Oma

There are so many things that make my Oma a great grandmother (aside from and in addition to her great grandchildren). I want to write about some of them now because Oma's been ill lately, and definitely not herself. I'm not sure how much longer we'll get to enjoy her company, so I want to share these memories now.

First, I always love to think of her kitchen. When she lived in El Paso, TX, her kitchen was always the best place to be because of all the delicious meals she prepared. Check out a Memory Lane Friday post I wrote in March, when the topic was "A Room." Click here: Memory Lane Friday - A Room to read about Oma's kitchen. Check out another Memory Lane Friday post from May, when I describe Oma's cooking: Memory Lane Friday - The Foods I Loved.

Her tacos, beans, rice, banana bread, these caramel-like, "lacy" cookies I used to refer to as "lacies," huevos con chorizo, her lemon meringue pie (the one without the coconut shavings in the lemon part) . . . the list could go on. I'm not sure what it is about her food, but it was always awesome. She said it's because she "made it with a lot of love." That's gotta be it. A grandmother's magic.

Second, I always think of the fun things we did together. Our fun adventures go way back to the early '70s.

Check us out at Western Playland (when it was still located in El Paso):

Oma's actually in the helicopter ride with me! I must've been about 2.5 years old here. 

Oma especially loved Western Playland's haunted house (I'm not sure they still have this ride now that Western Playland's in New Mexico). I didn't particularly like this ride because I got scared (though I never (!) admitted it to anyone). But I always went on it with Oma because she always laughed hysterically when we rode it. I always made sure I sat right next to Oma, as close to her as I could. I remember a part of this ride where a bus rounded the corner, headlights blazing, horn blaring loudly, like it was about to run us over. It always startled me, but like I said, it made Oma laugh uncontrollably.

There was another ride at Western Playland that I loved going on with Oma when I was very young - and later, I enjoyed going on it by myself. It was a car-driving one. You actually got to steer the car (which was on a metal rail) and it looked like you were driving through a town, past a Chevron gas station (yes, I specifically remember this part), among other things. It was like I was actually taking Oma for a drive. It was a lot of fun for a young kid.

I also remember my grandparents' neighbors on Blue Ridge Circle. They (the neighbors) grew grapes in their backyard, and every so often, they'd share a bunch or two with us. 

Once, I was out on a warm afternoon/early evening, the summer sun setting, casting long shadows in it's golden light. The neighbor (Jerry, I think) called me over and asked where my grandmother was. I stated she was in the kitchen. He then gave me a big ol' bunch of green grapes, asking me to ensure she got them so she could rinse them off before we enjoyed them.

I also remember how she and Sir Rafa would, on occasion, take me to the McKelligon Canyon Amphitheater to watch Viva! El Paso under the summer stars. This is an elaborate musical show with beautiful costumes, music, and dancing, all depicting the long history of El Paso.

One summer night, while my grandparents and I were watching the show, I looked up and saw a shooting star zip across the night sky. It was too cool. By the time I saw it, it had disappeared, so I didn't get a chance to say, "Hey, look at the shooting star." There must've been a meteor shower visible that evening, because a little later, someone near us saw another one. I spent the rest of the evening dividing my time between watching the amazing show, and looking up for more shooting star sightings. 

Another time (early '90s, maybe), I remember going to see a play with Oma at the Chamizal National Memorial - in its theater. The play was a comedy, and if I remember correctly, it was called Mi Amiga La Gorda (I think it was based on the English language play called My Fat Friend by Charles Laurence). The play was about an overweight woman, who, with the help of her friends, loses a lot of weight in hopes of keeping the attention of a potential suitor. 

Oma laughed SO hard during that play. I'm not sure she ever stopped laughing the entire time. I'm not sure what was funnier to me - the play, or her laughing. Probably a mixture of both. 

For days after seeing the play, I could get her to laugh when I imitated the silly walk of one of the characters. It was fun and so easy getting her to laugh about it.

