Dear friends,

I’m having trouble finding the right place to start this month. I’m currently on a break from work and sometimes when things stop, they scatter. It’s like when your arms are full but you have everything balanced. You’re good. You can keep going but then when you stop, when you try to put down one thing…all the other things fall too.

This is not some coded cry for help. It’s just me saying that all the things are all over the floor and I can’t seem to get them into an order that seems cohesive to share.

So because of that I’m taking a bit of a shortcut this month. Instead of my usual Bold and Bookish format, I’m sharing with you a short story I wrote many years ago. It’s in honor of my grandmother, Ines.

She told the most beautiful, vivid stories about her homeland, Cuba. Years later as a young adult, I remembered those stories and used them to inspire the magic in my novel. I also used them to write this short story. It was my way of coping with the reality that I would lose her one day. And it was my way of finding some beauty and peace in all of that.

I hope you like it. While you read, I’m going to go clean things up in the hopes that next month I’ll have some clearer thoughts to share with you.

Even in the mess, I’m glad you’re here.

This is how I imagined it:

On the day my grandmother was born the entire island of Cuba danced.

The soil shook, the trees spun, and the river leapt.

On the day my grandmother was born her island sang, 

You will have a beautiful life.

As she grew, the island was her dearest friend.

Every morning the sun woke her, brushing her face with its beams.

She lived on a rich farm filled with everything her wild spirit could ever need.

She would run through the tall grass filling her hair with the breeze.

When she was hungry the trees reached down to her,

their elegant limbs offering fruit.

And when the days grew hot she would dive into the river,

its strong waves rising to meet her.

As my grandmother grew her father saw that her mind grew as well.

She was smart and curious so he sent her to the capitol where she could go to school.

Havana was different from the farm with its strange sounds and smells.

But my grandmother heard the noise and turned it into music.

She saw the commotion and turned it into poetry.

She learned and she grew. Several years later she graduated from university.

And now, she said. I will teach the children of my country.

And the sun, who was always watching, beamed with pride. 

When my grandmother was a young woman she met my grandfather and she loved him deeply.

We will move to America, he said. 

And so she left her beloved island. 

This is how I imagined it:

On the day my grandmother left Cuba

The sun dimmed,

the wind was still,

the trees bowed their heads

and the river barely swayed.

Adios mi isla, she said,

her heart so heavy it hurt to breathe.

I will miss you, but I carry you with me always. 

She closed her eyes, held fast to her faith.

She moved forward, determined to have a beautiful life.

I imagined she must have been terrified, stepping off that plane with a suitcase containing clothes and a few books.

But she tells me she felt only curiosity.

I imagined she must have been angry, when love did not turn out to be all it had promised.

But she tells me she sees only the priceless gifts that are her children and now her grandchildren. 

I imagined her heart must have broken during the days when Cuba changed and closed and became unrecognizable.

Perhaps her heart did break, but she spoke of how the sun would shine brighter, the trees would grow taller and the winds of change would one day find their way back to her beloved island.

When my grandmother was an old woman she lived alone on the 11th floor of a tall building in Queens. 

Her hair turned white like a superhero and her body stayed strong like one too. 

She insisted on running and leaping and dancing long after we all knew it was wise for her to do so. 

She sang songs that she remembered, and some she made up.

She told stories, wrote poems, and created things no one else had ever thought of. 

One day, when I am grown, I turn to her and I say,

Patta, I am afraid that one day you will leave me here alone.

And on that day I fear the sun won’t shine, 

the trees will splinter and the wind will tear me apart. 

Mi tesoro, she says, There is nowhere I can go that will take me away from you.

When I leave this world my bones will go back to the trees, 

my voice will go back to the wind and my heart will return to the sun.

She closes her eyes and smiles up at the sky. 

I will see every moment of your beautiful life.

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Last month’s challenge was to make a Creative Summer Bingo Card with ideas for little quests to shake up your summer. Also…there were stickers!

Much loves,

Cat