I don't remember meeting her, the only thing I have from her is a claddagh ring and a paper she wrote in high school. After reading it I feel like we would have been really close. She is a remarkable woman, and I'm so glad we're related.
"Somethings there are that I love. I can't touch them with my mind, but I can feel them with my heart. They are warm and moving...they are situations, sights and scents; somethings there are that I love-Park Avenue, as it runs through Harlem, with its profusion of color and its cosmopolitan odor; icy fingers clutching roasted chestnuts bought from a vendor on a street corner; ...flowers from Central Park -across-the-street, planted in a glass on the window sill; ...the feel of Grandma's magic hand that caught the lizard in Italy; the rhythm in Daddy's movements as he danced me to sleep after his own hectic day at work; ...Momma singing "Cuban Lullaby" as she put me to bed; ...Patsy-the-pizza-seller on Third Avenue; the adventure of sleeping on the fire-escape on 'muggy' nights-These things I remember, and I love. These memories are personal yet public-"public" in the sense of people and places; public, as well, in the universality of ones emotions upon remembering the past- ones own small world gone forever, but ever present.
Bigger things there are that I love - the stillness of the earth before a storm - the voices of the people hushed in expectation; ...the wind blowing wildly along the beach at the end of the day; black trees silhouetted against a red sky; ...the force and strength of thunder and lightning; ...the sound of a train whistle in the distance on a foggy night; ...a walk through the ever enveloping fog which creates and aura of mystic beauty; ...the waltz theme from "Carousel" when I'm alone; ...cuddling a small child whose tiny face is withered in returning smiles; ...a puppy's wet nose against my cheek; ...these things I love.
Crying over written words; ...laughing over Dad's exaggerated Andalusion tales; ...the tranquility of the house of God as I kneel in prayer; ...that inexplicable great-to-be-alive feeling I get without logical or practical reason; ...the awe I feel at the sight of a Renaissance painting or at the breath catching sound of Chopin's music; ...the "near-bursting" sensation I get when someone lives up to my idealistic standards; ...all these things I love; and what is more, these are the things that will never disappear or vanish, for they are ever present in some unaccountable, unknown recess of my being. "
-Mariangela Villegas
No comments:
Post a Comment