this is a photo of my mom and dad that was taken shortly after they were married in the 40s, post WWII.
my dad was 1st generation spanish. fiery and exciteable. passionate about many things, most notably, my mother.
my mom, a nebraska farm girl, was as wholesome and down to earth as fresh baked bread.
my two grandmothers were as different as could be: my dad's mom was short and plump. she was born in a small town in spain. she moved to los angeles in her teens, where she met and married my grandfather, who, strangely, was actually from the same area in spain. they did not meet until journeying separately to america.
my other grandmother, tall and pretty, was a nebraska farm wife.
she and my grandfather packed up my mother, their only child, and moved to los angeles in the 1940s.
dinner at my spanish grandmother's meant six different courses, all of them delicious. fresh, home made broth with fideo noodles. salads and stews and roasts and vegetables, all of them with a mediterranean flavor.
dinner at my mom's mother's house was all about farm food: fried chicken, corn on the cob, cream gravy, biscuits and pies.
i long for both of their cooking.
the two sides of my family came together happily, and often.
big family dinners, with lively talk (much of it in spanish) and too much food. it was always multi-generational and included aunts, uncles, and cousins (first, second and distant).
my family is small now. my parents are both gone, and the children of my generation have not yet married.
the cousins have scattered and we mostly have lost touch. it saddens me.
i embrace my roots, and am glad for the influence both of my grandmothers had in my life.
one, spanish lace.
the other, calico.
