La Ratita

Ask yourself, "Self, what would I do in a moment of choice? What would I do if a grown woman got so caught up in unplanned home improvement projects that she dragged a tarp in from the garage in the middle of winter so as to protect the new carpet from spilled stain, only after her condescending husband asked her what dress she'd like to be laid out in if she spilled stain on the new carpet instead of Grandma's desk that probably had no sentimental value to Grandma but apparently does to her grand-daughter-in-law, and in with the tarp she dragged in a MOUSE?
Well, in that said moment of choice, Pepina squeeled like a stuck, er, she squeeled, um, real loud. Pepinita screeched like a night owl and climbed the sofa like a mountain goat. Pepino Suave, you might have guessed, performed as cool as a cucumber. Yes sir, as cool as one of Farmer Buchard's finest Essex County Cuke's. Eighty shiny cents a bushel, no less. I ain't called Pepino Sauve for nada.

***

Hours after Pepina's Martha Stuart Trance (MRT), we were snuggled in the den; fire crackling in the hearth, family programming on the tube, Grandma's desk drying in the corner (the fumes from the stain inhibiting our usual snacking jones). Li'l Pepinita and I were sharing the couch, and Sra. Pepina opted for Uncle Bob's Leather Recliner of the Gods that is broken-in better than any baseball mitt I've ever seen. As quickly as you could say, "What are you thinking?", Ingrid jumps on us like a flying monkey on Dorothy. She hugged me like I was the last life preserver on the Titanic. My shout of, "What the...?!" was muffled by her right shoulder, or her clavical, I can't be certain, but it was muffled, anyway. She gripped me tighter than she would a half-off whatyamicallet at a Kohl's sale.
"A mouse crawled into the fireplace!" she yell/screeches, depending on who's telling the story. My brain is starved for oxygen yet she squeezes harder and yells, "It just ran out of the fireplace!" Now Pepinita is on her toes like no world-class balerina could, balancing on the top of the couch yelling something like, "Ooooooh, oooooh!" I struggle from Pepina the College Athlete's grip, she simultaneously joins her daughter atop the couch, a la Balerina Barby, and I launch after the rodent. That's right, Pepino Suave persued the mouse in a room the size of brother Mike's wet bar. In my efforts, barefoot by the way, I hit every wall and skinned a toe on the fireplace but made no headway with Mickey's kin. I grumbled incoherently under my breath not only to indirectly place blame, but to give the impression that the weight of the free world rested on my lonely shoulders, as well. Meanwhile, the gals maintained the exact same pose as described above.

With only enough sense to know that, if I couldn't keep up with the J.V. girls in high school cross country, this ol' Pepino wasn't going to out run vermin; I set out for the garage to find the rat traps. Once armed with peanut butter and sunflowers, I placed them about the den and off we went to bed. A side note, only a sliver of our obese-king-size bed was utilized that night, between the three of us.
We wake up from our dilled slumber this morning, and the dames won't leave the bed unless I go check the traps; Talea claiming she saw mouse turds by the bathroom door.

Sleepy eyed, I made for the den. The trap under Grandma's desk I checked first. Licked clean of Skippy, it was still armed. Sneaky critter. I go over to the trap by the fireplace only to find a little rat deader n' Jack Abremoff''s (sp?) career (As a lobbyist, anyway. Word has it that he and Rocky are working on a book deal). I do a little Pepino Suave victory dance and the girls come out of hiding like its V-day or something. We hug, I got some well deserved pats on the back, the girls show some misplaced grief for their former foe ("liefershlot" murmers my now somber Dutch wife), and life goes on. End of story.
Still, this incident might remind some of our long-time readers of a little rope-a-dope Yours Truly had with a Mexican winged rat back in September. Any of you thousands of new readers might want to go over to the sidebar there and double click on early September and find out for yourself (El Murcielago, Sept 1, 2005. Enjoy).

Ol' Pepino just can't stop saving the world for his beloved Pepinas...

El Pepino Mas Macho,

Pepino Ratero

Bob La Gorila

Bob La Gorila made a rare stop in Pepinoville this week for a photo shoot. Before the Pepino Suave staff could interview him, he was back on the road, en route to Buttzville, New Jersey, by way of Bugscuffle, Tennesse. As always, he travels in his Winobago searching for the very finest yippy skippy games, songs, and stories. He left two brand-new and costly matamoscas, and some goofy stories about a lobo and a gatita. Some fella' mistook the matamoscas for flyswatters. We just about busted a gut laughing. Flyswatters. Absurdo.