Oh, another adventure we went on was to an El Paso Diablos baseball game one late afternoon (early '90s, maybe?). The Diablos play at Cohen Stadium, not too far from my grandparents' Mountain Walk Drive home. My Uncle Ralph went with us. 

 My Uncle Ralph is on the left, posing with my grandparents.

I remember having peanuts, and throwing empty peanut shells at our feet. Oma, always one to worry abut cleanliness and neatness, never said a word about the peanut shells littering the ground.

I also remember seeing the crowds at the other end of the stadium start the wave, at one point. I watched as the wave came around the stadium, getting closer to us. 

As the wave got closer, I pointed it out to Oma, and explained what they were doing. Then I told her that when the people next to her stood and threw their arms up in the air, that it would be our turn to do the same. And she actually did it along with me! It was hilarious and so much fun! I think that was the best part of that baseball game.

There was another time I remember being in her kitchen (must've been the mid-'90s) after dinner; this time I actually got her to do the Macarena! I showed her how it was done, and then she did it along with me! Funny!

There are so many other memories, but I think I'll save them for later since this post is now fairly long. 

 In the meantime, I'll end this post with a photo of an autumn tree in the late afternoon sun. I went out and took a photo of it after a phone conversation with my mother yesterday. She and I talked about Oma and how she (my mom) thinks we might only have days or weeks left with her. Of course, no one can possibly know how much time anyone has left. But I figured a photo of autumn leaves would be an appropriate way to symbolize Oma these days.

It's time for the rest of the story . . .

After last week's Memory Lane Friday post about A Time I Was Scared, and having also spent last weekend at my parents' place, I decided to ask my mom if she remembered the incident . . . the one where she and I (as a 4-year-old) got separated in a crowded place in Solvang, CA.

Needless to say, when I asked her, "Do you remember when I got lost in Solvang?" the answer was "Well, of course I remember! I was panicked!"

Hahaha! I should've expected that answer.

Anyway, when I asked her for details, she confirmed that yes, I was about 4-years-old, and yes, she remembers a red British-styled telephone box nearby.

Then she filled me in on some stuff I hadn't remembered.

First, I guess my dad had been with us, and not off somewhere else (the men's room or a different store, as I recently speculated). I hadn't remembered him being with us in the minutes leading up to the separation, nor did I remember him being with us in the moments following my mom's finding me.

But apparently he'd been there, and when my mom panicked, he was calm, and nonchalantly said to her with a sigh, "Don't worry about it; we'll find her." That is seriously so like him!

And second, my Aunt Marie (my dad's older, only surviving sibling) was with us, too. She was an Italian immigrant, having come to North America as a young girl, ultimately spending a majority of her adult life in California. (I'll have to tell you more about her sometime in the future.)

Anyway, she was a good talker. She could really keep a conversation going, and keep it entertaining. This is one of a number of things I miss about her (she passed away back in the mid-'90s).

So of course, while my mom was recalling the incident, she was telling me "You know how Marie enjoyed a good conversation, right? Well, I was doing my best to pay attention to her because I didn't want to seem rude. And that's when I realized I'd been so wrapped up in my conversation with her, I'd ended up losing you! . . . And then your dad wasn't even worried about it! Can you believe that?"

Yes! . . . because that's how Marie was with conversations, and that's how my dad is - never one to panic or get worried about anything.

So there you have it . . . the rest of the story about that time I was scared. 

Here is Marie (on the right) with my maternal grandmother, Oma, waiting for my graduation from Culver to start:

June 4, 1989, Culver, IN (My dad took this photo.)

One more thing while I'm thinking about "the rest of the story . . . "

In a different Memory Lane Friday post about A Family Heirloom, I briefly mentioned that I had wanted to talk about an item that had been in my Oma's kitchen in El Paso for years. But since I didn't have that item in my possession, nor did I have any photos of it, I decided to talk about something else instead (a blue topaz ring). 

