My Life in Argentina and Beyond - memories

My Father

noreply@blogspirit.com (Eugenia) — Mon, 07 Dec 2009 20:26:28 +0100

I remember the rubies. I remember the 18 carat Gold jewelry that he used to give me in Argentina for my birthday. That and his kindness when I had a problem are some of my favorite parts of my memories of him. He was not a perfect man, but he was very strong, very tough. My father was a doer, someone who could get things done. When we came together to America, he had to unlearn many things. He was no longer the boss; now he was an employee, an older employee. I don’t think he minded it very much. Being in the United States had been his dream all along. He had time to listen. He cared.

An Important Birthday

noreply@blogspirit.com (Eugenia) — Fri, 04 Dec 2009 20:36:10 +0100

Tomorrow, December 5th, would have been my Tia’s birthday. Never mind how old she would have been. My Tia is still alive; I have never forgotten her. I can see her now wearing her black and white hounds tooth wool skirt and her lime green 100% acrylic cardigan, the one with the big white buttons. I see her waiting on the corner of our neighbor in Greater Buenos Aires. Her right hand is touching her chin and the tiny wrinkles around her eyes are more pronounced. A neighbor walks by and they talk. The neighbor is like family and she’s keeping my aunt company until I come back from my errand. It is probably a mild day in early October, spring in Argentina. My Tia looks down at her black leather moccasin shoes. I have to polish them after lunch, she tells the neighbor. She sees me before I see her. What kept you so long? she asks me. I kiss her on the cheek first, and then I greet the neighbor. Nothing, I shrug, blushing. I dare not mention that I have just run into the man I love; she wouldn’t approve. We walk the half block to our house. My Tia invites the neighbor up, but she declines. My Tia opens the white door and we go in. This is so clear to me after all these years that it might as well have happened yesterday or today.

Cinder Nothing

noreply@blogspirit.com (Eugenia) — Wed, 23 Sep 2009 18:50:00 +0200

The woman had found the pink Victoria’s Secret robe on the street. She had taken to her boss’s house and washed it along with the other dirty laundry. Now she was sitting in front of the old TV with the robe wrapped around her. Cinderella was dancing with the Prince. The Disney movie was one of her childhood favorites and she had remembered it with fondness all these years. Sometimes dreams do come true, she thought. Sometimes girls (and women) get what they want and nothing bad happens to them afterwards. She shrugged her shoulders. At least some women get good things. When Cinderella’s stepmother broke the glass slipper, the woman cheered as Cinderella took the other slipper out of her apron pocket. She is no wishy washy heroine. The words were spoken out loud to her cat.

Red

noreply@blogspirit.com (Eugenia) — Fri, 18 Sep 2009 22:22:44 +0200

When I was a little girl, he used to buy me 18 Kt. pieces of jewelry. The pieces were studded with rubies. I remember a beautiful small-faced watch from the late 50s and a cross with 3 rubies. Then there was a lovely gold and ruby ring. Once I asked him why and he said that he wanted me to have the best. He had gone through hardships in Europe and now things were going well for him; he wanted to celebrate his success. My father was anti-communist, and the rubies were bright red. The color must have had another meaning for him because he once bought me a thick velvet jacket. Red again.

September 18, 1985

noreply@blogspirit.com (Eugenia) — Thu, 17 Sep 2009 22:43:12 +0200

Tomorrow, September 18th, is the 24th anniversary of my father’s death in San Francisco. He died at around 3 A.M. My brother Alex woke me up and told me: Dad loved you very much. I jumped out of bed and went to my father’s room. After making the sign of the cross, I leaned over and kissed him on the forehead.

Moccasin Shoes

noreply@blogspirit.com (Eugenia) — Fri, 10 Jul 2009 20:37:43 +0200

riday, July 10, 2009: She wore black moccasin shoes and thick opaque stockings. Her skirt was an old hounds tooth. The lime green top with the large white buttons kept her warm in the winter. Her black and white hair was cut short. The dark brown eyes had wrinkles everywhere, as did her face. But I loved her and I felt protected when I embraced my aunt's thin little body.

!5 Years

noreply@blogspirit.com (Eugenia) — Thu, 09 Jul 2009 18:35:00 +0200

Thursday, July 9, 2009: I lost my mother on July 10, 1994. it is incredible that almost 15 years have gone by--15 hard years. My mother was a good woman, a woman who never forgot her own mother, my grandmother Ana. She lived 54 years without her and I believe that they are together up there in Heaven. My mother is probably smiling, the way she smiled that afternoon in Burbank when we went to the ice cream parlor to have an ice cream sundae and the chocolate syrup ran down her chin. That is my favorite memory of her. She was happy that day. She was not in any kind of pain, not emotional or physical or anything. She just was herself,the self she wanted to be.

Carmen

noreply@blogspirit.com (Eugenia) — Sat, 23 Feb 2008 21:21:38 +0100

Carmen, my first old lady after my beloved Tia, would have been 102 years old today. I met her in Vicente Lopez, when I was doing errands. She lived in a filthy, cockroach-filled apt. The apt. belonged to her niece. One day the neighbors alerted Carmen’s niece to the fact that sometimes Carmen forgot to turn off the gas. That’s when she was taken to a nursing home. Carmen’s retirement check paid for her room and board there. I would go visit her once a week. She looked forward to my visits and I liked going to the neighborhood of Floresta in Buenos Aires. There were some beautiful houses from the late 19th and early 20th century that I enjoyed looking at. Carmen was so thin that when I hugged her I was afraid I would break her bones by accident. She had come to Argentina from Northern Spain in 1930 and when I knew her she still spoke with a thick Spanish accent—as if she had just gotten off the boat. Soon she was working as a maid for a wealthy family who had made money in the jewelry business.
I grew to care for her. When her niece put her in another nursing home, I followed her there. I ate dinner with her and the other nursing home residents. In 1993, we had a party to celebrate her birthday. She was happy and smiled for the camera.
One thing I am sad about is that I couldn’t be with her at the end. It was necessary for me to travel back to the US. They told me that she asked to see me. I am very sorry that I wasn’t able to hold her hand and kiss her goodbye. She was a feisty, smart old lady.

Beccar

noreply@blogspirit.com (Eugenia) — Wed, 20 Feb 2008 19:58:38 +0100

February 20, 2008: There once was a place named Beccar. It was sunny and bright and happy (most of the time). Beccar was my fairy tale, but since it was also part of real life, a few drops of rain fell once in a while and I had to take better care of myself.
Beccar was my introduction to the real world.I felt things pulling me towards it, things pulling me in another direction.My heart told me that was where I wanted to be and I paid attention. I had a hunch that the experience could not be repeated.

Like Nadia

noreply@blogspirit.com (Eugenia) — Tue, 12 Feb 2008 01:33:44 +0100

February 11, 2008:The not so old woman got nervous and said: Coming! Coming! in a loud, nervous voice. Why am I getting so nervous, she thought. This is how Nadia acted just before she died. I want to go there! I don't want to miss anything. Hurry! Hurry! She tripped and fell.