Nos vemos en Toadsuck Arkansas,

Pepino S.

Domino

The 2006 Pepino Suave International Program of Yippy Skippy Games, Songs, and Stories will include Dominoe Fridays. Above you see las manos y las fichas in action, during a recent Friday afternoon tournament. Priceless.
You want to play? Well here are the Rules (translated for your monolingual convenience; I write with an air of bilingual arrogance):
Las Reglas: 1. Only Spanish spoken (see dominoe vocabulary below), 2. No dominoes on floor or in any body cavity, 3. Spanish Fridays only if all our work is done.

Dominoe Vocabulary*: Yo tengo I have it, yo paso I pass, tu turno your turn, impate tied, agarra siete grab seven, doble seis double six, llamo mi abodado, I'm calling my lawyer.
* This is just a jump start vocabulary to get our monolingual friends up and running.
Juego mucho,

Pepino Domino

Black Bean Chorizo Soup

The staff has been flooded by requests for information about the Black Bean Chorizo soup that was referenced in this blog, and in a lesser-known blog (inkyfournier.blogspot.com). Pepino Suave, your servant of dilled information, has been asked to provide some background about the dish.
I read about it in the newspaper. Not often do you see chorizo in the neighborhood newspaper (the Hispanic population in Pepinoville decreases dramatically at nightfall), so the word pretty near launched itself off the page and slapped me in the face. The slap sobered me up a bit, and helped me remember the fresh chorizo I have been saving in our freezer. Alfonsina, my Mexican Fulbright Exchange partner, prepared a big batch of homemade chorizo while she stayed with us last summer, prior to our emmigration to Durango. It was her own secret formula, of which Pepina, Pepinita, and I only remember that it contained three different types of chiles (we traveled far out of the Pepinoville metropolitan area to find them), and that Alfonsina set the concoction out on the counter for three days, covered with a dish towel as if it were a mass of bread dough.
Anyway, I already had the main ingredient, so I gathered the rest at the local grocers (after phoning lovely Pepina several times from the market to confirm what ingredients were already in our pickled pantry; never predicting her hostile reaction), and returned home with the hope of putting some food on the table, after a long day at the salt mines. The rest of the story is well documented, if not sufficiently appreciated, in "that other blog".

Si, Machos Andan En La Cocina,

Pepino Cocinero

Habla Pepinita

Pepinita and I have been talking about our experiences this fall in Mexico. It has been a month since we've returned, and we are finding it interesting to compare things here with things in Durango. I found some of Pepinita's observations interesting and thought I would share them with you:

Here in the morning it has this smell and it smells like dew on the grass and that is my favorite smell and when I wake up in the morning and it is peace and quite but in Mexico in the morning I didn't smell that smell or hear that hear. All I smelled was food that Ididn't like and I heard loudness like people singing really loud and music up really loud in the distance of the morning. Here I have grilled cheese and all kinds of that stuff but in Mexico I have hot, hot, hot tortillas and all hot stuff and I don't like that stuff. But in Mexico the thing that I did like were chichrones. They were pig skins. I liked them because they were crunchy and tasty. But I didn't like the school in Mexico because I went to a public school that spoke all Spanish, but I usually like public schools, I go to one here in America. I didn't like it because they spoke too much in Spanish. Whenever they talked I couldn't understand them and they couldn't understand me when I talked, but I did like it because whenever at recess I got candy for only one peso. I didn't like it because it had a playground but it didn't have play equipment on it. All it had was a pole. And when I played outside all I could do was run in circles with my friend Michele and my friend Lorena, and my friend Hassle. And there was not any toilet paper in the bathroom. I had to ask for toilet paper from my teacher. Oh, by the way, my teacher's name was Sra. Ofelia.

That's it, she said. Pepinita doesn't want me to dictate anymore. Hope you found here point of view as interesting as this ol' Pepino does.

