Making a Difference - Day 7

Being an Academic Advisor is more than just knowing a degree plan, it's more than knowing how to fill out a petition or substitution request, and it's more than knowing how to read a catalog. Being an advisor is about making a difference; it's about helping students find a way when they think there isn't one. It's about being the bearer of bad news, but then turning around and finding a way to make it better. It's listening to your student talk about everything they want to be when they grow up, listening to them talk about med school, and then looking at their 2.11 GPA and realizing you're going to have to help them find another way to reach their goals. It's about sitting across from a student who just got back from a tour in Iraq, not knowing the anxiety flowing through his body at that moment, and only when he sends you an email saying, "I wonder if she knows, I wonder if she understands, the difference in a life resides in the kindness of another. A weight is lifted, it was a good morning" that you realize you are exactly where you're supposed to be. 

I interviewed for three different positions before UTSA took a chance on me. I started as an Administrative Assistant in a large advising center, answering the phone, making appointments, supervising work study students, ordering supplies and "other duties as assigned." To many, it wasn't the most glamorous job, but to me it was where I wanted to be and while I may not have realized it at the time, I was actually preparing myself for where I am today. In my first five years at UTSA, I worked with first year students, including their parents. I saw tears at the sight of the dreadful words "Academic Dismissal"; I heard screams and shouts when we couldn't "just tell the professor to fix the grade"; I watched helicopter parents hover and roam all around their student and before I let them irritate me, I reminded myself that I may be in their shoes one day. I was the front-line for our office; I protected my advisors, prepared them for what was coming and defended them when parents thought it was ludicrous that they should take a whole hour for lunch during orientation. While I may not have known their job, I knew what they had to deal with. 

After that time, I moved to a different office that gave me the opportunity to work more with the administration and to have some influence in day to day operations and future plans for advising. I was still within the advising family, but I was now a Senior Administrative Associate and I had the privilege of working in an area that afforded me the opportunity to work with students and offer some guidance and direction. It was during this time that I started my graduate program and while my job was demanding, it did give me the flexibility I needed to accomplish my goal. My time as an administrative associate was both rewarding and challenging. I knew there was more I wanted to do with my life, but the job of the admin is never ending. However, for me, there was only so many ways to tweak a spreadsheet, or clever ways of re-organizing and planning meetings and trips. I had hit a ceiling that I knew I didn't want to break through. Admin work was not a part of my long term goal, BUT, it was exactly what I needed to better prepare me for the next chapter in my professional career and I will always have the utmost respect for the adminstrative assistant profession. 

I became an Academic Advisor just a few shorts months ago and in that time I have learned SO many different things, but the learning never stops. Change is inevitable. Policies are updated. Department's change their processes. Dean's get more demanding. It's a never-ending cycle of change and it takes more than just reading a degree plan to keep up with it all. Advisors are held responsible for the success or failure of a college student. It's our job to provide them with all the resources they need, to keep them abreast of changes to their catalog or major, to alert them when they are on the verge of being dismissed, to being there when they need a signature for the VA office, or a petition to waive their excess fees. It's our job, and our responsibility, to know when to say, "I can take care of that for you" and when to say, "You need to take care of this yourself", because we're not just advising on a degree plan, we're teaching them what it is to be responsible for what they choose to do, whether that means dropping a class, changing majors, or failing a semester. Advisors are so much more than a degree plan.

Today we had an All Advisor training, learning more about policies and procedures from the College of Business and hearing about updates from our Advising Council. It isn't often that all advisors from across campus, including our downtown campus, can all be together at the same time. When I was an admin, I never understood the excitement I would see on the face of some of the advisors when they would walk in and see friends and co-advisors from other centers; until today. I'm an advisor now, and while I'm still in the business of serving our students, I now carry the same weight on my shoulders as the other 90+ advisors in the room. I'm not alone in this. Shortly after I became an advisor I worried that I had made the wrong decision. I stressed over the fact that I felt I would never remember everything, that I would forget something, or, God forbid, give out the wrong information. I feverishly worked at making myself all kinds of guides and handouts; tools to have at my fingertips to ensure I didn't mess up. It didn't take long for me to learn that even our most seasoned advisors still use cheat sheets and handouts, because we're not robots, or advising machines; we're human, and mistakes happen. I find myself eager to get to work now, to see what student I can help, what situation I can remedy, or what difference I can make in the life of another. The email I mentioned earlier from the veteran is true, he did send me that. I had no idea what was going on with him, because when he spoke of the war, he spoke as if it happened a few years ago. I had no idea that it had taken him three tries just to get to our front door, because his anxiety would consume him. I had no idea that by sharing my insecurities about grad school and my fears of being the oldest one in the program, because it had been ten years since I completed my bachelor's, was enough to put him at ease...."Margaret, there's something familiar about her kindness, like coming home." It was an unexpected email, but a defining moment for me and an affirmation that I am exactly where God wants me to be.

