Te quiero mucho, Abuelita xoxo

I'm on the second hour of living without my Abuelita on earth. I came into the world and she had been here decades already. She was there when I was born. My earliest memory of her is looking down the street, the winery on my right, her holding my right hand tightly as we walked down the street. The street looked so huge, the trees so tall, it must have been morning because I remember the sun to my left lighting the trees in the distance and feeling a coolness. She spoke to me the whole time. I'll never forget her voice or the way she combed her hair, or wore a "prendedor".

Abuelita is gone. The orphan, the widow, the last of her siblings. I'd like to think she is now being welcomed by the souls she had been loving and missing. Do they recognize each other by hearts, by thoughts, memories, maybe? Because in my mind there isn't a place, it's a... It's personal and doesn't matter. We all have our ideas.

I feel an irritation, my nerves are exposed. I sit bothered. Perhaps it is because all my life I have wanted her by my side the way my Granmo has been but she was in another country and our visits were never long enough. When I was a child I wanted everyone I loved with me, I didn't like having to say good bye to anyone. Letters I wrote took forever to reach her, phone calls never resulted in conversations, the connection...we always had to yell. I saved all her letters to me, I can recall the sound of her voice, I have videos of our last conversations face to face.  I don't feel like viewing them now.  I feel her gone. When August held my face in her hands tonight to give me a kiss...she would do that. 

I am lucky, very lucky to have had her this long in my life. The image that keeps coming to me is her reading in bed. She was a reader, she knitted, she crocheted. I took a picture of her undies drying on the clothesline the last time I visited her. When I was five or so I remember peeking in the bathroom after she showered and seeing her put on her bra and thinking how large it was, how old she was, how pale she looked. When she came out of the bathroom a warm humidity followed along with the scent of her powder and soap. I saved some of the powder and a bar of the soap she would use. They are in a cigar box I covered with stickers. I was a kid that would save everything. I have that box in a closet in the next room. I can recall the combination of those scents. 

Last night I was reading French poems and thought of her. Today at the library I found a book that had a recipe for salpicon and I always remember the one time she made it when we visited and how delicious it was. I checked it out and thought of her. At the grocery store this afternoon August picked up an Archie comic book. I took it from her because I couldn't believe it looked just like the ones my Abuelita would buy and read to me before bedtime. I had not seen one in years. I handed it back to August and said,"My Abuelita would read those to me when I was a little girl." Tonight we watched a Busby Berkeley film and I thought of her shoes. I think of her all the time. She taught me to crochet and to knit. 

Last week I visited a friend and she showed me a blanket she is crocheting. I taught her how to crochet the way my Abuelita showed me. I told her, "You know, it's sort of neat the way I showed you something I only learned from my Abuelita, not from books or a class or anyone else. It's like you have a part of her somehow, like you met. It is something special" My friend agreed. Abuelita wanted me to have a baby for so long, "Una creatura que puedes bañar y vestir como una muñeca." I loved the way she never carried a purse but wore her wallet under her arm. Maybe I will watch the videos tonight. I feel so irritable. I feel her gone.

Corner View: Experience

I often think of the time I raised baby chicks and had a backyard flock. That experience made me see humans in a very different way, perhaps forever. They prepared me for motherhood more than any other pet I ever had. They gave me so much to think about, that even now, I can still meditate to the lessons of the chicken.

All six of them required food and warmth making me a bit anxious in trying to meet their needs the way their mother would. The heating lamp didn't seem natural. All baby chicks sit under their mother for warmth and here was this harsh lamp on them 24 hours a day. It bothered me. I woke up once at 2am and there they were, so tired, but still awake in a daze under the lamp. I dragged out a heating pad instead and hung it on the side of their cage. I covered the cage with a blanket and placed the heating lamp outside the cage at a distance where it would still provide extra warmth. I then got online and looked up alternative heating elements. Before I went to bed I peeked in on them and they were sound asleep one on top the other letting out tiny sighs and faint snores.

