I was very fortunate to have known my paternal grandmother and maternal grandfather. My maternal grandmother died when my mother was only two years old, and my paternal grandfather died when my father was about twelve. They all lived in a time when illnesses had little chance of being treated in our country, especially for people in the countryside, as all my grandparents were.
We spent our August vacations with my grandfather Eusebio. Every August we would leave Caracas and head to Carora, in the west of the country, to visit my grandfather. At that time, he had young children, much younger than me. I found it hard to understand how this man, who was my mother's father and already quite old, could have children who were only six or seven years old.
My mother didn't explain anything to me; she just told me they were my uncles and aunts. What she didn't ask me to do was to ask them for their blessing, something they surely wouldn't understand.
I also had a hard time understanding why those little brothers and sisters asked my mother, their sister, who was one of my grandfather's older daughters, for her blessing. But that's how family customs are in our country. There are places where younger siblings are accustomed to asking their older siblings for their blessing, especially when there is a large age difference between them.
I remember my grandfather in the afternoons when we went to collect the goats and take them to the corral. At that time, he always asked us to stay away from the fence, which was made of pieces of cují wood, a tree typical of that semi-desert area. The reason for my grandfather's warning was that the goats would run into the pen, and if we were nearby and not careful, they could knock us to the ground.
Beyond those moments, I don't have many memories of staying with my grandfather.
I lived with my paternal grandmother for many years, and my other siblings and I were the ones who took her to the cemetery. She died at a fairly advanced age, and my dad was the only one of her children who had sons; all the other children of those siblings were girls.
My grandmother was a very hard-working woman. I remember that at one time she was a seamstress and made all kinds of dresses, even wedding dresses. But at some point she gave up that work. She said that “the science” had come to her, and she began to see people's futures through a glass of water lit by a candle.
With this new job, she had people coming to see her all day long. I was impressed by the number of people who came to consult with my grandmother on a wide variety of topics. She started her activities in the morning. She took a half-hour break for lunch and then continued working until nine or ten at night. She kept up this routine from Monday to Saturday, her only day off being Sunday.
With such an intense work routine, it was almost impossible for Grandma to spend time with her grandchildren who lived nearby. The only day she had to spend with us was Sunday, when we had a family breakfast and she asked us how we were doing in school.
As Christmas approached, Grandma would ask us what gifts we were going to ask the Baby Jesus for, a custom in our country that consists of asking the Baby Jesus for gifts on the morning of December 25, the moment of his birth according to Christian tradition.
Every Sunday afternoon we would go to Mass and then go out for ice cream at one of my grandmother's favorite ice cream shops. My grandmother loved to order huge ice creams served in tall glasses with a sweet and tasty cookie tube in the middle.
Occasionally, this routine was broken and the whole family would go to the beach, which was another great moment because Grandma loved to walk barefoot on the sand looking at the half-buried shells and asking us to dig them out. This is perhaps my fondest memory of all the years I spent with Grandma Blanca, as she was called.
As I mentioned at the beginning, I have always been grateful to life for allowing me to know at least these two grandparents. I know very little about the others; their lives remain shrouded in mystery.
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Logo creado por @themanualbot