Saturday, October 31, 2009
Monday, October 19, 2009
La Bobe Eva
The weather is amazing, but I’m quite sad and I bet it’s because of the movie I watched yesterday. It was the amazing story of three women from different generations: a grandmother, a mother, and a daughter. It made me think a lot about my fabulous grandmother, and one of the most wonderful movies I’ve seen in my life “Antonia’s Line.”
I love my grandmother with all my life. She has been one of the most important and influential figures while I was growing up, and I hate to see what had happened to her. It terrifies me.
My grandmother was one of the first women to become a doctor in Argentina. For instance, by the time she was in college there were so few female students that there were no bathrooms for them. The only three women in her cohort were allowed to share the bathroom with the professors.
She was tough, very tough, there was no way that someone weak would have been able to become a doctor when all that was expected from her was to be a good housewife. (And, she studied while having three young children, one of them my mother.)
I have no doubt that her children suffer a lot for having “that” kind of mother. She wasn’t easy. I can tell this for the very, but very little things my mom had shared with me over the years. But, I don’t want to talk about it right now. Today, it’s all about my bobe Eva.
I miss her not because she’s dead, or because she’s in Argentina, but because she’s not who she used to be anymore. My grandmother has Alzheimer, and I can’t explain how hard it is. There are no words to explain how painful and heartbreaking is seeing the person you love not recognizing you, or not remembering anything about their lives, or even your life together.
When I was in Buenos Aires in December, I asked her about María, and she told me as I was holding her hand that she didn’t know anything about me. “Since she left, I haven’t heard anything about her, I missed her.” I burst into tears. It was one of the most painful moments of my life.
I really don’t know how my mother can put up with it. I deeply admire her strength. Only my mother, or maybe any mother, can survive losing a sibling, a father, and pretty much a mother in less than a year. I wish I could be as strong as my mother.
It’s all about my mother, any mother, always.
I love my grandmother with all my life. She has been one of the most important and influential figures while I was growing up, and I hate to see what had happened to her. It terrifies me.
My grandmother was one of the first women to become a doctor in Argentina. For instance, by the time she was in college there were so few female students that there were no bathrooms for them. The only three women in her cohort were allowed to share the bathroom with the professors.
She was tough, very tough, there was no way that someone weak would have been able to become a doctor when all that was expected from her was to be a good housewife. (And, she studied while having three young children, one of them my mother.)
I have no doubt that her children suffer a lot for having “that” kind of mother. She wasn’t easy. I can tell this for the very, but very little things my mom had shared with me over the years. But, I don’t want to talk about it right now. Today, it’s all about my bobe Eva.
I miss her not because she’s dead, or because she’s in Argentina, but because she’s not who she used to be anymore. My grandmother has Alzheimer, and I can’t explain how hard it is. There are no words to explain how painful and heartbreaking is seeing the person you love not recognizing you, or not remembering anything about their lives, or even your life together.
When I was in Buenos Aires in December, I asked her about María, and she told me as I was holding her hand that she didn’t know anything about me. “Since she left, I haven’t heard anything about her, I missed her.” I burst into tears. It was one of the most painful moments of my life.
I really don’t know how my mother can put up with it. I deeply admire her strength. Only my mother, or maybe any mother, can survive losing a sibling, a father, and pretty much a mother in less than a year. I wish I could be as strong as my mother.
It’s all about my mother, any mother, always.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Beirut
From: daniel m m
Date: October 7, 2009 11:46:49 AM EDT
To: Me
Subject: Re: Jalou desde la pampa Yankee
Linda, que bueno saber de ti, pensé que te había desaparecido la larga y ajena pampa del midwest. Bueno saber que avanza el trabajo en la policiaca novela y que la vista desde el apartamento en Chicago es maravillosa; yo ando como loco laburando, mañana presentamos un libro y andamos batallando por financiamiento. En noviembre estaré por Miami, a ver si te animas a bajar a la playa y nos vemos ahí.
Mientras, un beso grande y muchos cariños,
Daniel
ahh, y Beirut es genial!
