.) Poets by the proverbial truckload - with numerous readings and performances across the country. (Juan Felipe Herrera is the California poet laureate.) And so many younger and new authors continuously publish outstanding short story collections, novels, chapbooks, memoirs. Instead of Paris in the 1920s, we have Tia Chucha's almost daily events, crowded readings at La Casa Azul, Su Teatro's Annual Neruda Poetry Festival and Barrio Slam, and so on, so on.

I remember when I could carry a list of all the Chicana/o writers in the world who had published a book. I remember when I personally knew all the Chicana/o writers who published crime fiction. I remember when I was the only published Chicano novelist in Denver. Those days, thankfully, are gone forever.

And yet ... 

Here comes my whiny self again.  Okay, we have more Latina/o authors writing more books, and publishing in a variety of formats and genres. All good. But, where are the readers? Who buys the books? The few studies I have seen (NEA, Kiser and Associates, Institute for Public Relations, University of North Carolina,) although dated, repeat familiar depressing facts:  excessive high school dropout rates for Latino and immigrant students; lack of reading materials in Latino households, especially low-income Latino households; disproportion between Latino percentages of the population and percentages of Latinos who buy books. Most of us don't need university studies to know that these conditions exist in our communities. The contradictions continue between writers and readers. So many writers, not enough readers, yet. On especially difficult days, we might even say that these are the dark ages for readers.

And yet ...

These facts are but one side of the coin. I think the magic word is potential. No one other than an unreformed Tea Party idiot will deny that Latinos significantly influenced the recent U.S. presidential election. We see the changes happening everywhere, in politics, all types of businesses, artistic endeavors, education projects, science, technology - we are living the so-called browning of the U.S. Pick a topic and sooner or later one has to talk about how Latinos are involved, or why they should be, or when they will be the deciding factor. As the TV teaches us, "We are the future, and the future is now."

Yin and yang, no?  I'm not ready yet to say that this is the golden age for Latina/o writers. I think that time is coming, and soon. But the present is pretty good. It could be better, it has to improve, there's a lot of work to do, but it's a relief that we can throw away the old cliches about "a sleeping giant" or an "invisible minority." No one -- publishers, editors, readers -- can ignore Latina/o writers anymore.

It seems to me that the best I can do is to continue to write - it's what I do. Golden Age -- sounds good.


Later.

The Buck Doesn't Stop Here

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So I was kind of hoping a week in the woods would make Tim reconsider his yearly commitment to a guys' hunting trip with my brother. This would mean I would no longer have to drive on long, curving WV roads by myself until which time we could meet up for Thanksgiving dinner.

I had high hopes.

I mean this is the guy who is known to fall asleep in the woods, John Irving novel at his side. He's the one who got "scoped" by a rifle a few years back just in time for family Christmas photos.


He may even be known to lift a pinky finger while (whilst?) drinking tea. So I guess I'm saying, a wild mountain man Tim is not.

But darn if he didn't kill the biggest buck in hunting camp history.

I'm screwed.

Little Expense, Big Savings: What's Your Favorite Frugal Buy?

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We purchased this toothpaste squeezer doohickey for $0.99 cents about four months ago: 


Since then, we're buying way less toothpaste. It should save us quite a few bucks in the long-term, too, provided we don't lose it / the cat doesn't eat it / it doesn't get sucked into the sweltering pit of despair we call "outside right now."

Which leads us to this softball question for a fiery Friday:

Sweet readers, what's your favorite frugal buy?

Do tell! Pass it on!

A Beginner's Guide to Beans, Plus 42 Bean Recipes

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This article first appeared in October 2009.
Some will balk at their flavor and size. Many will have texture issues. And still others just won’t enjoy the farting.

But know this: there are few cheaper, healthier, and more versatile foods than the humble bean. Members of the legume family, beans can be found everywhere from gourmet restaurants to campfire cauldrons. They’ve been vital to the survival of certain populations, and instrumental to the development of particular cuisines. Also, they taste good.

Still, there are folks out there unfamiliar with chickpeas and pintos, kidney and black beans. And for them, CHG proudly presents the following: a breakdown of why beans are wonderful, plus 42 tried-and-true recipes in which to use them.

