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.  

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.