WHILE MY surviving Gringa relatives — all two of them — above the Rio Bravo have vanished, lamentably, into the shadows of the past, I have no lack of family that I’ve married into.
I took this shot downtown earlier this week. One of the newer relatives is that smaller example in the middle. Her name is Paula Romina, and she’s very nice, not quite 2 years old.
Paula Romina thinks my child bride hung the moon.
And so do I. That’s not my child bride holding Paula Romina, however. That’s her mama, Margarita.
This young woman is named Alma, which is Spanish for soul. She is the widow of our nephew who died two years ago at 32 from cancer. We took the nephew to the state capital for chemo treatments almost weekly for a year, but it did not work out.
They are good people. Buena gente.* A picnic is scheduled this afternoon, and the main dish will be roasted chicken.
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* With a couple of exceptions.