HEALTH BENEFITS

Low in fat, high in protein, and astronomically high in fiber, beans work beautifully as the main components of recipes, but also as fabulous alternatives to meat. This is for a few reasons: A) they create a complete protein when paired with nuts, seeds, or grains, B) their chemical composition makes you feel sated longer than a lot of other foods, and C) they have a bulky and substantial mouthfeel, so you never feel deprived. Studies have found them to be solid tools in weight loss and maintenance, and integral to the prevention of all kinds of diseases.

If that ain’t enough for you, this WebMD blurb is pretty convincing: “In a recent study, bean eaters weighed, on average, 7 pounds less and had slimmer waists than their bean-avoiding counterparts -- yet they consumed 199 calories more per day if they were adults and an incredible 335 calories more if they were teenagers.” Sweet.

P.S. True to the well-known rhyme, beans make you both smartier and fartier. They contain both certain vitamins that improve brain function AND undigestable sugars, which lead to exciting intestinal activity, which leads to gas. So there you go.

PRICE

Grown globally from Ethiopia to Australia, beans are some of the most plentiful - and subsequently cheapest - edibles anywhere. A pound of dried beans in Brooklyn will generally run about $1, and will produce four to six cups of food after rehydration.

Compare that to meat. In my neighborhood, a pound of chicken breast (one of the healthier animal options) runs $1.69 on sale. It shrinks slightly when cooked, ultimately producing around two cups of poultry.

Let’s do some math, then. One cup of cheap chicken is $1.69 divided by two, or $0.85. One cup of beans is $1.00 divided by five, or $0.20. Using these (incredibly) rough numbers, chicken breast is 425% the price of dried beans.

Of course, the numbers will vary by area, sales, and math skills, but you get the idea.

DRIED OR CANNED?

It’s a controversy as old as storage itself: dried or canned beans? On one hand, dried beans are universally cheaper, and widely considered to possess a creamier consistency and better overall flavor. On the other hand, canned beans aren’t terribly expensive themselves, and the taste difference is pretty negligible when you’re talking about everyday kitchen use.

The tiebreaker, then, is time. If you have the wherewithal, forethought, and 90 to 480 minutes to rehydrate a bag of dried chickpeas, you’ll be rewarded in kind. If you‘re throwing dinner together and an hour-long prep time is crazy talk, canned beans are the way to go.

It’s worth noting that if respected cooks aren’t using canned beans already (Giada DeLaurentiis, Sara Moulton, etc.), they’re starting to come around. Even die-hard dried fans like Mark Bittman have been giving props to metal dwellers recently. Meaning: don’t fear the Goya.

INTRODUCING … THE BEANS

If you’ve ever tried chili, hummus, minestrone, Texas caviar, Mexican food, Indian food, Italian food, or, er, refried beans, you’ve already experienced the wonder of the bean. They’re omnipresent in cuisines all over the world, and come in a range of flavors and sizes that can be adapted to thousands of dishes. Here are six of the most common found in the U.S., along with a few recipe suggestions for each.

(A quick note before we get to the beans themselves: there are a zillion types of legume, and some [like the soybean] are rocketing in popularity stateside. But to keep things manageable, we’re sticking to a few big ones.)

Black Beans
Used frequently in Latin cuisines, the black bean is a small, ebony bean with an earthy flavor. I find it pairs very well with grains, and makes for a stellar soup.
Black Bean and Tomato Quinoa
Black Bean Brownies
Black Bean Burrito Bake
Black Bean Salad with Fresh Corn
Black Bean Soup
Calabacitas Burritos
Stuffed Peppers with Black Beans and Corn

Black-Eyed Peas
A terrible band, but a wonderful food, black-eyed peas are all over Southern cuisine. Like other beans, they’re great sources of fiber, folate, and protein. Unlike other beans, you will always feel like they’re looking at you.
Black-Eyed Pea (Texas) Caviar
Black-Eyed Pea Salad
Collard Greens and Black-Eyed Peas

