Concha

Sometimes there is nothing better than a reconnection. Concha was a close friend of my mother's who, in 1996, hosted a three-generational trip to Ecuador for my daughter, my mother and me. It was wonderful in every respect. For me, It was a return to Ecuador, a country I love. For my mother, it was a trip with her daughter and granddaughter to see old friends while in remission from the cancer that would be her nemesis. For my daughter, it was her first, but not her last, exposure to another culture.

We have so many stories and so many ties. I still make the Ecuadorian recipes I collected that summer. Concha told me that her youngest son has three children now. He was a baby when we first met, and I have a little silver christening cup favor in my china cabinet to commemorate the day. My mother had a deep and abiding envy of Concha's ability to swing a scarf around her neck and have it look just right. On the other hand, they shared the need for tweezers always at the ready when they traveled by car together one summer. Neither could abide the molestia of a stray hair for even a minute. I also reminded Concha of the story I have told so often; when her children were young, they were all assigned to a piece of pre-Columbian art to shield in the event of an earthquake. They all survived and so did the Pre-Columbian art, now housed in a museum, presumably left to it's fate in the event of a tremor--no small children in pajamas to keep it whole.

I was sad to hear that the political situation has made it impossible for them to continue living in Ecuador. It is hard to imagine the country without them there to welcome me back. Nevertheless, I was so happy to talk to her again, as if no time had passed. A cliche, but like many, repeated for the truth it holds.