And here I come again

The oldest, the most handsome, the smart one and the first that left us. He was my father’s dad. He had many, many grandchildren and, I was just one of them. The one born after four, five or six -who would be still counting. And another girl. Probably, if I would have been a boy, he would have given me some more attention.  My older brother was the only male in that batch of kids- being 11 months my older. My cousin Peter, was the second, being 13 months my younger. This left me stuck in the middle of a litter of kids, not been quite remarkable to his eyes. But, there is always a but, genetics worked on my side, and out of all those children, the one that actually resembled more to him -and his wife- was me. From his side, I got the eyes shape and beautifully, carefully shaped eyebrows. His expression too, specially, when we show a fierce gaze. From his wife, I got the little nose, the big mouth, and a wide generous smile, showing fantastic teeth. I was almost identical to my d...

Algunas noches me cuelo en su baño, y nos lavamos los dientes juntos. A la vez, frotando y puliendo esmalte dental. Unos mejor. Otros peor. Otros rematadamente mal. Ayer nos quedamos las chicas en el baño. Ella se enredaba en la boca, una boca que perdía dientes a gran velocidad, para reemplazarlos por premolares y caninos tamaño adulto. En su cuerpo de mujer miniatura, los dientes van despidiendo su infancia y dando la bienvenida a su madurez, anticipándose a todo lo demás, como esos adolescentes estúpidos que juegan a ser mayores demasiado pronto. Yo usaba la luz “de interrogatorio” de su cuarto de baño para explorar mi cabello. Todo empezó con una cana. Impertinente. Retorcida. Presentando distintos planos y requiebros para brillar más fuerte. No sé si era fea. Igual tengo que reevaluar mi diccionario personal de belleza, pero era escandalosamente brillante. No era blanca. Era platino. Metálica. Parece que he tardado 43 años en aprender a hacer pelos de dos colores, unos negros ...

  It started with a nice thought shared in twitter: “And then, most likely, clouds are wondering about which shape we do have.” In a beautiful morning of December, we all started to pretend to be those clouds, looking to our world with curiosity, trying to find us a shape to match and, further observing to understand how everything behaved. It was fun, a great game that the kids took enthusiastically. We were sharing wonder, and funny remarks. I love to see my children engaged on any sort of imaginative thinking, specially now, that they are growing quite big, and are about to leave childhood behind. At some point, I added a thought, but B said: “No, mummy, they cannot see that. Clouds are high up in the sky to be able to get to see those details.” “Well… when they are too curious, they come down to see better, it´s called FOG”. I was feeling sharp and poetic, proud of my own line.  “Mummy that was clever”, said B. A few seconds of glory for me followed, till m...