I wanted always to wake up to six chicks, to come home to six chicks.  For two weeks I felt they kept me worried. I downloaded software that would allow me to check in on them from my work desk by logging into a private website. It didn't always work and would freeze up. All I could think about were those six chicks and keeping them alive. When I was younger, my grandparents kept chickens and I remembered when they'd start a flock they would lose a few. I had never had an animal die on me and I didn't want that experience. 

When one fell ill at the end of the two weeks after I got them,  I struggled to keep the others healthy and nurse the sick one back to health. I couldn't stand the idea of waking up to her cold body in the morning. I held this baby chick up to my neck  all night to keep her warm, fed her garlic and onion soup, kept her away from yogurt because she had a terrible cold, and fed her a probiotic capsule.  It all worked to keep her alive but it didn't kill the cold. I resisted the use on antibiotics, but A&M assured me that she was so young, by the time she'd start laying, the medicine would be long gone from her body. So finally, I bought an antibiotic, mixed it with her water and within a week she was healthy again.  Gone was the coughing, sneezing and runny nose. I had no idea chicks would even get colds like humans do until then. A cold will usually bring down a baby chick, usually the whole flock.  

Once the chicks got their feathers in, they moved outdoors to their coop. To keep them safe, at night they were basically in a wooden box. I checked in on them and would find a fluffy, feathery pile of quietly snoring chicks that would melt my heart. Chickens do snore. I developed an ear for them. I wouldn't wake up during a thunderstorm but I found myself waking up with any noise that came from the coop.  

I raised Silkies, the sweetest breed of chicken there is. I miss the eggs we created together.  Bananas and oats created a rich and buttery Silkie egg. Garlic, watermelon, yogurt, it all worked to change the flavor of the eggs and I had fun experimenting, they enjoyed all the good eats.  They always had tons of oyster shell for a good, strong shell. So strong were these shells that I once forgot I had an egg in the pocket of my hoodie and it went through the wash unbroken. That's pretty legendary. A hard boiled egg is no problem to peel if your hen  gets enough calcium.  When they had fresh greens the yolks were as orange as the sun!

Keeping my flock happy and comfortable brought me such a sense of accomplishment. They gave me eggs year round because the coop was kept cool during a triple digit summer using a table fan and ice.  During a rare, icy Texas winter they were kept cozy and warm with hay, cardboard insulation and a heating element installed to keep their water from freezing. 

I did finally lose a hen. It was Ducky, the little chick I had nursed back to health. She ended up a little tubbier than the others and had gone through 63 days or so of triple digit temperatures. It was on a cool morning in September that I felt an urgency to get to the coop. I arrived only minutes after she passed, her limp body was still warm.  Her sisters were at the corner cooing sadly. I buried her  in a corner of the yard and planted flowers.  Her death bothered me for several days and can still make me sad. She was the best mother when I gave her fertile eggs to sit on. She had been depressed for weeks when she went broody so I had to do something about it. She was so happy to sit on eggs and even happier to be a mother.  I don't care how silly or crazy it sounds, Ducky will always be my feathered, two footed little hero. I contacted A&M and they wanted to run an autopsy but I told them she was already buried. They said she probably had a weak heart which is why she fell ill to the cold as a chick and probably had a weak immune system all along.

I had to give away my backyard flock when I left Austin and started traveling with my husband. For months I had dreams about the chickens and their coop. In many dreams I'd be walking along and find them in their coop with water needing to be changed and their feeders empty with several weeks worth of eggs in their nests. That was a nightmare. I missed them. I wondered if they were missing me. Eventually the nightmares stopped, they are still alive and living in San Antonio. At least they were last I asked. I don't ask anymore. The lifespan of a Silkie can be 9-13 years. I had to give them up at four years old. One day I will raise Silkies again.