Cannellini/White Beans
There are a ton of variations on the white bean, but I dig cannellinis in particular for their creaminess and flavor. Found in many Italian dishes, you’ll find that Microsoft Word often corrects its spelling to “cannelloni,” which is annoying.
Escarole and White Beans
Garlicky Long Beans and Beans
Grilled Zucchini with Quinoa Stuffing
Guacamole Bean Dip
Penne with Lemon, Potatoes, and Cannellini
White Bean and Tarragon Soup
White Chicken Chili
Spinach and Cannellini Bean Dip

Chickpeas (Garbanzo Beans)
Without chickpeas, there would be no hummus. And without hummus, there would be no joy. Vital to Italian, Indian, and Middle Eastern cuisines (among others), the plentiful and versatile garbanzo bean can be found in virtually every form, from dip to stew to flour (though I have yet to see a chickpea smoothie). Due to its subtle flavor and increasing ubiquity in the U.S., I like to think of the chickpea as a gateway bean; if you like it, odds are other legumes will soon follow.
Beets and Greens Curry with Chickpeas
Chickpea Salad
Couscous with Chickpeas, Tomatoes, and Edamame
Curry in a Hurry
Greek-Style Chickpea Salad
Lemony Light Hummus
North African-style Chickpea Salad
Pasta e Ceci
Pasta with Zucchini and Chickpeas
Pasta with Broccoli and Chickpeas
Pindi Chana (Spicy Chickpea Curry)
Roasted Chickpeas
Shredded Zucchini and Chickpeas Over Polenta

Kidney Beans (red and pink)
Substantive and quite large in comparison to other common legumes, kidney beans go great on salads and substitute fabulously for meat in chilis and stews. And seriously, what’s a frugal kitchen without red beans and rice?
Chili Corn Pone Pie
Pumpkin Turkey Chili

Pinto Beans (Frijoles)
Wonderful on their own and even better mashed, these pink-brown legumes claim the great honor of being the only bean my mom likes. Also, I could be talking out my neck here, but I find pintos a little sweeter than black beans and chickpeas.
Refried Beans
Swiss Chard with Pinto Beans and Goat Cheese

Multiple Beans
Each of the following recipes use more than one type of bean.
Bodega Beans (any)
Camp Stove Veggie Chili (black, kidney)
Curried Chickpeas and Black Beans (chickpeas, black)
Easy Vegetarian Bean Chili (any)
Gallo Pinto (pinto, black)
Indonesian Curried Bean Stew (chickpeas, black, kidney )
Light Leftover Turkey Chili (black, kidney)
Turkey Chili with Beans (white, pink, kidney)

