My aunt was talking to my nephew — a 19-year-old who just moved to Miami from Havana — about accents. The fast talk of the Cuban, the elegant Venezuelan, the sing-song of Mexico. To make …

When I lived in Madrid, my name was even longer than it is now- my mother’s last name tacked on the back. Every child’s name a miniature family tree. Roll call took much …

by Monica Olivera Hazelton
Regret is sometimes a mami’s secret friend.
In this particular instance, my regret is having not learned how to cook all my ‘buelita’s favorite dishes. Oh, it’s not that I didn’t like the …

My Spanish abuelirris was full of wisdom.  I still hear these favorite dichos of hers in my head:
“Los hombres se enamoran de las mujeres y las mujeres se enamoran del amor.” 
“Se sabe cómo empiezan las …

I don’t remember a time when my grandmother didn’t tell me she was dying.
She would sit in her easy chair, close her eyes and say “Ay, me muero. Me voy a morir.”
Translation: I am dying. …

When I first entered the world of blogging, I kept my blog just as a personal diary to keep myself sane.  I didn’t give the address to anyone so I knew no one was actually …

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I just read a column titled “When is a Latina not a Latina?’‘  The author, part Puerto Rican and non-Spanish-speaking, details frustrating moments when she was neither white enough nor Latina enough.
I shook my head …

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My kids have a multicolored plush spider that, if you press one of its dangly dance-shoed legs, plays the Lambada. A Spanish-speaking friend of my mother’s got it for our older daughter. I remember how, …