From: Me
Subject: Jalou desde la pampa Yankee
To: "Daniel M M"
Date: Thursday, October 1, 2009, 8:34 AM
Hermano,
Andaba con ganas de escribirte hace tiempo, pero bueno, vos viste como pasa el tiempo, no? Estoy aca feliz y contenta, ansiosa por el futuro, pero no tanto. Cuando solo hay mierda para comer es como que uno pierde la ansiedad de sentarse a la mesa. Aunque, confesemos, el mundo académico esta lleno de gente masoquista. Ayer vi tanto chupaculo junto, y hoy sigo. Las cosas no han cambiado. Trabajo bastante, aunque he perdido un mes entero filling applications, pero me gusta mucho aquí. Me gusta leer, investigar, pensar. No he avanzado con la escritura pero si con el research de mi novela narco y eso me tiene contenta. La verdad que esto de trabajar y vivir (trabajar para vivir,
no viceversa) no da mucho tiempo. Como bien dice mi amigo Patricio Rey, "vivir solo cuesta vida." Y ahí estamos costándonos y acostándonos. Todo esto era, en realidad,para contarte que me fascina la música que me dejaste. Fantastica y llena de energía y felicidad. Ah Cassandra Lange!!
Bueno eso es todo por ahora amiguito. Contame como te baila a vos también.
Besos y abrazos cariniosos
Date: October 7, 2009 11:46:49 AM EDT
To: Me
Subject: Re: Jalou desde la pampa Yankee
Linda, que bueno saber de ti, pensé que te había desaparecido la larga y ajena pampa del midwest. Bueno saber que avanza el trabajo en la policiaca novela y que la vista desde el apartamento en Chicago es maravillosa; yo ando como loco laburando, mañana presentamos un libro y andamos batallando por financiamiento. En noviembre estaré por Miami, a ver si te animas a bajar a la playa y nos vemos ahí.
Mientras, un beso grande y muchos cariños,
Daniel
ahh, y Beirut es genial!
From: Me
Subject: Jalou desde la pampa Yankee
To: "Daniel M M"
Date: Thursday, October 1, 2009, 8:34 AM
Hermano,
Andaba con ganas de escribirte hace tiempo, pero bueno, vos viste como pasa el tiempo, no? Estoy aca feliz y contenta, ansiosa por el futuro, pero no tanto. Cuando solo hay mierda para comer es como que uno pierde la ansiedad de sentarse a la mesa. Aunque, confesemos, el mundo académico esta lleno de gente masoquista. Ayer vi tanto chupaculo junto, y hoy sigo. Las cosas no han cambiado. Trabajo bastante, aunque he perdido un mes entero filling applications, pero me gusta mucho aquí. Me gusta leer, investigar, pensar. No he avanzado con la escritura pero si con el research de mi novela narco y eso me tiene contenta. La verdad que esto de trabajar y vivir (trabajar para vivir,
no viceversa) no da mucho tiempo. Como bien dice mi amigo Patricio Rey, "vivir solo cuesta vida." Y ahí estamos costándonos y acostándonos. Todo esto era, en realidad,para contarte que me fascina la música que me dejaste. Fantastica y llena de energía y felicidad. Ah Cassandra Lange!!
Bueno eso es todo por ahora amiguito. Contame como te baila a vos también.
Besos y abrazos cariniosos
Monday, October 5, 2009
Mercedes Sosa
Desde chiquita mi mamá siempre me hacía escucharla y me gustaba mucho. Hace un par de semanas, desde que supe que estaba mal, volví a escucharla y re-encontrarme con “Cambia todo cambia,” “Solo le pido a Dios,” “La masa,” y otros. Siempre me gusto mucho, pero debo confesar que la negra esta llena de recuerdos familiares y el regreso de la democracia. Si bien en mi casa nunca se escuchó mucha música algo había en “La Cigarra” que volvía a mi mamá vulnerable. Me acuerdo como si fuera hoy la primera vez que la ví llorar cuando un documental usaba la canción mientras mostraba la lucha de las Madres de Plaza de Mayo. También me acuerdo como si fuera hoy que en uno de los aniversarios de la AMIA preferimos no llorar nuestro dolor y cantar “La Cigarra.” A la negra por el amor, la pasión, y la garra.
Friday, October 2, 2009
My beloved Wigster
Today, for instance, by sharing your treasured music library with me. Today is raining and it’s definitely an Architecture in Helsinki day. Maybe you can owe me?
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