Granma doesn’t fit

Don’t lie you have seen them, you may have of even be afraid of one. I am talking about Las abuelitas. Regardless of where they come from you have had at least two of them.  It is amazing to see how their strength of spirit carries them and the whole family. How much blind love they posses along their sense of duty, to the point that they follow us to the new country or outside of our communities to attempt a new life. You see them at your or your friend’s houses. Silent next to their kitchen they are; dreaming of the old one she had, along the stain that only good Cazuelas de peltre have. Commenting how electric or gas stoves cannot warm the fire of a heart and the flavor in the food like good ocote or fat wood.

Be aware that they know of our failures and financial troubles, you can tell because their unbending smile agrees with that we cannot see, yet she is able to feel. And yet they continue in silence playing along, pretending that they do not understand what is going on or what we are doing. Praying that we don’t fuck up too bad when we act upon our impulses and wants. Always awake, knowing better, being there, always allowing us to be, until the day arrives when a member of the family falls and everyone else freezes, so they can act guided by their god.

I often wonder what goes on an abuelita’s head, what she sees and wishes for? Is it the image of her old adobe house? The one that is not more than a memory in a faded black and white picture? I wonder what her heart beats to?  Witnessing in her mind the silhouette of grandpa as he came back from the milpa every evening? In her quiet corner, while ironing, cooking, babysitting and cleaning.  She probably dreams of milpas, packs of clouds, good corn tortillas, birds migrating, and self sufficiency. She probably wants friendly neighbors that speak her language and that at least say hello, she wishes to have grandchildren who will understand the importance of prayer, dances, and traditional songs. She dreams of having slow wedding dances with long gone abuelos, tios and tias, and the love of hard work and pain of creating family and life.

In semi cold nights like this I send my voice to my grandma’s, and all grandma’s and they become one. I say to her and all- Nana nina, my ixa’s, thank you for cradling me! For sending lessons, behavior changing chanclas, warm tortillas and bendiciones, you are beauty, you are the way, because grandma you possess the key; to our greater consciousness, our connection of respect to the earth, to our soul. I ask that sooner than later we start to recognize the strength of your humble voice. But I also send my voice giving thanks because I see, that abuelita is many and can be a madrina or a tia, an elder in our lives. I give thanks for your love in the shape of the compassion that leads and guides you to lose that which cannot be found in the concrete of the cities of the first world. Of such humility and strength I can only think, I can only dream:

Your sore and callused hands
Make me feel the most ingrate
And useless person in the planet
Your aging smile
Reminds me of our generations past
And the strength of our people’s prayer
Your failing and aching legs
Remind me of all that is left to walk…