Dear Maria,

You asked for a memory of your Dad, but he was only a sound in the background because the cousins are what I remember. Margie stayed with the young aunts, Nora, Vangie and Theresa. I hung out with the boys, with Stevie as our leader.

I remember Sunday mornings driving down a dirt road to the white washed adobe house, dust clouds and cars converging under the cottonwood.

The women, Ninfa, Sally, Theresa, and Rachel, maybe Emily and Soila, prepared the meal. While the men, Ben, Jesus, Tony and Prospero, Solomon and Joe gathered on chairs in the front yard with Grandpa. The kids assembled in groups according to age and interests then disappeared from the adults leaving them to talk in Spanish, laughing and teasing each other.

The younger ones stayed with the teenage aunts

some, mostly girls, gathered inside to play dolls

and the rest ran off into the hills to play in the junkyard.

We discovered refrigerators

with the doors torn off, an old stove,

pots and pans and cooking utensils,

an ancient tractor with a metal seat

and a large cold steering wheel.

A favorite item was the Model T

with rusty springs under the front seat

that squeaked and squeaked when

we bounced on them

Wooden crates arranged in the back

helped us climb through the windows

like garden snakes slipping in and out

and onto the roof.

We played with the discarded treasures

pretending we were grown-ups

but when dinner was ready it was time to return.

There was lots of laughter, and plenty of food

always a cousin to play with and something to do.