And that's our ballgame. Readers, how about you? What are your favorite bean recipes?

~~~

If you like this article, you might also dig:

• 20 Cheap, Healthy Dishes Made From 10 Pantry Staples
• How to Tell if a Recipe is Cheap and Healthy Just By Looking at it
• Spend Less, Eat Healthier: The Five Most Important Things You Can Do

A Little Sumthin'

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January is SO awesome!!!  I love January because it's a well-deserved fresh start, a big, fat break from the festivities.  For me, the craziness hits when summer break ends-- the whole back-to-school frenzy in September (for us), then on to Halloween costumes and parties a month later, then on to Thanksgiving festivities a month after that, and then straight into Christmas and the exciting Holiday season for a month solid.  January is a big, huge sigh of {ahhhhhh} relief.  January says, "Well done, my friend, and now you get to send the kiddies back to school, curl up with some hot cocoa, grab a project or a new book, and enjoy some peace before Valentine's Day sneaks up on you."  {gasp!} Oh, January, you're so good to me!  
So it's the end of a beautiful, fun chapter and the start of a new one.  {exciting, isn't it?!}
During the New Year celebration, I always contemplate what new thing I'm going to do now that I don't have to focus so much time and energy on Christmas.  Naturally, I turn to Pinterest.  And, like a miracle, out comes the thread and the creative juices flow.
...unfortunately, when the thread magically appears, so does a curious toddler, and before you know it, the well-organized, labeled, tagged, color-synchronized scheme of your threads become a jumbled mess like this.  #$@#%!  We don't really need to know the color/numbers of the thread, do we?!  I mean, you can eyeball match them up or something, right?!  I mean, what is the difference between DMC 724 and DMC 726...just a tiny shade, right?!  ....right?!   {Did I mention that my color schemes are very organized?}

ahhhh....here we go.  I want a creamy color - going with a monochromatic thing here....rare for me since I'm pretty much a color spaz.
...but not this time.  Just wait and see!  It's going to be simplistic and pretty--I can't wait to finish!{sunlight coming in through my windows - this is so very rare for me and I just want to soak this all up.}

Pickin'

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I'll share my favorite quote that I'm always telling my kids...stop me if you've heard this one...
You can pick your friends.You can pick your nose.Just don't pick your friend's nose.(baaaahahaaa!!! hhaaa!!! gets me every time!!!)

They hate it when I tell them this. It's like every day.  Especially when a friend is over. They bury their face in their hands and wish to high heaven that I was a normal mom. 
Speaking of picking...We picked peaches.  It was hot, but delightful.  I climbed a few trees, got a few scratches, and discovered that climbing the trees was a worthless venture because the birds had pecked all of the good ones up there.
We came home with some beauties, though!!Now I need to hurry up and do something with them.  I can't wait--the possibilities are endless.  I'm pretty sure I want to make this peach jam, as well as bottle some for cobblers and such.  

And they're so pretty. My pretty little peachy babies.

 More pickin' going on...I also picked out some books to add to my shelf.  {gasp!!}I haven't added to the shelf in a while, and since I'm on a roll of doing nothing, I figure I could do nothing whilst looking at pretty things to make.  

I'm madly in love with crewel and I can't wait to look at this book and discover all of the amazing projects I'm probably not going to make!!! {exciiiiiiting!}

This one makes me giddy, too.  My baby girl LOVES playing with her cooking stuff, so I might feel a little itch to do a project from this one.  Maybe.  I'm thinking I'd like to have a bunch of adorable felt food made in time for Christmas.  And, if you know me already, I better start now.  haha.

That's all of the picking going on for now.  Thank goodness.

A Little Sumthin'

To contact us Click HERE


January is SO awesome!!!  I love January because it's a well-deserved fresh start, a big, fat break from the festivities.  For me, the craziness hits when summer break ends-- the whole back-to-school frenzy in September (for us), then on to Halloween costumes and parties a month later, then on to Thanksgiving festivities a month after that, and then straight into Christmas and the exciting Holiday season for a month solid.  January is a big, huge sigh of {ahhhhhh} relief.  January says, "Well done, my friend, and now you get to send the kiddies back to school, curl up with some hot cocoa, grab a project or a new book, and enjoy some peace before Valentine's Day sneaks up on you."  {gasp!} Oh, January, you're so good to me!  
So it's the end of a beautiful, fun chapter and the start of a new one.  {exciting, isn't it?!}