We do more than just read through a catalog or a degree plan....we make all the difference in the world. 

Till next time...

More Than a Rack - Day 6

I don't play pool. At least I didn't think I did. When I was young, my uncle Sid had this "casita" behind his house and inside he had a pool table my cousin Rosanne and I were never allowed to play on. So naturally, we were out there on Saturday mornings. When my mom and dad were first married, my dad worked for Frederick's Air Conditioning and right next door was a bar. He would occasionally stop and play a few racks with some of the guys before heading home. I don't think it ever occurred to my dad that he would one day have a daughter who would end up playing on a pool team, going to Las Vegas for national tournaments, or coming home to tell him about the "old man" she had just beat; but then again, he didn't know Johnny.

When I first started playing with Johnny, my dad wasn't too happy with the idea, neither was my mom. I think for my dad it was about me being a lady, in a bar, with other men looking at her or trying to be inappropriate; much like the women and men he would see at the bar by Frederick's. My mom just never agreed with the idea, even more so after we had the girls. They just felt it wasn't a place for me, but they didn't know Johnny or what the game meant to him. My dad would soon learn that pool was for Johnny what golf was for my dad. It was a way of life.

Growing up, Johnny had a pool table in his garage and would play out there with his dad. When they played, my father-in-law would never LET Johnny win. If he was going to beat him, then he was going to win fair and square; it's a lesson Johnny has never forgotten. Johnny talks about hot summer afternoons in the garage, crying when his dad would beat him over and over, or the moment when he was old enough to play with his dad and uncle's in the Bexar County league. They would be moments that Johnny would treasure forever and memories he looks back on often. Playing pool is more than just hitting some balls across a table with a pool stick. It's about strategy and endurance; about precision and stamina. It's also about self discipline and knowing when you've been beaten and with our league, it's about being a team.

Johnny has been playing pool since he could see over the table. He's a strong player and a respected opponent. When I watch him play, I'm always amazed at how he knows exactly where the ball is going to end up, how he sets himself up for the next shot and how he looks ahead at the next 4 balls before he even hits the first one. What's more amazing, is that I know all these things because of what he's taught me. But just like with his dad, he taught me Lesson #1...to never LET someone win; everyone has to earn their win. However, he chose one of our first dates to teach me that lesson, lol. Now, years later, I don't give anyone a chance. I play every game to win and to do my best, but not every game goes my way and I'm not always the better player. Lesson #2...there will always be a better shooter than you out there. I've always admired my husband's self-discipline when it comes to the game and the good sportsman he always is.

Johnny started our pool team, All On Cue, in the early 2000's and it quickly became a family team. In 2007, we won our first city tournament and a bid to Vegas for the national tournament. Since then, we've gone back to Vegas a couple of more times, we've added new players and lost some old ones, but family has always been a constant on the team; it's what Johnny prided himself on about this team. I eventually joined the team and my dad eventually came out to watch me play and realized that I wasn't THAT woman in the bar. After that, he made it a point to ask us about our team, how we were shooting and he was the first one I'd call from Vegas to give him the update on our place in the tournament. He knew Johnny wasn't that guy who took his wife to a bar and left her alone. He knew I went to the bar in jeans and flip flops, and not a low cut dress and stilettos and he knew Johnny would take care of me.

Playing pool is something Johnny and I enjoy doing together and our girls are very much aware of what pool means to their daddy. They encourage him to "go win daddy" or on weekends when there are big tournaments, they tell him to "bring home the big trophy." They understand playing pool is what we do; but they also know they will always come first and that pool will never be more important than they are. I've learned so much from Johnny about the game and about being an honest player. Integrity is something Johnny holds with the highest regard and it's what he expects of anyone who plays on his team, but it's also something other players admire him for. Often, I hear other players tell him how much they enjoy playing against him, even if they know they're going to lose, but because they know they will always get his A game; he doesn't half-ass anything, especially his game.

Today's picture reminds me of the lessons Johnny has taught me, not just about the game, but about life. At the same time, it reminds me of the way he depends on me to help him with those lessons, to remind him when he is starting to lose his cool, become impatient or too demanding of others. When I play, I sometimes will over hear others ask if I'm Johnny Garcia's wife, and someone will say yes and then they will nod their head, as if to say, "Ok, so that's why she shoots like that." LOL Not that I'm as good a player as he is, but because he has taught me well. I sometimes tease him about things like that, but deep down, when I hear those comments, I feel a sense of pride in being his wife and recognition that you can't just take me for granted as a player, because if I can beat Johnny Garcia, than I can beat them too.

Till next time...

What She Will Miss - Day 5

My dad once asked my mom what she would miss the most after he was gone - this was before he got really sick. My mom simply said she would miss being able "to do for him." My mother has always been a woman of faith and a lifelong believer that to whom God has given much, God expects much. It's what she said to us all the time. She also reminded us, almost daily, that we could not get through the tough times unless we had God in our lives. As a young adult, I often rolled my eyes at those remarks, but it wasn't until I "grew up" and saw the small blessings and every day "miracles" in my own life, that I realized how right my mother was. She's still right. My mother can sit and tell you blessing after blessing, gift after gift, "miracle" after "miracle" that she believes was Divine Providence and God watching after her and her family. It could be the smallest of things, from the green light at the busy intersection that would keep her from being late to the parking space at HEB that put her close to the door on a cold or rainy day. It was the random $10 bill she found in her purse during the last week of the month that would let her buy lunch at school a couple of days that week or the way she showed up to Our Lady of the Lake, with $1 in her purse, and tried to register for classes and walked away with a bachelor' degree without a single loan in her name.

I once read a chapter of a prayer book that talked about the prayers our ancestors prayed asking for mercy on their family to come. I'd like to think all the good my mom has done in her lifetime is what keeps the rest of us afloat. My mother has always been a kind, loving, honest and caring woman, always offering a helping hand, a plate of food or just simply her prayers. My mother does without ever expecting anything in return, not just from the community and the church, but from her own family as well. I've lost count of the hundreds of ways my mother has "saved" me, from a tank of gas to bags of groceries to the $10 she found in her purse that she gave to me to keep in my own pocket and she did all of this never expecting anything back.

I often wonder, especially since my dad died, what we will do when she is gone. Who will take food to the guys at the church on Wednesday's nights while they work on the grounds, cutting grass and trimming trees, getting ready for the next event? Who will help plan the funeral of a close family friend, church parishioner or family member, writing prayers and petitions especially for them? Who will play the organ at the quinceneara or wedding of a church member's daughter or son? Who will take the janitorial staff at her school breakfast/lunch to show her appreciation for what they do? Who will help principals and teachers get their school years started and make sure teachers know they are appreciated during Teacher Appreciation Week? Who will be the one to open her house to family, friends, pastors, sisters, teachers and neighbors offering them food to eat or coffee and some pan dulce or a simple glass of iced tea?

But more importantly, who will be the one to come to my house at a moment's notice to bring me soup when I'm sick? Who will be the one to make my girls travel bags for our next roadtrip, complete with snacks, coloring books and colors? Who will listen to me cry about my dad, boast about my recent success at work, or hear about my latest squabble with the hubs? Who will be the one to tell me I'm wrong, that I made the mistake and that I need to ask for forgiveness? Who will remind me that without God in my life I can't get anywhere? Who will tell my girls they can be whatever they want to be when they grow up and that they need to love their mom and dad? Who will be the one to put up with the heartaches of family, to carry the burden of trying to make everything right, or to make sure there are enough prayers being said to keep her children and grandchildren safe?

My mother has spent her life serving God, being a leader in the community, and educating hundreds of students in her 42 years of teaching. She is a giver and enjoys doing for others.

Tonight was no different. My picture for today is a pot of her homemade hot chocolate. She had a meeting at church and decided she was going to take everyone some hot chocolate, a fresh pot of coffee and something sweet to snack on during their meeting on this cold and wet night. She busily moved back and forth in the kitchen and carried out a basket of supplies, poured coffee and chocolate into separate thermoses, and then was out the door. But this is who my mother is. This is who she has always been. This is what she will be remembered for and it's in moments like this, her acts of kindness - not random acts of kindness, because her kindness is never random - but in these moments, when the simplicity of doing for others brings her happiness, that I will miss her the most. 