Well, now I have it. 

It's this cast-iron "warming plate" thing that had been passed along to her by her mother. My mother remembers it from her grandmother's kitchen, having spent a lot of time at her grandmother's house when she was little (they actually lived next door to each other when my mother was growing up).

This "warming plate" thing would be on one of the stove's gas burners, and would be used to warm up tortillas (and probably other tasty things). Well, one day my Oma asked Cacá (pronounced ka-KA, which is what my Uncle Ralph began calling her when he was young), where she got this thing.

Instead of saying "Oh, I got it at __________," she just handed it over to my Oma, saying, "You can have it."

And my Oma began using it at her house ever since, first in the kitchen at the Blue Ridge Circle house, and then at the Mountain Walk Drive house.

I always loved how tortillas ended up after being warmed up on that thing. Not only did I like my tortillas warmed up before eating them with huevos con chorizo, I liked my tortillas (the flour ones) just on the verge of being toasty, when they'd have a hint of crispiness on the outside, but were still soft and easily wrapped around some delish huevos con chorizo.

Anyway, when my grandmother finally moved into my parents' house, my Uncle Ralph spent a lot of time and effort packing up items of value and making sure these items were dispersed among family members. I had asked him to find this "warming plate" thing in the kitchen and set it aside for me.

He did. Last weekend at my parents' house, I went through a few of the boxes, and finally found it, bringing it home with me.

Sadly, I can't use it on the electric stovetop that I have. When Andrew and I finally get a chance to switch it out to a gas stove, the very first thing I make for breakfast will be huevos con chorizo, and I can guarantee I'll be warming up the flour tortillas on this thing!

Here it is. I put it on a silicone pad because it has some heft to it, and I didn't want to scratch the glass cook-top, nor did I want to accidentally crack it when I put the cast-iron "warmer" thingy on it.

Here's the bottom of it. Note the bump at the 12 o'clock position; this is why it doesn't work on a flat glass cook-top. It sits just right on a gas burner.

For the record, I dislike cooking with electricity. Gas is much better. It's easy to control temperature during cooking, and a gas stove-top is easier to maintain. The glass cook-top seems to be hard to keep clean, and it has to cool down completely (which takes forever) before you can clean up any spills. Plus, the glass cook-top likes to scratch easily. I think it sucks. This is the first and last time I will have a kitchen with an electric stove/oven. And Andrew knows this for the next time we need to look for a new house . . . whenever that may be.

Memory Lane Friday - The Foods I Loved

Today's Memory Lane Friday topic is "The Foods I Loved" and you know I'm going to have to talk about my Oma and her cooking. Her cooking is what I always consider "comfort food." Her food is what I always crave when I want something good. If I need Mexican food, hers is what satisfies the craving. As a matter of fact, Oma's cooking is what I craved when I was pregnant with Liv. Oma's cooking and tamales.

Oma has always had this amazing cooking. It was always homemade. It didn't matter if it was breakfast or dinner. 

But since breakfast is the first meal of the day, I will begin with a typical Oma breakfast. I am salivating, just thinking about it. She used to make huevos con chorizo for us sometimes - once a week, or sometimes even twice a week. Or more, if we asked her for it.

She had these great flour tortillas that she'd warm up on this round cast-iron thing on top of the gas burner. You could smell the flour tortillas warming up, with a warm, cozy, bready, flour-y scent wafting through the air. And the chorizo? It was the Mexican type, not the Spanish or Portuguese type (which was more of a hard salami type of sausage). The chorizo she used would come out of the casing before being cooked, and as it browned, would crumble like ground beef. It was the Peyton brand chorizo that apparently is only available in West Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, and a handful of military commissaries (which included Hanscom Air Force Base, where Andrew and I were stationed for 4 years).