During the New Year celebration, I always contemplate what new thing I'm going to do now that I don't have to focus so much time and energy on Christmas.  Naturally, I turn to Pinterest.  And, like a miracle, out comes the thread and the creative juices flow.
...unfortunately, when the thread magically appears, so does a curious toddler, and before you know it, the well-organized, labeled, tagged, color-synchronized scheme of your threads become a jumbled mess like this.  #$@#%!  We don't really need to know the color/numbers of the thread, do we?!  I mean, you can eyeball match them up or something, right?!  I mean, what is the difference between DMC 724 and DMC 726...just a tiny shade, right?!  ....right?!   {Did I mention that my color schemes are very organized?}

ahhhh....here we go.  I want a creamy color - going with a monochromatic thing here....rare for me since I'm pretty much a color spaz.
...but not this time.  Just wait and see!  It's going to be simplistic and pretty--I can't wait to finish!{sunlight coming in through my windows - this is so very rare for me and I just want to soak this all up.}

Pickin'

To contact us Click HERE
I'll share my favorite quote that I'm always telling my kids...stop me if you've heard this one...
You can pick your friends.You can pick your nose.Just don't pick your friend's nose.(baaaahahaaa!!! hhaaa!!! gets me every time!!!)

They hate it when I tell them this. It's like every day.  Especially when a friend is over. They bury their face in their hands and wish to high heaven that I was a normal mom. 
Speaking of picking...We picked peaches.  It was hot, but delightful.  I climbed a few trees, got a few scratches, and discovered that climbing the trees was a worthless venture because the birds had pecked all of the good ones up there.
We came home with some beauties, though!!Now I need to hurry up and do something with them.  I can't wait--the possibilities are endless.  I'm pretty sure I want to make this peach jam, as well as bottle some for cobblers and such.  

And they're so pretty. My pretty little peachy babies.

 More pickin' going on...I also picked out some books to add to my shelf.  {gasp!!}I haven't added to the shelf in a while, and since I'm on a roll of doing nothing, I figure I could do nothing whilst looking at pretty things to make.  

I'm madly in love with crewel and I can't wait to look at this book and discover all of the amazing projects I'm probably not going to make!!! {exciiiiiiting!}

This one makes me giddy, too.  My baby girl LOVES playing with her cooking stuff, so I might feel a little itch to do a project from this one.  Maybe.  I'm thinking I'd like to have a bunch of adorable felt food made in time for Christmas.  And, if you know me already, I better start now.  haha.

That's all of the picking going on for now.  Thank goodness.

A Life's Design

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We did it! We made it through the first year. You were praying like crazy for us over the weekend, weren't you? We could tell. THANK YOU! Still processing the hardness and the goodness of the weekend, but I have something special to share with you today.

Here's what Tim had to say on September 8th, the one year Crap-iversary of losing our Jack:



When Jack was in first grade, his teacher asked the kids draw a picture of one of their favorite things. I did not see Jack's drawing until his sweet teacher gave it to Anna and me last year. She said that all of the drawings were what you would expect from first graders: puppies, flowers, candy. And then she showed us Jack's drawing, neatly labeled "Designs." Looking at the picture filled my heart and broke it in the same instant. That's my Jack. A six-year old who dreams of designs and is thrilled by their arrangement and patterns. That's the boy who captured my heart with a fierce love that will never die.

As I have been cherishing this memory during the past week, the idea of "designs" reminded me of the imagery of the Tapestry of Life, reproduced here from a daily devotional:

The sages teach that our world is like a tapestry. Every tapestry has two
sides; the front where everything is neat and orderly, and the backside
where threads are cut and tied. Even though both sides are made with exactly
the same threads, the pictures they produce are completely different.
On the front side, there is a beautiful design. The other side, however, is a mess.

All of history is producing one enormous and gorgeous tapestry. However, at
this time, we are only able to see the backside. Nothing makes sense, and
everything seems chaotic. The picture is ugly, and we wonder, "What in the
world is the artist thinking?"

But there is another side to the tapestry, yet to be revealed. On that side,
nothing is out of place and every thread is where it ought to be. The
picture is clear and perfect. If we were to see it, we would stand in awe at
its beauty and brilliance. We would understand the artist's intention all
along.

Jack, I don't understand why you were taken from us at such a young age, leaving a permanent, gaping hole in our lives and in the plans we had for our family. But now I wait, impatiently at times, to see the other side of the tapestry. To see God's beautiful design and your smiling face.

We love you, we miss you, and we'll never forget you.

Dad.

Well, That Sure Didn't Take Very Long

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Guess who I just ran into at the grocery store?

Yep. Mrs. Davidson. That took less than a week.

My eyes filled with tears as I asked her if this grief thing was going to get any better.

She said yes. She said yes. She said yes. Clinging to her words today.

And look who is still struggling but was well enough to go to school:


Meet Margaret, The Elvinking from The Hobbit.

She aced her presentation. I told her it would be funny if she dressed like Elvis and said to her teacher, "What? I thought I was supposed to be Elvis, The King." At least I crack myself up. We'll be doing a lot of shopping and packing Operation Christmas Child boxes this weekend in memory of Jack. Maybe you'll be doing that too. It's a great activity for the kids. Or if you are like me and you enjoy sorting things and sticking them in piles, for moms too. Much love to you this weekend.  And to reader Laura, who lost her almost 19 year old son 7 weeks ago in a car accident: I am so very, very sorry. I hope this will continue to be a safe place for you to come. I don't have your email address so I've been unable to contact you directly.  Friends, could you join me in sending love and prayers to this hurting mom? 

The Buck Doesn't Stop Here

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So I was kind of hoping a week in the woods would make Tim reconsider his yearly commitment to a guys' hunting trip with my brother. This would mean I would no longer have to drive on long, curving WV roads by myself until which time we could meet up for Thanksgiving dinner.

I had high hopes.

I mean this is the guy who is known to fall asleep in the woods, John Irving novel at his side. He's the one who got "scoped" by a rifle a few years back just in time for family Christmas photos.


He may even be known to lift a pinky finger while (whilst?) drinking tea. So I guess I'm saying, a wild mountain man Tim is not.

But darn if he didn't kill the biggest buck in hunting camp history.

I'm screwed.

Review: Down to the Bone. Oedipus Rey. On-Line Floricanto Ultimate in November 2012

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Second Time’s a Charm. Review: Mayra Lazara Dole. Down to the Bone.Tallahassee FL: Bella Books, 2012. ISBN-13: 9781594933172 

Michael Sedano


Back in 2008 and 2009, La Bloga wrote enthusiastically about a Young Adult novel, Down to the Bone, detailing the heartbreak of a girl exploring her sexuality in the worst way: outed by a viciously evil high school teacher, ostracized by childhood friends, and thrown out of her little brother’s life when Shai’s mother kicks the daughter out of the house. “Don’t come back until you like boys, degenerada” is the mother’s curse.

Bella Books, a dynamic “publisher of vibrant and irresistible fiction for and about lesbians” has not republished the out-of-print title but instead has given Mayra Lazara Dole the opportunity to let the book grow up from YA to literary fiction. Although the publisher continues to class the novel as YA, Down to the Bone is a book for parents, relatives, and young readers.

The book keeps readers on edge. The retrograde attitudes of the mother and several of the supporting characters are constant reminders of all the ways US society, and in this case, Cubans in Miami’s US society, practice blind intolerance. Can they be overcome? Down to the Bone tells how Shai rebounds from ugly abuse to nest in the warmth and love of gente who love Shai for the content of her character and her spirit, who don't need to forgive her for whom she loves.

Dole’s characters introduce a broad range of sexual identities. The enthusiastically herterosexual best friend Soli, Soli’s boyfriends du jour, and her mother, Viva, define Love. Soli and Viva throw open their home and their arms unconditionally to the rejected kid. Marlena—Shai’s only lover—is terrified her parents will learn she likes girls. Confused and ultimately dishonest, Marlena marries her parents’ chosen mate. She comes back looking to rekindle the flames but Shai looks for honesty in people and Marlena proved herself heart-breakingly confused and ultimately dishonest.

Lazer’s story adds yet another edge to the novel. Dole invariably elects male pronouns to describe the boi, who comes on to Shai with desire. But, while Shai finds Lazer’s genderqueerness attractive, he’s not Shai’s preference and Lazer regretfully moves on. They can be friends, just friends.

