How Far In Advance To Order Cake

The debt to the lost paradise

While playing the cold hand of my grandmother dying I could see on film all the scenes that have stuck in my heart. Now I'm sure that was not in memory but in the heart.

My grandmother and strawberry shakes with cinnamon, my grandmother and my brother shouting at me that and get out of the pool, chasing my grandmother not to throw at us again in the big pool of Tennis, the site allowed us to we ran a way to play. Making her swim, she arrived at the bus of the thirteen to the north Urdesa house. I looked out the window, waiting to arrive. Always waiting for your stories and when you put salt instead of detergent to the soup and left so much foam soap pumps and became the kitchen, for a few minutes in a vast fantasy image.

Roquitas Bathrooms in Miramar. The pocitos that we were and where she had me and my brother and we could stay home to literally hours. I remember we lost track of time. I also remember when he could not lead us to that place because it did not interest us more, and I also remember when she was old and not as proposed.

never never fight with my grandmother. No one challenged her. And it says a potentially quarrelsome.

When I took her cold hand and a bit bruised, I apologized for not having been more careful by not having as he wanted, and thanked him by the immense happiness that had been my grandmother, a grandmother of deep water. I thanked him for my childhood was enriched by his love and his love for his Italian grandparents stories, and certainly no father to her, made her more careful with the love to others.

For those rare things in life, for a few seconds, I realized that my other grandmother was sitting waiting for her. Sometimes they discussed, but they loved too. I could swear that when I touched her hand, swore he knew who I was. Mary Paulinilla and always told me, and I find it intolerable esuchar no voice anymore and their stories, and their stories on visits to wakes wrong, crazy. Because it was loquísima.

And though time goes by I feel like I owe her. Debt is not measurable, debt is a sensation, a certainty that I can never pay it off. And I know that is a debt that she never ask you to pay off, but still, maybe, just maybe, at some time feel that is fully paid. Surely not at this time.