…But it was important to me; Part I

I believe we find ourselves again and again; discovering new interests and skills, finding new ways to care for and love ourselves, or meeting new people who shape us for better or worse. We also find ourselves reflected in those that we already know. There are moments we catch glimpses of who we are, or even WHY we are, enmeshed in someone else’s life, story, and being. In some moments we don’t just find ourselves, but we SEE ourselves mirrored in someone else entirely. 

I grab my phone, put my headphones on and press play. I hear “good morning Chiquini, we start today.” And it finally begins; the retelling of my grandmother’s entire life in snippets of recordings she sends me daily. One Chiquini and one Titi embarking on a brand new adventure that depends solely on the retelling of an old one. 

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This is her story; The Beginnings

I was born in La Paz Bolivia, on August 11th, 1934 to Fernando Velasco James and Alicia Velazquez de Velasco. I have two younger brothers; Fernando and Manuel. The three of us were very, very close. After many years my two little sisters were born; Chi Chi and Patty. Patty, the youngest, was 17 years younger than me. I will talk more about them later. 

The Shoes

We left La Paz when I was three years old. I have no big memories of my first few years there of course, but I remember the smell of my mother’s perfume, images of light being projected off the glass windows, and a very specific shade of green. It is funny, the older I get the more vivid those first memories become. Certain colors, smells, flashes of light just seem to wash over me, taking me back more than 80 years. Most recently the color green has been coming to me a lot. While I only remember the color, I have heard the story many times from my mother. I had these beautiful green shoes when I was about 2 or 3 years old. We were walking outside and I saw this woman and her baby on the side of the road and her baby was barefoot. My mother told me I took off my shoes and gave them to the baby. The mother did not not want to accept them but my mother said “no she wants to do it, let her keep the shoes.” A little bit of that memory has stayed with me since, if only in just the color. 

My mom was more of a friend to me. She was only 17 when I was born she was more from my generation than my father’s. She loved playing dolls with me, making their clothes and throwing them tea parties. She had such a great sense of humor and her children came before anything. I could come to her with anything and she would listen. Oh, how I loved my mom. The only thing I didn’t like was that she was too humble in some ways. She would put everyone before her, give every piece of herself and stay behind. I don’t understand why she did that, I never truly understood that. 

The Cuckoo Clock

My first real memories started when we moved to Oruro, where I lived most of my childhood. My dad was an accountant for a Swedish Company and got transferred there for a job. I will never forget our first apartment we moved into. It was on the second floor of a big building with huge rooms, but it didn’t have a bathroom. We had to walk all the way to the end of the building any time we needed to use the restroom. I was too little to go by myself, so my mother had to take me. I just remember this long wooden walkway leading there. 

I also remember Christmas and there are some pictures from our first Christmas there that we must find. I got a tricycle and my brother Fernando got a toy car. I was dressed in these pink silk pajamas and my hair was short and curly. I remember that. 

My parents had also inherited a wooden cuckoo clock, that I remember well. One night I could hear my father talking about how he couldn’t sleep the night before because he could hear cats outside fighting. The next night they woke up to a loud banging which we thought were the cats again. My father went out into the living room and there was a thief trying to get the cuckoo clock down. It was 3:00 in the morning. I remember this because the clock chimed on the hour and the bird popped out startling the thief, which caused him to drop the clock. He dropped the clock and he ran out of the apartment. My dad, having witnessed this, ran after him. My dad ran for 3 blocks barefooted in pajamas and actually caught him. My mom and the maid came running after him carrying brooms. They kept him there until the police came. I had to stay with a neighbor during all of the commotion. At the time I didn’t know what exactly was happening but I remember people running, yelling and for weeks after my dad had to soak his feet. He had blisters all over them from running outside and had to soak them every night and wear special slippers to work. I remember THAT very vividly. 

So that was just an exciting thing that happened in my early life that I will always remember. 

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I sit and sip my morning tea as I listen to story after story. Each clip is no more than 8 minutes. Most are about 2-5 minutes long, filled with specific memories as they rush back. A lot of “one more thing” or “I just thought of.” At the beginning of one I hear “well wow, this special whatever you want to call it brings back a lot of memories that I am trying to put into perspective but I don’t know how. So, I will let my Chiquini do it. I will just tell you important antidotes and people in my life. Some may sound unimportant, but just know they were important to me.”

So here is the beginning of our ‘special thing,' even though we don’t know quite what that is yet. I am doing my best to translate moments, memories, to take pieces from 88 years, and turn it into a completed puzzle. In the end my job is to translate her “important” and make it important to you too.