A lovely lady named Irma used to live in the first story of my grandparent's home in the Bronx. Irma and her husband Fidi would watch me from time to time; I'd have dinner with them and Irma would push me on the swing out back. Fidi would drive me to kindergarten. He was so sweet and you can see how much he and Irma adored each other. My mom loved her because she was warm and genuine and funny. Also because Irma was an artist coming into her own and my mom loved art. She often wished Irma was her mother.
Irma's 88 years old now and recently wrote me a letter stating she's working on a book about her life and all the places she's lived (like New York, Miami, Spain and Argentina). She never remarried and I'm sure continues to create art.
My mother's planning a month long visit to Argentina in December, along with my grandmother and bro, and if all goes well I'm setting off with them to see this amazing creature. I feel as if she's going to help me put things in perspective.
I'm sad to admit I never kept up with my spanish so I had to use an online translator to help me write a response. I emailed it to my mother to proof-read. I went to Argentina for a month as a child and when I returned to America I had forgotten how to speak English. Maybe being submerged in the culture again I'll pick words up a little.
Here are some photos included in her letter:
