Change is good, right?

I do not deal with change well. Not at all well.

Much like my cat, I am a creature of habit. And, habits create order and help alleviate the every-day anxiety that plagues me and has left me seemingly paralysed at times throughout my life. I like order. I like things to have their own specific place. And, I like knowing what and where stuff is and where that stuff will be tomorrow.

Moving, as much as it can be welcome, is perhaps the worst sort of change for me. Rather funny, given that at times during my life I moved what seemed like every other month.

After living in one address and one space for 11 years — longer than I’ve lived anywhere in my life — moving now has completely thrown me into the worst sort of chaos and worst sort of anxiety. I’m managing; but, just barely. But, sorting through a life and a fully established home is hard.

Today, as I took a break from work to sort through a desk drawer and sift through debris of various sorts, I found a few things amongst the clutter that made me smile. Little reminders of a life lived in a home we love. And, reminders that regardless of our physical address, at the end of the day this is just a physical space and does not necessarily define ‘home’ for me.

Since The Cuban entered my life, we have left one another little notes. On (or in) the fridge. On one another’s desks. In notebooks and books. Next to one another’s alarms or pillows. We have notebooks of them in various places.

Notes. Just little notes, some as reminders to do something. Most as reminders that more than any other possession in our closets, desks and dressers, the most important item either of us has will always be one another.

In the bottom of a drawer underneath discarded phone and headphone boxes and invoices from ISPs we no longer rely upon, these notes emerged. These notes which I kept. These notes which still make me smile. These notes which remind me to ignore the noise and focus on the constant source of strength and goodness we provide one another.

A roof. Walls. Doors. Those make up a dwelling. But, my home is with The Cuban. The physical dwelling and walls may change, and our notes to one another may carry altogether different messages of things to do and little reminders. But, they’ll always be reminders of one constant thing: we built this home together. And, we’ll get through this and survive. Together. Change is a good, and reminds of us what remains constant.

Past notes of note

 Seven years and 7 million laughs later

Many things in my life simply make no sense.

The Cuban is not one of them. Our life together, as messy as it may be at times, just works.

Today, we celebrate. Seven years ago today, we legally formalised what had been clear to us shortly after we met. Seven years ago today, w legally established what we already knew to be true — we loved each other and were completely committed to one another and spending our lives together.

And, here we are, seven years later. I confess: I love this man and our seemingly insignificant little life even more now than I did that day or the 13-plus years ago when we met and fell in love.

There is love. There is joy. There is the shared understanding that love is sacrifice, sharing is caring and, above all, kindness is everything. We have endured stress and uncertainty.  We have known joy and happiness as well as immense sorrow and blinding rage (although thankfully not directed at one another). We have weathered storms and reveled in the most gorgeous of sunsets. Whilst we have cried together,  we have also laughed nearly every single day.

Together. All of this, we have done together.

I don’t know much about anything really. But, I do know that I love this Cuban who sambaed into my life and enriched it beyond measure. And, I know that my life is infinitely better through sharing all of it with him.

Here’s to us, Tweetie!

 

¡Felicidad! ¡Felicidad! ¡Felicidad!

Today is the best, most important day of the year.

Today is The Cuban’s birthday, and my absolute favourite day.

Today, we celebrate the day when this thoroughly lovely, witty, silly, insightful, thoughtful, caring, infinitely patient, creative, and at a times crazed creature entered this world.

There will be pie (banana cream, because bananas!). There will be singing and dancing (because that happens every day, but especially on birthdays). There will be much pampering and spoiling (because he deserves it). And, there will be laughter (because we like the laugh lines and chicken!).

Happy, happy birthday, my love. You make this world infinitely better each and every day. And, if you ask me, we need to celebrate your birth every day.

¡Felicidad! ¡Felicidad! ¡Felicidad!

Crazy Cuban

The Cuban & The Che Fufu doing what they do.

 

The Devil’s Brew

Ask me what I’d rather give up—coffee or breathing—and I’d have to think about it. I suppose it’s a good thing that breathing occurs unconsciously because coffee is always on my mind.