Some of the abuse Shai suffers comes self-administered. She’s just sixteen. Confused by her mother’s absolutism, Shai throws herself into faking it, taking a boyfriend in hopes she will learn to love him and thus change into someone her mother will welcome home. When Shai realizes the immense damage she does to the hetero boy—who's a real jerk--it helps push her over the Niagra Falls of deception she’s been riding toward a precipice.

Shai makes attempts at hetero play--sex games without "going all the way"—with the putative boyfriend. But that life is a lie that Shai can’t stomach. Shai heaps guilt upon herself because she understands pretending to be heterosexual is just another lie, and she’s already lost a lifetime of friends who had no idea Shai is a…

A what? Shai’s confusion and mom-induced guilt leads the child to reject labels that fly everywhere. Gay. Lesbo. Lesbian. Tortillera. Faggot. Dyke. Hetero. Lezzie. Dole skillfully plays out Shai’s labelling perplexity, using that as a signal of Shai’s growing health. When Shai finally breaks through that lexical wall to call herself “lesbian”, a new Shai emerges. Self-accepting and unrelentingly honest, lovingly out of the closet and finding her way into her new society.

With acceptance comes freedom. Difficult, painful freedom in some ways, but grandly liberating in the best ways. Finding and building strength upon her decisive self-assurance, Shai confronts and explains the facts of life to the unrelenting mother and sets the terms of their ongoing relationship.

Down to the Bone is not a morality tale--though readers will find that. Dole's crafted a cautionary coming of age story that says a person is entitled to whatever happiness she can create. It says we live in parallel worlds, the gay world, the haters world, the world of the rest of us. Some of us pass back and forth into those worlds while others shut themselves and others out. All own the consequences of their acts.

When a parent or classmates make it a point to bully or punish a gay offspring, that is hurtful and absolutely unjust. Because Shai is no longer in the home, her little brother will fall behind in school and suffer the consequences of an education deficit. Shai abandons schooling to work full-time in landscape design, thinking she can autodidact higher education and forge a career. In order to force her mother’s acceptance, Shai blackmails her mother, threatening to tell mom’s rich new husband the whole story and redefining the mother-daughter relationship to something inherently unhealthy.

Bella Books lists a growing catalog to enjoy. Visit the publisher's website to order the book in paper or ebook, or to get the details so your local independent bookseller can order as many copies as you'll need to read and share with friends.  Down to Bone brings not only enjoyment but a vitally important story not to be missed.


News from the email bag
Oedipus el Rey in the Northwest



This time, it’s Seattle’s turn to share Luis Alfaro's version of Oedipus tyrannos, its chicano version Oedipus el Rey, coming to Seattle's eSe Teatro in early December for an abbreviated run.

La Bloga has enthusiastically followed Alfaro’s retelling. Alfaro curses today’s pintos and street gangsters with the core of Sophocle’s Athenian tragedy. In the version I saw at Malibu Getty in 2008, the concept stunned me with its revolutionary stance. That Getty production was exquisite.

Bloguera Olga Garcia found the experience of Oedipus el Rey scintillating when she joined a 2010 Pasadena audience for a characteristically limited-run on a tiny stage.

The play remains a work-in-progress. When it’s completed and ready for the main stage downtown, Oedipus el Rey will be sublimely historical and undoubtedly award-winning.

La Bloga welcomes guest reviewers. If you're among those who get to enjoy this performance, please let La Bloga share your experience. 


La Bloga On-Line Floricanto 

“America I Need To Talk To You” by Diana Lucas Joe

"Volcanoes Here Speak Up! / Los volcanes aquí toman la palabra" by Francisco X. Alarcón

“Nameless” by Joe Navarro

“Why Do You Cry, Mother?” by Ramon Piñero


America I Need To Talk To You.
by Diana Lucas--joe

America, I need to talk to you.
I need to tell you what I see.
I see you go wild.
Going out to other places.
Acting all big.
I ask you to stop!
Sit down!
This is not going to be easy.
I want to begin by saying I love you.
I always have, since I was little.
I wore my hats for you.
I sang my songs of you.
Oh! How I Celebrated you!
But I need to tell you that I will not tolerate your insensitivity.
You go to other places and stay too long.
Killing, killing.
Shame on you.
You have become too filled with vanity.
Others celebrate you grandly too!
Haven't you had enough?
Sit down!
I speak truly to you, as it is all I ever did for you.
I am not just a number in your books.
I refuse to be just that anymore.
I am going back to my father, the sky.
I am living with my mother, the earth.
I needed to tell you that.
You can change too, America, you really can.
Come back.








Namelessby Joe Navarro