And then you'd hear the sssssss of the chorizo links as they sizzled and browned in the skillet. This is when it started smelling divine. Mmmmm. Spicy (like cumin, not burn-your-mouth-with-chiles spicy), sausage-like, and mouth-watering.

While the chorizo was browning, you'd hear the tsk-tsk-tsk of Oma's fork as she whisked the eggs in a bowl. As soon as the chorizo was browned just right, she'd pour the whisked eggs into the skillet over the chorizo and begin to scramble them all together.

And then it was all ready. A heap of huevos con chorizo on your plate, flour tortilla folded in half on the side of the plate. Fork in hand, I remember scooping the huevos con chorizo into the unfolded, warmed flour tortilla, rolling it up into a burrito, and then taking a bite. Mmmmm. It was eggy, full-flavored (because of the chorizo), and full of carbs (the tortilla) to balance out the protein (and fat) from the eggs and chorizo.

This was pure breakfast heaven. And now I'm very hungry.

When I lived in Tucson and New Mexico (and when I realized I could get the same chorizo at the commissary in the Boston area),  I'd make huevos con chorizo, too. Sure, I watched her make this dish, and it tasted basically the same, but hers was always better. I think it's because, as she always says, she "made it with a lot of love."

Then there was lunch or dinner. She used to make cheese enchiladas on occasion, and while I loved her red sauce for its rich flavor and thought that her enchiladas were tasty, I found that they were a little heavy on the chopped onion (which she always kind of rough chopped - the onions were never really chopped finely enough) and I'd get heartburn. It was weird. I could always handle spicy food, but too much onion? My stomach and esophagus couldn't handle it.

My favorite lunch or dinner menu in Oma's repertoire? Homemade tacos and homemade beans. She told me step by step how to make her tacos, and while I tried to make them on occasion, they NEVER came out right. I'm not sure I had the technique just right.

Oma would brown ground beef, season them just right (salt, pepper, cumin), saute them with diced potatoes, and then stuff the mixture into corn tortillas (fried briefly in oil and then folded while still warm and malleable). At least, this is what I remember.

After assembling a bunch of tacos and setting them on a cookie sheet lined with foil, she'd stick them in the oven for a little while to make sure they were all warmed and hot enough to eat.

And the beans? Mmmm.

Making her world-famous beans was a process. Not hard - just time-consuming. She'd soak pinto beans overnight. The next day, she'd cook them in water seasoned with garlic salt and onion powder. When they were soft, she'd drain some water, saving some so that when she mashed the beans, they wouldn't get dried out. Then she'd brown some chorizo in a big skillet. When it was browned, she'd add the mashed beans and cook them all together so the flavors would blend. And then she'd add shredded Monterrey Jack cheese on the top.

Two or three tacos topped with shredded Monterrey Jack cheese, tomatoes, shredded lettuce, and a side of her world-famous beans. Oh, and her delicious rice. I have now idea how to make that. Note to self: get her rice recipe from her next time I see her.

So there it is. There are the the foods I loved growing up . . . and the foods I still love. And now I am hungry.

Okay, so I don't have any photos of my Oma while she's actually cooking something. But I have a number of photos of her, so I'm going to add a few here:
 

This photo was taken way before my time, but here's my Oma when she was a young woman.

Here's Oma at the Blue Ridge Circle house. This must've been in the early '70s - maybe '73?

My Uncle H. used to say this was Oma's "Ann Landers hairstyle." By the way, I don't know why/how the couch turned out that funky maroon color in the photo (it was actually an olive green), and how Oma's dress turned into such a vibrant purple. Ah, well. At least it's a great photo of her smiling.

So here I am with my Oma and Sir Rafa. We're not in El Paso, but we're together. I believe they were visiting us when we lived in Wilmette, IL.

Here's Oma and baby Livie in Oma's kitchen. This is in the beloved Mountain Walk Drive home in El Paso.

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After checking out today's other entries, be sure to come back next week when the Memory Lane Friday topic is "A Ceremony."

