A Cat’s Tale

My Mom’s Mom

My grandmother was active for her age. She drove her own car, insisted in taking care of herself and didn’t like living in a senor apartment complex. She didn’t like being around seniors, but I think she just didn’t like being around people in general. She was headstrong and never afraid to stand up for herself; she was feisty with an iron-will, tough and could be as mean as a hungry lioness if she felt slighted. I saw her get angry at times, and when she was, she put fear in the devil’s eyes. She was small in frame and had black, tight curly hair that she always complained about. I don’t remember her smiling very much, although when she laughed, she would let loose with a burst of glee that lifted the energy in the room.

I loved my grandmother but we never had a very close relationship while I was growing up. I called her “mom’s mom”, not grandma. I don’t remember ever hugging her, but of all my grandparents, I was the closest to my “mom’s mom”. I spent many days at her house but it was during my recovery that I grew to appreciate her, and also because I didn’t know much about her, I gravitated to know more about her life. She always seemed to be happiest when the whole family was together although, there was always a sense of sadness behind my grandmother’s eyes even in good times. It seemed best not to test her disposition not knowing if I tugging on the lioness’ tale or my grandmother’s apron string. Our relationship was atypical and yet, I have the best memories made possible by my grandmother.

In my youth, my fondest memories of the holidays are the ones I spent at my grandmother’s house. On Christmas Eve, her living room was decorated with the largest tree I had ever seen and packed with presents, loud laughter, and full with seasonal scents of fresh tamales warming the house. My uncles were all there, laughing and taking food off the table while waiting for the tamales to finish cooking. At midnight my grandmother, mother and aunt would go to midnight mass. My cousin and I pretended to sleep while we waited for Santa Claus or for church to end, whichever happened first. At close to one o’clock in morning, everyone gathered around the living room piled high with wrapped boxes of all sizes. My grandfather knelt at the base of the Christmas tree while holding his pipe between his lips, and as master of ceremonies he handed out the gifts. He would hold onto a gift just a second longer to build anticipation, then with a twinkle in his eye that sparkled with joy, he would lay the present in our lap. As a kid, Christmas was magical at my grandmother’s house.

Thanksgiving holidays were more of the same. The large table was loaded with food with the largest plate of turkey always set for my uncle Jim. It didn’t matter which holiday or special occasion, my grandmother was the last one to sit down or to be served. She worked hard to make our times together special. My other good memories of my grandmother, were of when she told us stories about the early days.

I recall one evening, while the door and windows were open to let in a summer breeze, the family was together at the kitchen table. In the evenings, we rarely watched TV, instead we gathered and ate peach desserts made from the peaches my grandfather grew on the side of the house. The adults drank black coffee and smoked cigarettes, while we all were careful not to eat a worm from a fresh peach. A whole worm was no big deal, a half worm was a problem. I remember a lot of laughter, and good food sitting at the table. The only time everyone wasn’t talking at once, was when my mom’s mom started to go into one of her unbelievable stories. Her favorites were of when she and the family lived in railroad boxcars traveling through Arizona and New Mexico. She and my grandfather, who worked for the Santa Fe railroad and maintained the tracks for the trains, were raising my uncles and aunt. They were still kids back then. It was typical the workers and families lived in the boxcars, making the workers available to work and repair the tracks on the long empty, stretch of desert.

When my grandmother described how she lived day to day, we gasped at her rudimentary conditions. They ate eggs they collected from the chickens, hand washed their cloths and shared the bath water! She took it all in stride and pride. I believe the experiences is what made her tough and resilient. Although, when she spoke about passing through the Indian reservations, her voice always became exhilarated and her hands became more animated. It was evident she revered and was fascinated by the Navajo Indians. She described how impressive they looked with their long dark hair, leather clothes and fine beadwork,. She told us about the nights she heard the drums and yelps of the dancing Indians during Pow Wows. When I asked if she watched them dance, my grandmother said she always stayed in the boxcar at night because the Indians sometimes got drunk and mean. During the day she traded goods with Indians, giving them items Santa Fe had provided, such as blankets, dishes and extra food. The Indians in turn gave her silver, jade jewelry, dolls and other handmade goods. She said she gave most of Indian hand-crafts away but that, she had kept a few of the jewelry items. I never got to see the jewelry. However, I do remember the small Indian dolls she had on shelves and wondered if she had gotten them from the Navajos. They were decorated with little white dresses, moccasins, and had long black hair. My grandmother gave us a majestic view of the Indians, far from the weak view we were given from television and cowboy movies. My grandmother was very much impressed by the experiences and it was apparent by how she spoke about them. Although, it was not the only impression she gave us.

“One night in the summer it was dark and quiet,” my grandmother at the kitchen table begin telling us. “We were living in the boxcar on the railroad tracks.” At this point, we settled in and let my grandmother begin to tell her story.

“Any time the boxcar stopped, we were in the middle of the desert. There was nothing around us. There was no town or people for miles. We didn’t have a car back then. It was hot too. At night we sat outside because we didn’t have TV or air-conditioning. That night, all the families were sitting outside in the middle of nowhere, but I remember the moon was very bright. I think we were in New Mexico. After we finished eating, everyone sat around and talked. I remember it was calm, and all of sudden, a light flew into the campsite. It scared us.”

“A light?” I asked.

“It was a ball of light, about twice as big than this.” My grandmother held up a large peach in her hands. “It flew in, right in the middle of everyone, stayed in the air for a second, right in front of us, then it chased a cat under a boxcar and disappeared. We didn’t know what it was or what happened to the cat. Everyone got scared. We were in the middle of the desert. We didn’t know how a light could do that. It just went real fast at the cat. We couldn’t find the cat. It was gone.” My grandmother looked at us with a serious look on her face.

“Did you see it again?” My cousin asked.

“No. That was the only time.”

“Did you ever find out what it was,” I wanted to know more.

 My grandmother said, “We asked the Indians if they saw it. They said no, but told us it was an evil spirit. It was looking for someone to take. They said not to look for it or the cat.”

! remember feeling a cold chill up my back and over my face when she said it was an evil spirit. Everyone was quiet, as we glanced at each other. I had to ask, “Do you think it was, an evil spirit?”

“Oh yes, I saw it. That’s why you have to be careful at night, they’re out there.”

I couldn’t help but look at the open kitchen door behind me and wanting to close it. I think my grandmother got a chuckle from scaring us, then again, she never joked about the evil spirits.

(Passage was edited out from early drafts of the book “Gutless”)