Nameless...eaten by weather
And animals litter the desert
They previously had names and
Families, people who loved them
Who said, "Goodbye," perhaps
With a blessing, sharing in
The hope of a new beginning
But that all evaporated somewhere
Between disorientation, hopelessness
And futility, or disillusion
Voices and memories washed away
In tears that smelled impending
Death, which screamed in
Hunger pangs and sandy swallows
One final memory of family and
Friends escorted their dreams
Across the final border

--Joe Navarro
© Copyright 2012



Why Do You Cry, Mother?
by Ramon Piñero
 She birthed
them
both; dark
hair, dark
eyes, a
joy to
any father

She watched
as they played
together
building
sand castles
at the beach'
playing
innocently, but
sometimes
(as children
are wont to
be) exasperating

as time
grew
between them
stones grew
where once
there were
eyes
and
moss covered
their tongues

further than
far and
stranger than
strange
the brothers
grew.
they no
longer spoke
their
moss-covered
tongues
sounded
differently
now than
when they
were young

their castles
defended
by moats
filled with
bloody
broken promises


unable
to speak
the peace,
their
moss-covered
tongues
distort the
words;

The adversary
between them
uses mortars
of hate as
bulding blocks
making larger
castles
with higher
walls

and with
stones where
their ayes
once were
and tongues
covered
with moss
the entreaties
of the dead
and dying
go unheeded


their mother
birthed them
both, with dark
hair and dark
eyes
any father would
be proud

now they
are like the
grains of
sand

stones where
there eyes
once were
tongues
covered in
moss

when they
speak,
the shrieks
drown out
their words
and
the adversary
gains new
soldiers
and little
children
reach back
chasing their
innocence
back to
peace of
being

soon
not
later
we
will
pay
for
what
we
have
done


A mother
cries out
a father
rends his
garments
their children
are dying
everyday
and the
adversary
with a
knowing smile
slinks through
the underbrush
and preaches
from the
temple\
the minaret
the pulpit

a mother
birthed them
a proud
father
blessed
them


but stones
grew where
once their
eyes were’
their tongues
once sang
odes to joy;
songs of
celebration;
now covered
in moss
sing no more

their eyes
gleam no
more
the wonder
of being, the
lantern of
life, slowly
dimming

the adversary
smiles knowingly
soon he shall
add to his
horde.


BIOS
“America I Need To Talk To You” by Diana Lucas Joe

"Volcanoes Here Speak Up! / Los volcanes aquí toman la palabra" by Francisco X. Alarcón

“Nameless” by Joe Navarro
“Why Do You Cry, Mother?” by Ramon Piñero


Diana is a grassroots barrio Chicana poet and writer, song writer and composer from Brownsville, Texas. Born in 1960 to a generational migrant family, she grew up in federal housing projects in South Texas, attending public school there, as well.

She enjoys writing poetry on Chicano and indigenous peoples' political and social issues. She has been writing since age eight. Her writing began as she was a community advocate for those with community members limited in English reading, writing, or conversational skills. She writes about Mexican American International Border Issues, and has been inspired to do so because of the ever present border and migratory upset with communities in these territories she calls ancient corridors.

Diana's work has been published in numerous local, state and city newspapers, college newsletters, magazines, and books throughout the border states in the US. and Mexico. She is an activist for indigenous people's rights from the US, Mexico, and the world. Her favorite quote published in the Brownsville Herald in 2006, as she did a hunger strike along the banks of the river there, against H.R.4437 was, ''The Earth Was Made To Contain All Of Us!"



Francisco X. Alarcón, award-winning Chicano poet and educator, is the author of twelve volumes of poetry, including, From the Other Side of Night: Selected and New Poems (University of Arizona Press 2002). His latest book is Ce•Uno•One: Poemas para el Nuevo Sol/Poems for the New Sun (Swan Scythe Press 2010). His most recent book of bilingual poetry for children is Animal Poems of the Iguazú (Children’s Book Press 2008). He teaches at the University of California, Davis. He is the creator of the Facebook page, POETS RESPONDING TO SB 1070.


Joe Navarro is a literary vato loco, teacher, poet, creative writer, husband, father and grandfather who currently lives in Hollister, CA. Joe integrates his poetic voice with life's experiences, and blends culture with politics. His poetic influences include the Beat Poets, The Last Poets, Amiri Baraka, Sonia Sanchez, Alurista, Gloria Anzaldua, Lalo Delgado and numerous others. You can read more from Joe at www.joenavarro.weebly.com.



Ramon Piñero. "Ex Bay Area poet living in the buckle of the Bible Belt, aka Florida. Where good little boys and girls grow up to be republicans who vote against their own interest. Father of three and Grandfather to six of the coolest kids ever.