Memory Lane Friday - A Family Heirloom

I had a specific item I was going to write about. I guess it could be considered an heirloom and is promised to me (my Oma's cast-iron thing that she used on her gas-stove burner to heat up/toast flour tortillas for huevos con chorizo, among other things), but I realized I had no photos of it. Besides, it's currently packed in a box somewhere in my mom's basement.

Also, since I've talked about Oma's kitchen in another Memory Lane Friday, I think I'll talk about that particular kitchen item another time.

So instead, I'll talk about a piece of my Oma's jewelry that's been handed down to me.

This piece of jewelry was a ring actually made by someone my family, specifically for another person in the family. But since the intended person didn't much care for opal, it became my grandmother's.

The ring is gold and delicate looking and has a heart on each side. Since opal is so fragile, it had broken at some point and had fallen out . . . even with all the thought she put into caring for her jewelry.

When the opal broke at some point, she had the stone replaced with a blue topaz. I always thought it looked like the same color as turquoise, but clear and sparkly -  not opaque like turquoise.

I don't know how many years it had been the original opal, but opal was always her gem - she always seemed to wear a piece of jewelry with opal in it. And I remember this ring as an opal ring.

One day, however, when my grandparents were visiting, I saw her wearing a kinda familiar ring . . . a blue topaz ring.

I'm pretty sure I must've been on a school break - maybe Christmas break. I was in high school at the time.

We were in the mini-van one evening; one of my parents was driving. I was in the back next to Oma. I gazed at the ring and asked her about it, not recognizing it. She said she'd had it for a long time. But while it looked sort of familiar, something was different about it.

This is when she revealed that the opal had broken (she'd accidentally bumped her hand on something which is when the opal cracked and fell out). And this is when she had the blue topaz set into the ring.

And then she said she'd been intending on giving it to me. I was surprised. She said that whenever I was ready for it, she'd give it to me. Not thinking she meant right then and there, I asked, "Can I have it now?"

Without even making any kind of reaction, no surprise to her face at all, she took off the ring and handed it to me. Surprised, I put it on. Again surprised, I realized it fit! She and I had the same ring size.

And I've had it ever since.

I don't wear it often. Actually, it's been a while since I have worn it. But that's only because I hardly wear rings (not even my wedding set - but only because I take those rings off to clean the kitchen or give Livie a bath, or something, and then I forget to put them back on). I only wear them for special occasions. Besides, my hands are so dry and chapped right now, I'd be embarrassed to call attention to them by wearing a ring.

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Memory Lane Friday - A Room

It's a very special room that I'm thinking of; it's one of those rooms which is special in so many other houses. But this particular room belonged to my grandparents (my grandmother in particular). It was their kitchen. Now it doesn't matter if I'm talking about the one in their house on Blue Ridge Circle, or the house on Mountain Walk Drive. They are both equally important in my memory.

Their house on Blue Ridge Circle came first. That's the house my grandparents lived in when I was first born.

It's the kitchen where my grandmother bathed me when I was a baby . . . in the kitchen sink.

It's the kitchen where, when I was a young child, I remember eating a hot dog for the first time. And an orange cream-sicle for the first time. And the many bunches of green grapes their neighbor grew in his back yard and shared with us.

I remember eating meals in that kitchen with my grandparents, with the Asian-inspired serving bowls, the scents of delicious meals filling the air. I remember how my grandfather would occasionally read the paper at the table. I once  tried to bring a book to the table (because my grandfather read at the table occasionally, so why couldn't I?); however, my grandmother gave me "that look." My book got put away, and that was that. "The Boss" had spoken without saying a word.

I also remember that on rare occasions, the TV would be on - I distinctly remember that "The Odd Couple" (starring Tony Randall and Jack Klugman) was on at the same time we ate our evening meals.