This time of year, my coffee vehicle of choice becomes cold brew, that luscious, dark nectar that provides the quickest of caffeine jolts. With the long-awaited arrival of spring / summer in Helsinki, my precious elixir of life has been sitting and steeping for two days now, all ready to slowly filter (twice) and then sip and savour and enjoy. I’ve been waiting for this process for what seems like years.

Alas, something was slightly amiss when I opened the fridge this morning and reached for the pitcher of black loveliness.

Saatana coffee

To me, cold brew is the elixir of life; to The Cuban, cold brew is ‘The Devil’s brew’. (NB: Saatana in Finnish is Satan.)

My husband, The Joker.

He understands and accepts my love affair with coffee, just as much as he accepts my obsession with office supplies, books, yarn and Roger Federer. But, cold brew evidently is where he draws the line.

To Cubans, coffee is delivered in tiny little cups that resemble those itty bitty china tea sets for children’s make-believe tea parties. Those cups, which are so cute, simply don’t provide more than a sip or a gulp. In other words, it’s a coffee fairytale. The first time someone handed me a ‘cup’ of coffee in Cuba, I thought they were joking. ‘Where’s the rest of it?’, I asked The Cuban. He quickly explained that Cubans drink tiny cups throughout the day rather than opting for my giant bowl with a handle vessel. [NB: I now know to ask for a double every single time I ask for coffee in Cuba. It’s just easier and less disappointing that way.] Shortly thereafter, The Cuban developed the ‘Vanessa drinks coffee this way…’ explanation. I’m fairly certain our friends and family all think I’m certifiable or so wired that my heart will leap out of my chest at any moment. But, I will have my proper dosage of caffeine.

cafe cubano wink

Two cups from a friend’s flat in Havana. Each cup featured a different face. As cute as they are, they’re fall too small for this girl’s coffee.

Despite the Cuban climate being insanely hot and humid especially when compared to Finland, cafe cubano is always served hot and just off the stove, typically with sugar. To my mind, cold brew is perfect for those sultry, sticky days and nights. I am so wrong, it would appear. My husband’s reaction upon introduction to cold brew went something like this:

‘Cold brew?! What is this evilness you are making? You’re ruining the coffee! Have I taught you nothing?!’… as if this girl ever needed lessons on making or drinking coffee.

So, this morning’s little message, one of a million tiny quickly scribbled notes scattered across our 12 years together, once again made me laugh silently and smile adoringly. To my darling husband, cold brew is indeed ‘The Devil’.

He may have embraced a more reasonable measuring cup by which to drink his own coffee. You know, a proper cup of coffee (still far too small for me, but progress is progress). And, I may have accepted the joke that is a Cuban thimble of coffee. But, just as I’ve had to draw the line at a respectable size for that all-important cup of coffee in the morning, The Cuban evidently drew his own line at cold brew.

Something tells me my summer caffeine jolt will now and forever be known as ‘The Devil’s Brew’.

Day 52: Proekt 365 (Sweetness in the morning)

Day 52: Proekt 365 Sweetness in the Morning

Day 52: Proekt 365
Sweetness in the Morning

Today was an odd day. I woke up entirely too early (~5 am) and in a rather annoyed mood. The mood subsided quickly, but by about 14.00 this afternoon I needed much more caffeine and a disco nap. My plan for a proper vehicle for the go-go juice didn’t quick work out as I’d hoped or intended, and there was no disco nap. First World Problems at their finest, eh?

It wasn’t a bad day at all. Just surreal, largely due to a lack of sleep which resulted in a complete inability to focus or make a quick decision of any kind.

But, all of the best-laid plans which didn’t quite work out and all the annoyances of the day don’t really matter.

I snapped this photo this morning as my darling furry beast slept sweetly and soundly with my other not nearly so furry un-beast. It melts my heart now along with all the annoyances of the day immediately, just as it did when I saw them this morning. As I opened the photo this evening, I could also hear her sweet somber-induced snores — The Cat’s not The Cuban’s (yes, she does snore, and quite loudly, too!)

My family. My sweet, sweet family.