The Flavor of Our Faith/ El Sabor De Nuestra Fe Meditations on Hispanic Life and Christian Faith = El Sabor De Nuestra Fe

Shrine of Rice and Beans There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven: a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot . . . Ecclesiastes 3:1-2 When my grandmother suffered a stroke, we moved her things for the second time. We slowly filled boxes with quilts, pots and pans, picture frames, and broken music boxes. These familiar old objects had done their best to make this suburban dwelling her home. Yet ever since we had moved these very treasures in five years before, they had always seemed like orphaned children in a strange land. "Remember this?" my mother asked that day, extending a small photo album. I smiled at the black-and-white photos I had taken days before my grandmother moved from her small Brooklyn apartment. I flipped through the album and smiled at pictures that might have seemed strange to anyone else--a doorbell, a stove, a fire escape, a kitchen sink. The day I took those pictures, my grandmother, as always, had been waiting by the window. It was an image I could always count on when I went over for a visit. She blew me a kiss as I tilted my head back and captured my first picture of the day. I took another photo of the vertical row of doorbells, and one of the long staircase that led to her second-floor apartment. When I reached the open door, I gave Alela a tight hug and a loud kiss on the cheek. "Did you eat?" she asked, walking over to the stove to stir the rice. "I'm not hungry," I responded, looking at the cardboard boxes packed and ready to go. Alela lowered the flame and walked to the bedroom, leaving me alone in the kitchen. I held the camera to my face and took several pictures of the ancient stove, a shrine of rice and beans. The table nearby was empty, but I could picture members of my family in every chair, talking, laughing, and eating her delicious food. With the scent of the food in the air and these memories in my mind, I regained my appetite and filled a plate with white rice, pink beans, and roasted chicken. I ate every bite at the quiet table, then washed my dish in the tall, deep sink, where, until I was about eleven, I had needed to climb onto a chair to wash my hands. Camera in hand, I climbed through the kitchen window onto the bright yellow fire escape, where Alela's plants sat contentedly in the sun. When I was a little girl, she would let me sit out there on a folded blanket and would serve my lunch on the windowsill. The thin white curtains would sway back and forth in the breeze, as if dancing to the distant rhythm of salsa. Peering through the yellow bars, I looked down at the landlord's backyard, with the picnic table that no one ever seemed to use. I continued to wander around the apartment, packing away memories inside my little black camera until the film ran out. As I left that day, I hugged Alela good-bye and, as usual, promised to look both ways before crossing the street, to keep my eyes open for locos,* and to stand away from the edge of the subway platform. Once outside, I looked up at the window where I knew she'd be. "I love you!" I shouted, blowing kisses as I walked away. At the end of the block, I turned, to see her still leaning out of the window and waving until I turned the corner. Sitting with my mother, I closed the picture album and put it in the cardboard box with the other things I wanted to keep. One month later, my grandmother died in her hospital bed. I can no longer hold her, or taste her wonderful food, but the abundance of her love and the treasure of memories will always remain. Prayer Thank you for special people who have filled my childhood with a feast of memories. The love they've shared will continue to live beyond the number of their days. Help me to be the kind of person who will be remembered bValentin, Karen is the author of 'The Flavor of Our Faith/ El Sabor De Nuestra Fe Meditations on Hispanic Life and Christian Faith = El Sabor De Nuestra Fe', published 2004 under ISBN 9780385510769 and ISBN 0385510764.