When they moved to the house on Mountain Walk Drive, I remember how warm that kitchen was. I don't mean because it was my grandmother's kitchen and she was so welcoming and was loving her visiting family. It was warm because of the temperature. So often when she was cooking, it would be very warm in there, sometimes uncomfortably warm. She'd be comfortable, and everyone else would be perspiring and trying to open windows or heading to the other room. I guess if you can't stand the heat . . .

I love thinking of that kitchen - the one on Mountain Walk Drive. I remember it well. The kitchen at the Blue Ridge Circle house? While I love my memories from that house, I really only remember "snapshots." The kitchen on Mountain Walk Drive - well, I remember wonderful scenes from life within those four walls. And sensations - scents, sounds, tastes. Emotions.

I remember how good it would smell in the morning, like coffee, pancakes, bacon . . . or coffee, huevos con chorizo, and flour tortillas as they were being warmed. Sometimes they smelled like biscuits and avena (oatmeal) . . . and coffee, of course.

Typically, my grandfather would be up super early every day. If someone walked in after he was at the table drinking his orange juice, he'd simply say, "Good afternoon," with a big smile and a twinkle in his eye, even if it were only 6:30 AM.

I love how the windows overlooked the back yard, the wispy leaves of a tree back there providing shade in the afternoon. Now that I'm thinking about it, I can't remember if one could see the cactus plants on the other side of the fence. They're the flat, paddle type, with the red "fruit" growing on it, and at some point, blossoming into flowers. I think they're called "tuna." Not the fish called "tuna" obviously. I'm almost expecting a wise-crack from my grandfather right about now.

Here's the type of cactus I'm talking about:

I took this tuna photo circa summer 1994. I'd hopped to the other side of the fence to get this photo.

The smell of delicious meals other than breakfast filled that room, too. Sometimes it would be pot roast. Other times it would be homemade tacos (Oma's tacos are the BEST), Spanish rice, her world famous homemade refried beans, or maybe enchiladas and Spanish rice. Sometimes salad. Always bread or tortillas.

I remember occasional evening treats in there. Specifically, she'd usually have Klondike bars or ice cream sandwiches on hand. Sometimes it would be some sort of baked goods. I remember that she liked making lemon meringue pie. But she'd put shaved coconut in the lemon part. Yuck. If she had only left out the coconut, I would've liked it. She was wily, probably wanting that much more for herself. My Oma!

I have another more recent memory that I really love. There was a bejeweled basket on the floor in a corner near the dining room entrance. Inside the basket? A big ol' bag of dried pinto beans. When Olivia was old enough to crawl around, she found that basket and was absolutely fascinated by it. When I think of that kitchen, I love thinking of her immediately crawling or teetering  to that basket and grabbing the bag of beans.

Um, yeah. We put a stop to the biting really quickly! (I think that's Daddy - Mr. Safety Patrol - right behind her, reaching on her right side to retrieve the bag so she wouldn't bite it. Pretty sure she was teething, and the texture of the bag and beans must've been nice on her gums. But that's what her teething toys or popsicles were for, right?)

I miss that kitchen. I am filled with a sense of saudade when thinking that the El Paso era is now over. Oma lives in Iowa now, in my parents' home. And my grandfather passed away in October 2008. So that home on Mountain Walk Drive is no longer occupied by my family. But I will always remember that wonderful kitchen and all the meals my Oma made with love.

Sir Rafa at his place at the kitchen table, circa summer 1994. 

Abuelita and Livie in Oma's kitchen, 25 Jun 2006. This is one of Abuelita's favorite photos. 

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I'm Thinking of Going Back

A few months ago, I was given a gift - one that allowed me to travel to sunny, dusty, hot, wonderful Mexico, Arizona, and El Paso, TX, places I would gladly visit again, if I had the opportunity.

Let me give you a little background first. See, I spent the summer of 1993 at Gettysburg College participating in summer theater. There are a few of us from that summer spent in one of the nation's most historic locations who are now friends on Facebook.

