Archive for the ‘Nadia’ Category


January 8, 2018


She had once been a great woman. People had loved her. They had respected her. Her hats and stylish outfits were copied by all the women of her acquaintance. She walked with her head held high. Her jewels came from the finest stores—Tiffany & Co., Bulgari and Cartier. She knew how to talk to people. She knew how to listen to their problems, often forgetting that she had problems of her own.

She only wore makeup because it was expected of a woman in her position. Her brown eyes, big and expressive were her best feature.  Her skin had no blemishes. She had come up the hard way, starting at the very bottom. If I can do it, she used to tell her women friends, you can too. Look at me! Look at what I got! High society men ask me out on dates.

In her later years, no one would have guessed her splendid past. The sadness in her eyes aged her by more than 10 years. She coped by staying home as much as possible. Her friends had stopped trying to reach her a long time ago. She walked her dogs twice a day; otherwise she stayed in her safety zone.








February 3, 2017


She had them. Her eyes spoke without words. Their expression was deep and powerful. She was known as the woman with the brown eyes. The eyes told of her struggles, her attempts at getting things under control so that no one would guess the truth. She looked at you and it was understood. Her life wasn’t much  good. She lived with her animals, her 3 dogs. They were the only family she had. She could count on her animals like she couldn’t count on people. Here they are, she would say. They are the children I never had. I love them and they love me. I can’t say the same for anyone else. Where are those people anyway? I don’t see them.




The Table

November 11, 2016

A long table, made of dark wood, possibly mahogany. Several people were seated around it. Everyone had cups of coffee in front of them, either cafe con leech or espresso. The women smiled and the men flirted with them. Someone came into the room. She was an elegantly dressed woman wearing a chic light brown business suit. On her head was a small black hat, the type that women used to choose when they are going to  a cocktail party. Her left wrist was adorned with a shiny 18 carat gold and diamond/ruby bracelet. When they saw her, they all got up to greet her. She extended her hand to each and every one. The woman’s eyes shone. I am so glad to be here with you, she said. Being with my co-workers at this time of day is a treat. A man pulled out a chair for her. Here, Nadia. Please sit. She turned to look up at him. Thank you. You are so nice. Only for you, the man answered. I will remember these times long after they’re gone. She wiped a tear from her eyes. Enough. Let’s enjoy this. Waiter, more cafe con leche for all, please.

The Third

June 10, 2016

The Third

I was not perfect. It was not perfect. Ours was a complicated relationship. We spent a lot of time together. You were lacking something. There was something that you didn’t have and craved very much. I wanted to give that to you; I wished to make you experience the simple things again, like confiding in someone over a cup of coffee or two. We walked the dogs together. We were there for one another.  You were lost in the dark when I met you. The house you lived in was large but it needed cleaning. I loved you. You became my third mother. I wanted to give you more, to make the shadows under your eyes disappear. You were no burden. You were more than my friend and neighbor. You were the me that I am now.

The Week

March 30, 2016

The Week

Was it yesterday? Was it last week or did it happen long ago? Reality tells me that you went away in the 1990s; my heart doesn’t believe that. My heart says that it was recently, just a short time ago. I see your face. I understand your eyes and what you wanted to tell me when you looked at me. I wasn’t quite sure then. I didn’t know and I am so sorry. You thought you were not important to me or not important enough. I cared. I cared for you and yours. Wherever you are in Heaven, please wait for me.



June 10, 2014

I remember your eyes. I cannot forget them. Your eyes haunt me after all these years–15 long years without you. You thought you were not important. To me you were a relative, a second aunt. I loved you. I loved being with you. The house you lived in was not perfect, but to both of us, it was home. Our home.


June 10, 2013

You don’t know. You never knew how important you were. To a passer by, your appearance must have made him look the other way. Down on her luck, they must have thought. She must have seen better days, but that was long ago. I talked with you and you told me the story of your life. You had been somebody once, a successful woman that people looked at to. Then everything around you crashed. You had a hard time adapting to the new circumstances. One day you woke up and you didn’t care anymore. It didn’t mater anymore that from glamour and beautiful hats you went to squalor.



June 10, 2013



So many dear places, dear faces. I want to embrace them all. I want to hug them, hug the memories and never let them go. There was a kind magical place, and places that were hard and difficult. I had to find something in each of them, something to remind me that I had been in them.


A loving Aunt and the man I loved. And there was a woman down on her luck. She became as dear to me as a blood relative. I see her now, with her long black and white hair, her beat up sneakers and her baggy pants. I look at her as she’s walking her dogs, the black dog and his black and white half brother. I see Rubio, the third dog, the one that survived that horrible fire. Rubio and I were a family. Another dog, with a smiling face and the need that I was able to fill. I see him too. These dear ones are gone, physically gone. The time we had was brief, often too brief. My love for them is here.

I am Them

October 7, 2012

I Am Them

My Tia, my beloved Aunt, when she was evicted years ago. My friend Nadia when she was living alone and forgotten after her days of glory. I have their stories in my brain and in my soul. What they suffered, I suffered. What they felt, I felt. Now it is my turn, my turn to go through experiences that are overwhelming to say the least. My poor Tia paid 3 times the market rate in rent for a dilapidated 2 bedroom house-like apt. in Buenos Aires. That high price was illegal on the landlady’s part, but she still got away with getting the extra rent money. And my Tia had no home after all her years of hard work and honesty. Nadia lived with her 3 dogs for company. They were her family, the only family she could count on. They were there, even if the food supply was iffy, even if she couldn’t walk them as often as they needed to be walked. She was tired. My Tia was tired. She lived for 10 months after her eviction; then she gave up and closed her eyes. Nadia fought until the very last minute for her life. The dogs screamed and yelled. Nobody paid attention until the fire dept. got in and found Nadia dead clutching her house keys by the front door.

Now I am fighting a battle similar to theirs. I am evicted. I don’t know how this happened, but it is like another foreclosure. This one feels worse than the first one 7 years ago when I lost my home in GA. It is a hard blow. The experience is surreal, as if it were a horrible dream somebody made up just to make me sad. A bad dream to show me that I cannot have a home.

That Full Day

June 9, 2012

That Full Day

That morning you came to my apt. for our usual tea and pastries. You felt comfortable there. You were at home and more relaxed than in your own place, which was twice as big as mine. I loved your apt. It had a great view and a great big balcony. But you were ill and did not feel like cleaning it. It was filthy. You, once an important lady, a big time executive, now lived in squalor with 3 hungry dogs. I did what I could to clean your apt. Maybe I didn’t do enough. When you came to my place, you did the dishes and cleaned the marble counter top.

I remember well your last full morning on planet Earth. After the tea, you helped me straighten out the curtains in the living room. You stood on a chair and I called a neighbor to help us so you wouldn’t fall. I can see your bare ankles, the baggy pants and the dirty beat up sneakers you wore that day. The curtains were safe again and the neighbor stayed for a little bit. Then she and you left. I saw you once more that night. You came at around 10 with your black dog, my other special friend. There was something that you wanted. I think it must have been comfort. I tried to give it to you. Again, maybe it wasn’t enough. The fire took your life and the lives of two of the dogs. You fought bravely, you yelled for help. It came too late.