Un padre orgulloso,

Pepino Suave

Libel

Ah, what envy has wrought! A fellow blogster, one inkyfournier.blogspot.com, included in her entry yesterday some scurlious rumors about the author of this acclaimed blog, Pepino Suave. Last Saturday, the sunny-day blogster made reference to my statements about me returning home when the Women's Work was done, , and how I hoped she enjoyed cooking as much as I liked eating. No, this bitter, yet bodacious, author of snipes wasn't done with her campaign against Pepino. Last night, thousands of readers alerted me to Inky's tripe. Upon reading it, I noted that the gorgeous guru of get-backs had yet some more venom to spill. As I labored over a hot fire making a Black Bean Chorizo soup, beads of sweat rolling down my balding pate into the concoction, ol' Inky was writing to her gaggle of readers about my supposed attempts to compensate for my ill-spoken remarks. Apparently, she was too busy taunting me about the handful of calls I made from the market to remember the tulips I bought her. So, a guy can get a girl tulips. Just 'cause I cook dinner, buy flowers, do the dishes, , sort the sock drawer and make hot chocolate once in a blue moon doesn't mean I am over-compensating. Does it?
Yikes. I'm as transparent as celophane wrap (as Aunt Nina might say).

Con mucha verguenza,

Pepino Sin Verguenza

PD Embarrassing pix of Inky in footy-pajamas to follow. Stay tuned.

Aunt Nina

Pepino Suave happened by Aunt Nina's house yesterday. After school I did the southern loop; dropped of the couch guts at the Williams warehouse, stopped by the union meeting, then drove over to our piece of North Carolina in Michigan. Sure as shootn', she met me at the door, the table prepared with cookies, Christmas candies, and coffee that'd make a cow dance (I'm trying too hard. Aunt Nina never said such thing, but she might say something like it. Surely better). We talked awhile. Its been a tough week for Aunt Nina. She lost a good friend this week. Ruth, a friend that goes back a generation, was buried Monday. Aunt Nina spent the whole day with Ruth's family, so yesterday she was plenty tired. You could tell. She was missing just a little of her usual spunk. Still, she kept up the pace.
During our converstation she was interupted three times by phone calls. All from local charities for which she volunteers. The one caller left Aunt Nina with instructions to the house of a lady she is to pick up tomorrow and drive to a doctors appointment. Aunt Nina regularly drives for an organization called Fish. She and other volunteers provide rides for the homebound. At 84 years, many of the people she drives are younger that her.
I love when she talks about years ago, as she has an incredible memory. No detail escapes her. I think she still can recall the tableclothes she and her sister put out for Aunt Bonnie's wedding some thousands of years ago. She remembers so much about my Mom's family that it feels like a homecoming listening to her. My siblings can understand when she talks about Granny's house being such a welcome home when Aunt Nina and her clan would come in to Detroit from Armada.
I left her as the afternoon paper arrived. My guess is she spent the rest of the evening reading the paper, emails, and preparing for the busy few days left in the week. The lady is busier than the dickens...

Un humilde sobrino,

Pepino S.

The Pepino Chicks

Alas, this esteemed blog has been absent talk of the Pepino Chicks - Pepino Suave's trophy wife, Pepina, and his lovely daughter, Pepinita. Let's catch-up.
Pepina cut her locks. Actually, Missy the Hatchet cut her hair. Pepina just paid her to do it (like $2,563.05, plus tip, more or less). After weeks of debate, and profound soul searching, Pepina went to the nieghborhood tress butcher and had a good yard or two of beautiful, auburn, silky hair shorn from her bean. Ol' Pepino wasn't included in the debate or soul searching. Pepina and I make hair decisions independently (why the snickers?). Still, es obvio to all living matter in the universe that I love Pepina's mane. No matter, when my betrothed gets an idea in her head, there is no stopping her (reference the Playscape From Hell in our backyard that Me Lady found at a garage sale and just had to buy. It took a crew of seven and four weekends to assemble the three seperate structures that now dwarf our house. I ought to have it insured. I am getting off the point). As I drove the Pepino Suave Express to the Butcher of Comstock, I practiced my lines ("It looks beautiful", "It looks great", "You look so much younger", etc, etc). Still, nothing prepared me for the New Pepina. She came bouncing out of Missy the Hatchet's salon with a bob that left me speechless. Shoulder length and sassy, it is Pepina. It says,
" I am perpetually cheerful and gay". My hat off to Missy the Hatchet.

Pepinita has a new club house, this one indoors. It is six foot long and richly apolstered. She bunks some of her dolls there, and often retreats to this shelter when Pepino Suave oppresses her with irrational rules and mandates (last night I asked her to put her dishes in the sink. Have I no sense of decency?). Actually Club Pepinita is the shell of our sleeper-couch. Since the Colombian exchange students left ("Los Bouncing Boys"), the bed part was rendered useless. In fact, those who chose to sit on the couch usually sunk to floor level and had to be assisted in order to stand back up. Well, I got ambitious the other night, tipped the thing over and extracted the bed mechanism from the couch. I threw it in the back of the Pepino Suave Express and plan to take it to the furniture repair people next week. Pepinita looked at the toppled carcass of a couch and exclaimed, "Cool, a clubhouse!" She has been playing in and around the structure almost non-stop. Meanwhile, Pepina's Garage Sale Epiphany sits idly in the backyard, adorned with last fall's soggy leaves and fallen acorns, serving a noble purpose: it was a great buy.

