I recently went to Connecticut on an art retreat with my boyfriend, Vince, who accompanied me.  I worked alongside creative minds and made 3 different multi-media pieces, which came out pretty damn cool. The trip all together was very inspirational, not only because of the retreat, but because the state was beautiful and the fall weather was enjoyable.  The architecture made me dream of what it would be like to live in an old house.  I think of these things, because I was born and raised in Miami, in a modern home and sometimes I have illusions of living somewhere else that has more history, more seasons.  It's an option, I guess.  On the way back, we missed our flight by 5 minutes and caught the next one.  Since we were on stand by, Vince and I had to get which ever seats were available and so we couldn't sit next to each other.  I sat on the plane in between a young guy and a mature lady.  Before the plane took off, the lady did the sign of the cross, which most Catholics do as a sign of faith.  When the flight attendant came by to take our drink order, I heard the mature lady speak and I figured she was Cuban by her accent.  She had taken out her wallet to pay for a mini bottle of wine, and before putting it away, there was a picture in it that she touched very gently.  Someone she most of loved very much.  After a couple of minutes I struck up a conversation with her.  Her name was Elsa and I asked her where she was from.  "Cuba," she said and she told me she came to America in 1960 with her husband. I told her my parents left Cuba as children, and so I am very interested in learning as much as I can about the country. We spent the whole flight talking about the culture of Cuba, the food, the history. She reminisced about her past and told me about her present.  I told her Cuba is like a dream that is out of reach.  She reminded me that Miami is Cuba.  I left the plane lucky enough to meet Elsa, but I left the plane happy to be back in Miami, a city that does have history....fifty-four years of Cuban history that has come all the way from the island to the Americas.  Miami is Cuba.  Miami is my home.