Saturday, February 12, 2005

Happy Birthday, Grammo Pita

Today is my grandmother's, "Grammo Pita", as I called her, birthday. I can't remember how old she would be. I only know doesn't matter to her any more because she is in eternity, and this year she has her son, my dad, to be there with her.
Weekends are especially sentimental to me. I used to talk to Dad just about every weekend, no matter what. We'd talk about the weather, my job, the family....nothing deep, just catching up... when I was down in SA, we'd go visiting. When Grammo Pita was alive, we'd go over there and have some coffee with her, and sometimes she'd have some fresh taquitos and beans. I always remember her smile and her laugh. It was always a warm welcome when we went over there. And the coffee was always the best. She perked it in a little pot on a gas stove...the same gas stove she taught me how to make a quality tortilla on.
She had a living room that was reserved only for special occassions. It was always dark and the door was always closed. It had her best furniture in there, and had a mysterious air to it. There was a painting of Jesus Christ and a photo of John F. Kennedy on the same wall. And a painting of the Last Supper hung there as well. I remember a coffee table with a glass top that had a painting my father did under the glass. (I wonder what happened to that painting) It was a special room, opened only for the bigger gatherings, Christmastime when her tree was up, and when we could sneak in there. I never played in there when I snuck in. There was such an awe to the room, kindof sacred, almost like a sanctuary, that even as a child, I was reverent when entering that room alone.
She was all of 4' 8" x 4' 8". I could barely get my arms around her when I hugged her, but she was one I always wanted to hug. Her little hands would work so fast creating the best meals you could ever want. She cooked beans in a clay pot. There was always a comal on the stove, ready to make tortillas, and there was always a little jug of cold water in the refrigerator. I don't know why exactly I remember that, but it was always the BEST tasting water... Her kitchen was tiny, not much room for more than just 3 or 4 people, but so cozy, and never seemed crowded.
I miss her. I miss my dad.... Happy birthday, Grammo Pita.

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