Quiero mucho a mi familia,

Pepino Familiar

P.S. Durango Mexico, the Pepino Family residence in Mexico this fall was featured on this mornings NPR* show, Weekend Addition. The program did a wonderful job describing the state of Durango's mystique, its music, and its people, without getting mired-down in a biography of Pepino Suave.
*This is no endorsement of NPR. Sometimes it does broadcast real news and information. This program was a good sample of such.

Readers Ask, Pepino Responds

Pepino's mail carrier is overwhelmed with the correspondence from yesterday's entry. I will respond briefly to the most frequently asked questions. More to follow. Also, stayed tuned for the World Famous Aunt Nina update next week.
Regarding yesterday's photo entry, these are my answers to your FAQs. For more clarification, read yesterdays "comments" if you have tons of free time, and little focus in life:

No, that is not the Pepino Family's Dominican Time Share.
Thanks, Dad, but there is not a primer on the market gonna help that paint job.
Yes, I paid rent to live there. The equivalant of a chicken and a half per month (un pollo y medio).
Very funny. No, no air conditioning.
Yes, there was running water. In the canal behind the yucca field. Es obvio.
Let's see, it was about the size of Pepino's current spacious one car garage.

Quisiera clarificar,

Pepino de Los Bienes Raices

Mi Casa Dominicana

Pepino Goes To School

Last night I began a class at the hallowed Aquinas College. Teachers, even pickled teachers, must attain six credits of study every five years to maintain certification with the State of Michigan. Fantastic revenue enhancer. For four hours each Monday night I trade my chalk for a syllabus and do the student thing. I am atleast a few thousand years older than the average student in my class. I'm even older than the prof. We'll see if this older cucumber is any wiser...

Siempre estudioso,

Pepino Estudiante

Alfonsina

One week down for the new year. My main impressions upon returning to U.S. schooling are positive. I am genuinly glad to be back, even as I wish I had more time with the students in Durango. My U.S. students seem to have had a good experience with Alfonsina, my Mexican counterpart. Overall, they were most pleased with the craft and culture activities she planned for them. Important for me is that it appears the students enjoyed the change of pace, even as I have received many unsolicited requests for my stories, games, and songs, just like the old days.
I am impressed with the ways in which Alfonsina tried to adapt to the situation here. My job is very different from hers in Durango. My students are much younger, there are more grade levels to teach, and different schools to which to travel. Her school is huge (around 1,500 middle school students in the day school alone, almost as much in the night school), her classrooms packed (as I have written, an average 40+ students), and her students older (all her students are the equivalent of our eighth and ninth graders). She did an incredible job making connections with many students in a short amount of time.
I have had the chance to talk to a few of my colleagues and administrators about the fall semester. The main impression they share with me is that Alfonsina was "ready to go home" during her stay, and that she wasn't the happiest camper. Still more reason for me to believe she had done a fine job inspite of her homesickeness, and the complexity of a new job and lifestyle.

Con respeto,

Pepino Socio

Pepino Guero

I teach at three different schools here in Pepino Heights, Somewhere In The Midwest (SITM). This year, one of my schools is new to the Pepino Suave Program. On Thursday, my first day of teaching there, I was asked 2 zillon times, "Are ya'll Mexican? Ya'll don't look Mexican." The teachers, upon meeting your pickled servant, would say something along the lines of, "A french name and you speak Spanish. Interesting."

Tu legumbre,

Pepino Confundido

Back to School

Yesterday was Pepino Suave's return to North American academia. I'll continue in third person, o.k.? Whoops, I slipped into first person already. Shoot, there I go again.
Anyway he was pleased with the state of the classroom and students that his Mexican counterpart, Alfonsina Arreola, left him. She has proven to be a pro, and a fine example of the mexican educator.
This entry is just a word or two to reveal to the Pepino Suave readers that the blog is not going stale. No, the untold handfuls of people responsible for putting this blog together are still tracking things pepino to report to you. Stay tuned. Pepino S. visits Blessed Sacrament and Creston Christian schools today. Report to follow.

Siempre vagando,

Pepino Raro