Till next time...

The Benefits - Day 4

In 2012, my dad lost his battle with cancer. I've never really written about his illness, his surgeries, or his treatment, but today's picture got me thinking about all of that. In 2004, I started working for an ENT doctor, his name was Dr. Anthony P. Sertich, II, and while he was great at his specialty, he was a horrible businessman. Still, he took a chance on me and hired me without any medical background. My mom questioned my place there, but for me, it was the job that let us buy our house.

Anyhow, I spent three years with Dr. Sertich and after starting out as a receptionist, making appointments and answering the phone, I ended my time there running his surgery schedule, doing pre-op appointments with the patients, verifying benefits, calling in prescriptions and even going into surgery with him. I never understood my place there either, but having his own private practice allowed for random raises, small perks and more importantly, networking opportunities - all of which made it difficult to leave.

My dad was first diagnosed with colon cancer in the spring of 2006, I was pregnant with Faith. The surgeon that was going to originally do the surgery was young and performed the procedure a couple of times a month. Needless to say, neither my mom or my dad were entirely comfortable with him. So my mom called me and asked if I knew of any doctor's who specialized in this type of surgery. I had a directory of doctors, in every specialty, at my fingertips, many who knew Dr. Sertich and some I had even worked with, referring patients to their offices. So, I did what I did best, and I made the connection. My dad met the Caldora's, a father and son team, who specialized in colon cancer and performed the procedure 3-5 times a WEEK. I went with my parents to meet with him and he greeted me by my first name, gave me a hug and asked how things were going back at the office. I remember the look my mom and dad had on their face - slight disbelief and a little impressed. At the end of it all, my dad had the best of the best - the best surgeons, the best hospital staff, anesthesiologists, charge nurses and post op care. It was at that moment that I knew my place in that office, because had I never been there my dad may have never received the treatment he did.

However, it would be six months after his last round of chemo that my dad would then be diagnosed with prostate cancer. It was in it's early stages and they were able to remove the tumor and my dad needed minimal chemo. Four years, and 3 months after his brother died, the cancer came back, and it came back with a vengeance. The cancer had spread all over, but my dad refused the "aggressive" chemo, so he took the bare minimum. We knew that was like putting a band-aid on a broken arm. Shortly after he started the chemo, like 3 weeks later, the cancer had spread to his liver and wasn't processing the toxins from the chemo - so essentially, the chemo was killing him. At that point, it was just a matter of time. The doctor's gave my dad until August, maybe September - he died in July. But in his last 24 hours, it was me that sat up with him in that back bedroom at my mom's house. My mom was asleep on the twin bed beside him, my sister in the pink arm chair and my older brother slouched over in the wheelchair next to my dad's bed. No one could do it, they were either too scared, afraid to do something wrong, or just flat out didn't want to, but they knew I could, and I did. I sat on the bench in the room and every two hours, as instructed, I administered drops of morphine to help with his pain. It was the longest night of my life, but when I look back on that night, it didn't seem long enough. My dad died the next morning, at 10:20am on Friday, July 13th, 2012.

By now, you might be asking yourself what any of this has to do with my picture for today...

Well, for starters, anytime I fight my allergies like this I find myself thinking back to my time working at Dr. Sertich's office, because I had a lot of these meds at my disposal (ENT doc, remember) and thanks to Obama-care, I can no longer buy over the counter meds with my FLEX card, but that's another story. But more importantly, this picture reminds me of all that I learned working in that office. Now, when there are questions about insurance policies, medical coverage, co-pays, ER visits, co-insurance and everything else, I can answer with confidence; I also know which questions to ask - even to the pharmacists. I know the things that are required for hospital admission and how to explain them to people without losing them in the language. I'm also reminded of the benefits I have with my employer, not just medical benefits, but having a job that allows me time off without losing pay - something Sertich didn't believe in. Tony, as many of his friends call him, may not have been the most honest businessman (considering he still owes me $1000 in back pay - story for another time), but he did give me an opportunity that led to connections and professional networking, that, in the end, probably gave me more time with my dad, and for that, I will always be grateful.

Till next time...