Just before we left the hospital with August, a woman came in to give us a book on child rearing and a quick run down of do's and don'ts and newborn safety. On the way home I sat in the back seat watching August stretch and move, yawn and make cute little sighs before falling asleep in her car seat. I got up close, feeling her baby breath on my nose, I could hear the sweetest little snore. I wasn't at all nervous or anxious, I already had experience caring for the teeny-tiniest of lives.  

The days have been alternating between extremes. Just when we tire of the cold, rainy, grey days, the sunny and warm days return. A bit too warm sometimes. For months I have picked up the faintest scent of moldy wood. I would look at my antique vanity that my grandfather restored the summer after I turned 13. It's a beautiful piece that I have carefully stored and moved around for years. It didn't have a single flaw until now. I pulled the drawers out, checked the carpet around it and found water damage. Today the room is an organized mess, the vanity on it's side, drying out, all that was on it and in it are small piles around the room. Once my anger passed {the crack on the outside wall was reported months ago} I was left with the work of detachment. It's love that is indestructible.

Corner View: Experiences

Yesterday evening I popped in the DVD Modern Times with Charlie Chaplin into my laptop with the idea that I'd watch it while August falls asleep. I even thought it may put her to sleep. I am very much accustomed to watching old movies alone in the dark, especially Charlie Chaplin films. I have never met anyone, since I left home, who will sit an watch a black and white film with me uninterrupted. 

When the film started, August wiggled out of my arms and began watching and didn't stop. She watched it till the very end, one of the sweetest scenes on film. It was quite the experence. I kept thinking:wow...any minute now...she won't finish it...but no! She kept on, completed interested.  A testament to the film. By the end my heart was huge, no tears, just this immense feeling of togetherness and love. I'm a mother, she is my daughter and we shared this wonderful film together and she's only two years old. She may never remember this, but I will. 

A bad day for a second

One of the perks of living with a two year old is that a bad day never remains a bad day. Today I received a mail box full of annoyances, anxieties and irritabilities. I also received some textile samples in a box, a box that should have been opened first instead of last. August was so excited to see these textured and colorful squares. After I made some irritating phone calls we played with these fabric samples and talked about them, had a snack and the day straightened out. Later, we sang songs, played some pretend, looked at new library books and it was dinnertime. After dinner, we had a fireworks show and the day went down as a very sweet one with a minor snag that didn't even last an hour. It's the magic of your child. I feel the biggest high these days just asking her to show me "left" and see her point left correctly. Even when it's wrong though, she does it with such a beautiful smile, it makes everything better.

Hurt feelings, hurt.

Today at the park I watched two and three year olds at play. One little girl had a truly beautiful stuffed animal, it looked like a real rag doll cat. She was trying to get the other little girl's interested in it. She asked the girls if they wanted to play with her but they were into a game of chase and didn't want to stop. I didn't want her to have hurt feelings so when August ran by I asked her to stop and say hello to the little girl.

She kept saying her grandmother bought it for her to anyone who would listen. The way she would say it made me think that she was very much in love with her grandmother and missed being with her, at that moment. I looked for her mother and she was on the other side of the playground with her cell phone. The little girl continued that her grandmother got her the stuffed animal. I said it was really the prettiest I had ever seen and her grandmother was really nice and she smiled as she went off chasing the other girls.

That little girl made me remember how  left Grandmo and now in the "real world" and having to make a go of it but would rather be with Grandmo. Maybe I was just putting too much me into it. I tend to do that quite often. However, I did enter the park with much on my mind and everything I was witnessing seemed to be showing me something.

One by one the children went home and August found another friend. Things didn't work out too well. The little girl was a year older, very friendly, maybe a bit too overzealous but completely well meaning. August was tired, having skipped a nap. The combination resulted in August hanging her head and, with what seemed like a weary heart said, "I want to go home, Mommy, I want to go home." I was overwhelmed with emotion for everyone involved. The little girl looked sadly puzzled, her mother, who had been saying,"Be gentle, be gentle" looked uncomfortable and sad, the other mother and child looked uncomfortable, August was breaking my heart, I was feeling too much. So I said, "Yes, we need to go home, it's time to eat and it's getting chilly. Sayy good bye to your new friends and we'll go."