Months ago, one of them, Molly, would occasionally have a status update that caught my curiosity. She was on a journey that sounded so fantastic, I desperately wanted to participate, too.

However, it wasn't a physical journey; she was actually taking a trip through an amazing book called The Hummingbird's Daughter, written by Luis Alberto Urrea. Her mom had read this book, enjoyed it, and passed it along, sure that she would also enjoy it. 

When she'd post "Hummingbird" related status updates, I would think, Hmmm, I'm not sure what she's talking about exactly, but it sounds like I want to be a part of it, too. So one day I asked her what she was reading, and finally I had both the title and author's name.

She also said that while she was in the midst of reading it, she thought of me, absolutely positive that I would become as engrossed in the book as she'd been. Partly because of the characters' cultures, their language, and possibly the locations . . . if I remember correctly, these were some of the reasons she thought of me and why she thought I'd get into the book.

Excited about reading a book someone thought I'd love, I promptly went online to see if my local library had it. I was so disappointed when I found out they did not. But I could do an inter-library loan. Sure, it would cost some money and take an undisclosed amount of time before I received it, but there was hope that, before 2009 was ushered into the history books, I'd have a copy to read.

Fortunately for me, I'd made a comment on Facebook about having to wait for this book that Molly enjoyed so tremendously. She promised me that she'd send me her copy, as she'd recently finished reading it. So I waited, anxiously.

Finally, I received it!

And I eagerly jumped into it. For the next few weeks, I was intertwined with these characters - Teresita, Don Tomás, Huila, Don Lauro . . . I was thoroughly enjoying being a part of their lives.

Now, I'm not going to talk about specific details of the book itself, but rather, the thoughts and memories it evoked in me. There was something absolutely magic about it, and not necessarily just the mysticism involved in the storyline itself. I mean something else.

For example, I'd read about what they ate for breakfast . . . the warmed tortillas, the huevos con chorizo, beans . . . and I was transported back to my grandmother's kitchen in El Paso, TX. I remembered the smells - that fabulous, delicious scent filling the house with the hope that our delectable breakfast would be ready soon.

I remembered a discussion in the book about flour tortillas versus corn tortillas, and I thought about how I love flour tortillas, warmed, slightly toasty, with huevos con chorizo . . . and prefer the corn variety with my Oma's refried beans.

This food, this Mexican food that I equate with my grandmother's cooking, her home, her endless hospitality - this food is something I always find delicious (if prepared properly - none of that fake Tex-Mex they TRY to pass off as "Mexican food"). And it was something I craved when I was pregnant with Olivia. It makes me miss my home in El Paso with my grandparents, my homes in Arizona and New Mexico, the lands of turquoise, hot, dry heat, and natural beauty. 

There was talk in the book about javelinas, coyotes, arroyos, paloverde trees, and I was immediately back in Tucson, AZ, where I was stationed for two years. While living in the great state of Arizona, I'd occasionally see coyotes in an arroyo while on a  trail ride with Cotton, my Appendix Quarter Horse; once in a while, I'd see them if I were driving somewhere at dawn or dusk. They seemed to come out in packs in the twilight hours. And I'd see javelinas on the rare chance I had the opportunity to visit the Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum.

So many other things in the book seemed so real as I read through page after page. One night, I even dreamed I was in a dream-scene from the book! Now that was fun!

And this is what made this book so magical, so wonderful to me. It was a literary trip to lands that I love, the Southwest, my onetime home, and to Mexico, a place I've visited long ago, but would gladly visit again.

I read this book, sent to me after Molly finished it, on the promise I'd pass it along to someone else who wanted to read it. I did that; I loaned it to my Mom. However, she had none of the magical experiences I had with it. She has since finished it and given it back to me.

And because I loved the magic of this book, and it's once again in my possession, I'm thinking about going on it's adventure again. Maybe not too soon, but maybe around springtime. Just maybe.