Una - Day 3

I've never been a pet person. I can't even keep a fish....although, from what I hear, keeping fish isn't an easy thing, so I guess that's ok. Growing up my grandfather had a dog, his name was Brownie. I think he was the closest thing I came to having a pet. He looked like a German Shepard, but wasn't. He was brown, obviously, and he was loyal to my grandfather. I remember, when I was Kinder, I had to walk from my house to my grandfather's house at the corner to catch the bus to school. Brownie would meet me halfway and walk with me the rest of the way. I'd like to think it was because he loved me, but truthfully, it was because my grandfather was standing at the other end of the path and sent him to me...he was loyal to him, not me. Although, when Brownie died, we found him underneath our deck, just outside my bedroom window. He had died in his sleep.

When Johnny and I got married he would always ask about getting a dog - neither of us liked cats (turns out, I'm allergic to them) - but I would always say no. We tried Beta fish (can't keep fish, remember), so that didn't work. Then, after we had Fran, I became out numbered. One afternoon, my sister in law Sharon had a friend come by the house to drop off a chihuahua that she was giving to my mother in law. Naturally, she showed up with the whole litter. There they were, in the middle of my kitchen floor, these 5 little things, whining and trying to bark at one another. I had never seen dogs, or puppies, so small. Fran came running and instantly fell in love. She ran to Johnny, begging daddy to let her keep one. What did he say? He said what every dad says when he doesn't want to be the bearer of bad news OR when he also wants what the child wants and sends reinforcements....he said, "Ask mom." I had two puppy dog faces, no pun intended, staring at me from across the kitchen. I knew I was outnumbered. So, we became owner's of a white, baby chihuahua, her name is Una. We didn't have to keep the name, but Sharon's friend had already named her that because she was the first born of the litter. I actually liked it. Una.

Well, for someone who was "never about pets," I sure did become attached. We tried keeping her inside the house, until Johnny and Fran failed at potty training, then she went outside. But in the short time we had her inside, it wasn't out of the ordinary to find Una asleep on the small of my back whenever I would lay on my stomach on the floor. She's our family pet and we love her. As much as Johnny will tease me and say I never wanted her, she's still ours and I worry about her all the time. She knows when we're here and she knows when we're gone. She doesn't run away, but always runs to us when we go outside. Fran loves her and worries when we're not home and it starts to rain. She's just as much a priority to us as our girls are.

Well, tonight we watched the movie, Max, and as I sat there watching it I started thinking about Brownie, which then led me to thinking about our Una. While many people don't like chihuahuas and don't consider them "pets", she's our Max. While she would probably lose a fight against a 70lb Rotweiler, and isn't military trained, she'd still give him a run for his money because she's numero Una in our book.

Till next time...

An Oatmeal Can, Scrapbook Paper & Some Scotch Tape - Day 2

Growing up, I didn't know if I would ever get married, or if I'd have children, or a house, or even what kind of job I'd have. I didn't know much of anything. Needless to say, life has certainly surprised me. This year, Johnny and I will celebrate 13 years of marriage, and our girls will turn 14, 10 and 8. Three girls. Damn - didn't see that one coming. 

When I got pregnant with Fran I was scared as hell....like really scared. I had no idea what to expect, what I was going to do, or what my life would be like after she was born. Sure, I babysat for my brother and sister, changed a few diapers and even took a couple of trips to McDonald's, but then I gave them back. They weren't mine. Ironically, my older brother has three girls and when Johnny and I first started dating he would tease my brother all the time about being "cursed with three girls," and I would always say, "You better be careful, if you and I work out, you may end up with three girls yourself." And now, here we are. Ain't karma a crazy thing?

These last 13 years have been nothing short of a roller coaster ride. We've been through all kinds of twists and turns, ups and downs, sometimes with our eyes open and other times with eyes shut, hands in the air and saying, "God, just do your thing." My girls have been a blessing, not just to me, but to Johnny and the rest of our family. However, as blessed and grateful as I am, it still doesn't change the fact that I have THREE GIRLS! ;) 

I feel as if I fight a daily war with hair ties, leggings, jeggings, flats, sandals, jeans, SKINNY LEG jeans, flat irons, wands, things that glitter or sparkle, chevron print, bracelets, charms, purses, shoes that click on the tile and tennis that tie up to their knee....the battle is never won, and it's never over. I was never the "girly-girl", I played ball - basketball, volleyball and softball - my sister was girly enough for the both of us. She was the cheerleader and a part of the drill team (actually, she WAS the drill team, she even used one of those wooden rifles from back in the day ;) ). I didn't have time to worry about makeup or what my hair looked like, so forget about tweezing and plucking and waxing and shaving, oh, and don't get me started on makeup. Seriously, who has time for 20 layers of all kinds of crap on your face and your eyes? I kept it simple. I always have. Maybe that was wrong; but now, as my girls enter the age of tween-hood and the teen years, I realize how much I CAN'T help them. I find myself asking my nieces, my sister and co-workers about all kinds of stuff, because I don't know what they'll ask me and I want to be prepared. 