We left hand in hand. My mind going back, back to play ground days and remembering hurts. Here I am at an age where you are supposed to be the most adult of adults and I could recall every hurt feeling along the way, every one of them. Ever have a moment when you felt all the hurt feelings in your life at once? It was hearing her say,"Mommy, I want to go home." The way she said it.

Corner View: Favorite Plate

I thought all day about a favorite plate. I was thinking of dish patterns and chuckled to myself of how "dish" referred to a great looking girl in several Happy Day's episodes. Time ran me over and it is no longer Wednesday, but at midnight, as I warmed up the leftover chicken soup I made Tuesday afternoon, there it was... Royal China Blue Heaven! The set has the optimistic turquoise of my own Grandmo's kitchen. How many stories are contained in each piece? If only they could tell me, the decades, the tables, the people.  I discovered the set when I found a single plate at a thrift store. It made me happy, I filled my head with promises inspired by Blue Heaven. I decided I wanted my future table to be a complete set of Royal China Blue Heaven.

The future is here and I didn't notice?

The coffee cups are tiny and dainty compared to mugs I see in most homes. Someone had to keep getting up to fill a cup, just like a 78 record on a Victrola, someone had to keep the music going. It seems one song on a 78 is about the time it would take to drink a cup of coffee in my Royal China Blue Heaven. On your toes, or perhaps just a treat, one cup, one tune to break up the day.

The dinner plates are large and beautiful, the dessert bowl, onescoopofsherbert sized. Priorities.

I completed this set of dishes long ago but it is only since April of 2014 that I actually utilize them. Everyday use. Mr Gage always said,"...you see, if you have to use it everyday it needs to be pretty".
This set fits my life right now and I enjoy washing them by hand and placing them in their neat, little stacks of four in the cupboard. All except for the bowls, they sit in a stack of three because August broke one reaching for grapes one afternoon. This created the hunt for a fourth bowl and another reason to frequent estate sales, flea markets, thrift stores... Who knows what else I'll find along the way, because I once saw a plate at an antique store in Pennsylvania that had me swooning enough to snap this photo and covet this set. One day. Maybe.

On the 12th Day of Christmas...

I have the luxury of not returning to an office today but the feeling is there all the same.  I decided to take one more day off, it's what I would do when I did work in an office. It is The Epiphany and I usually reflect on the holidays, enjoy the tree one last night and all else that is left. It's not the day to take down the tree or start the daily grind of a new year. It's a personal tradition.

When we went to collect the mail this afternoon, August wanted Christmas cards. I told her there wouldn't be anymore until next year. We will get packages but not Christmas gifts until next year, although, The Three Wise Men may leave a little something in her shoes under the tree tonight. I need to celebrate the Twelve Days of Christmas, it's a a good "calm down" from the weeks of anticipation, preparation and excitement. I loved our tree this year. Thank you, Mr. Douglas Fir for staying green and fragrant for almost six weeks. 

I usually celebrate with a Rosca de Reyes but couldn't find one I liked. One year I mailed away for one because I felt I just couldn't celebrate without one. Tonight, it's just fine to share a hot chocolate with August and have gingersnaps instead.  I was too successful with the baking this year and to attempt a rosca today could ruin my lucky streak.

It was a great holiday, down to the last gingerbread moose cookie. August made it special and surprising, especially on New Year's Eve when a tiny party of three felt like quite the event. Her awareness and enthusiasm, the things we were able to do: breakfast with Santa on St Nicholas Day, Advent organ concerts every Tuesday, crafts, looking at lights, the baking, friends who came to visit, people we got to see... it all made this my best Christmas so far. I want it to last as well but it's time to read The Little Fir Tree by Margaret Wise Brown and Christmas Every Day by William Dean Howells and put this Christmas in our memory boxes, but tomorrow, because there is still one more night.