Letters from NYC

History Lost

When I was 14 years old I was having a hard time dealing with, and being in the middle of, two feuding divorcing parents.

My grandmother was my saving grace. I had stopped writing her letters and she decided to visit one weekend to see what was going on. While there she saw the kind of tension and bickering I was enduring and decided I was to return with her. It was the best thing she ever did for me that summer. It was the first summer ever where I truly tasted what being independent was all about.

Since she lived in the country all the commercial stores, what few they had, were very far away. Every evening she would come up with an errand for me to do after I finished my chores. As I was leaving, she would give me her blessing and tell me not to hurry back and to go out and have some adventures to tell her after dinner. My exploration of the countryside taught me how to love nature in it's unadulterated form.

On my expeditions I would bring a canvas military bag with a canteen of water, a pocket knife, a magnifying glass and a small pencil and notebook. While on my expedition I would pick deliciously ripe fruit (which was plentiful) and sit either by the river or on the side of the road to eat my bounty. Along the way I'd either sketch or write some fanciful story to share with my grandmother during our after dinner conversation, usually while she crocheted or did needle point. She didn't have a TV, she always said it stifled creativity and dulled the senses and the social graces. Now looking back and hearing how all my co-workers talk is some episode on a reality TV show, I see that she was right.

So every night after dinner she would sit and listen to some interesting story of adventure I had and would weave in along the way questions that would lure my curiosity towards some event of the town's history or some anecdote of our family history. It was during these times that I learned of Franco's repressive regime and the lengths he went to crush the democratic movement. It was during those times that she taught me about historical documents such as the Magna Carta and the bill of rights and about political systems like parliamentary democracies and Fascism. The education I received every night fueled my imagination and thirst for knowledge.

It was very hard for me to return home at the end of the summer. No amount of wishing was able to prevent that. One thing that helped ease the pain was the ring I received on my last night there. As my grandmother twisted her wedding ring on her hand she told me the story of the ring and how it had been passed down from mother to daughter for over 100 years. She also told me brief stories of how each young woman received the ring. They were incredible stories of love, faith and strength.

My grandmother received the ring shortly before she sailed out of Spain to escape fascism to live in freedom. Her mother gave it to her as a reminder that she came from a very long line of strong women, and a profound reminder that she was truly loved, no matter how far apart she was from her family. Those were the same words she whispered to me as she slipped the ring on my finger all those many years ago.

On Sunday I lost that beloved ring that had been so inspirational and comforting to me throughout the years. So I'm just sitting here being down in the dumps over having lost such a precious family ring, and with it such rich history and great love. A ring I had worn every day for the past 6 years.

Posted by Michele at July 13, 2005 09:55 PM | TrackBack