Today's picture is of something I found on Pinterest to make, because there are WAY too many headbands for one room. I took an empty oatmeal can, wrapped it in scrapbook paper and stood it on Maddie's dresser. She wrapped her headbands around it, draped her sunglasses around the edges and dropped her brush and comb on the inside, and just like that, we could see the top of her dresser again; you'd think I just discovered electricity by her excitement. I spent today on the frontline of that battle, sorting through every piece of clothing my two youngest girls own (please don't ask about their socks....it'll take a second infantry to get through that basket). As I moved around their room, I gave orders to "put that in your everyday t-shirt drawer" or "hang that in the dresses section" as if that drawer or that closet will last a week - but hey, you never know, they could surprise me. Then, my middle daughter came up to me and said, "Mom, we have a lot of clothes." Which I wanted to respond with, "Yeah, no shit", but instead said, "Yes, you do. That makes you pretty lucky, huh?" We went on to talk about the people, especially other kids, who don't have "as many clothes" or who have to wear the same thing over and over again. At the end of the conversation she just simply said, "Thanks for taking care of our clothes, Mom, and for helping us get organized today." I looked at her as she walked a stack of t-shirts to the everyday drawer and I smiled, thinking, maybe this battle is almost over, and then I stepped on another loose hair tie. :)

Till next time...

Food For the Soul - Day 1

We've always been a big family. Growing up next door to my cousins, aunts and uncles, gave me a unique and incredible upbringing. Our family is blessed in so many ways, but one of the biggest blessings is our gift of cooking. My mom and my aunts, even my uncles, always share stories of how my grandmother taught them how to cook - many dishes from scratch - and how to manage and work their way around a kitchen. My grandparents used to run a restaurant at the corner by their house and naturally, it's where my mom and her brothers and sisters worked. So they have always been used to being around food, learning recipes and more importantly, learning how to cook for the masses. This obviously came in handy with a family our size. Bar-B-Que's, weddings, holidays, or just any celebration in general, meant cooking for many of us, but it also meant time together. Food often brings us together, and more often than not, it's the comfort of the food that we all look forward to the most. Traditions are such a huge part of our family and food plays right into that. Christmas Eve isn't the same without my mom's creamed white potatoes, New Year's Eve isn't a party without my aunt Yolanda's menudo, Halloween is no fun without a hotdog roast and my mom's chile con carne, Easter isn't Easter unless you've had my aunt Yolanda's pistachio pudding and Thanksgiving isn't sweet without my mom's pumpkin roll. Still, it isn't just the holidays - my 8th grade graduation wasn't complete without my aunt Viola and my uncle James' homemade Chinese food; my niece's high school luau themed graduation party wasn't tropical without homemade pineapple meatballs; BBQ's are never dull with my brother Joey's salsa paired with whatever meat he has on the grill or my aunt Yolanda's rice; then there's my uncle Ray's burgers at the Trailride, my brother's pozole in the winter, and my mother's banana nut bread any time of the year. The list goes on and on, but what makes all this food so comforting, is that it was always made with love and from somewhere special. This plate of chalupas, while simple and generic, is more than what you see. It's New Year's Day and my mom made us dinner. She invited us over and we sat with my uncle, my aunt, and my cousin and we ate, laughed, shared stories and even had a beer. This IS NOT out of the ordinary. This is what we do, and it's what we will continue to do. Our children watch us, and they also look for the food, and the stories, and the get together's....my girls ask if grandma is making her fettuccine alfredo, I call and ask if my aunt Yolanda made her enchiladas without onions, Johnny asks if my mom has any leftover oatmeal from breakfast - we all have our favorites, and I, along with my siblings and my cousins, work to make sure those traditions, those recipes and family favorites, are never forgotten. It's the comfort of the food, and what feeds our hearts and our souls, that makes each plate that much more delicious. Till next time...