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Abuela’s Basement
I hear “no” a lot at my abuela’s house. It’s easy to understand because it’s same in Spanish as in English.
“No, niña, no tocas los Hummels.” Abuela loves her Hummel figurines. Abuelo gave them to her a long time ago, and they all have their own special place on her book shelves and in her curio cabinet. I love them too. Especially the Little Drummer Boy, with his black top hat and the little dog at his feet, but I’m not allowed to touch.
“No, niña, no juegas con mi maquina.” Abuela has an old-fashioned sewing machine with a foot treadle that rocks up and down, making the needle raise and lower. Her mother used it to make the family’s clothes when Abuela was little. When you rock it really fast, it whirrs and pushes back at your foot, nudging it up and down. It’s so hard not to play with it!
“No, niña, no comes las tortillas.” That’s the hardest “no” of all. I love the tortillas best when they are hot off the comal. I listen to the “szzz szzz szzz” of them cooking and can hardly wait to eat their floury goodness – but Abuela says not until dinner.
But when my primos arrive, we all get to go down to Abuela’s basement – the one place in the house where no one ever says “no.” The rest of Abuela’s house is neat as a pin, but the basement… well the basement has to be seen to be believed. The basement is where Abuela keeps her “tesoros” – all the stuff she’s collected at garage sales and thrift stores and church bazaars for years and years.
The whole room is piled floor to ceiling with these treasures – necklaces and noodle strainers on newspapers and nightstands; poker chips and potato peelers on parkas and postcards. My six primos and I can play hide and seek among the stacks for hours and never find each other!
We can be explorers looking for adventure with Abuela’s old roadmaps, or movie stars with her clip-on earrings and high-heeled shoes. We can cook a make-believe feast with rolling pins and measuring spoons and eat it on the cracked plastic dishes.
I love Abuela’s basement, but Abuelo didn’t love it so much. Many years before I was born, Abuelo almost got rid of all those lovely cositas.
Abuelo liked things neat as a pin. He liked knowing where everything was and having everything in order, and Abuela’s collection in the basement made him crazy. One day he looked at the basement and told my abuela, “Ya no! You have too much stuff! The boys and I will pack it up and take it to the dump.” He expected my abuela to cry and plead, but she surprised him.
“Whatever you think is best,” she said. And she watched Abuelo and Papí and my tios load everything into a truck. Boxes and bags and birdcages and beach balls all got thrown in the back of the truck, and when they were all done, Abuela even tucked a ten dollar bill into Abuelo’s shirt pocket.
“So much work, carrying all those things up the stairs,” she said. “Maybe you’ll want to stop to get some tortas on your way out of town?”
Abuelo loved the tortas at Rudolfo’s Cafe. He patted his pocket and smiled. He and the boys got in the truck and waved to Abuela as they drove off. Abuela smiled and waved back and went into the kitchen to finish cooking her tortillas.
Abuelo and the boys were so tired after loading up the truck, they almost forgot about the tortas. Papí saw Rudolfo’s just before they passed it and reminded Abuelo. Papí never forgets when good food is involved.
Abuelo, Papí, and the tios laughed as they ate, remembering all the crazy things they found in Abuela’s basement: cameras without lenses, candles without wicks, coffee mugs without handles.
They had just finished the sandwiches, fat and drippy with steak, beans, and crema, when Papí looked out the window into the parking lot.
He saw the truck. He saw Abuela’s backside sticking out of the truck. He saw all of her cositas flying from the truck into her station wagon.
By the time Abuelo paid the bill and he and the boys raced out into the parking lot, all they could see was Abuela’s car rounding the corner, headed toward home.
When Abuelo and the boys looked in the back of the truck, it was empty except for a deck of playing cards and a broken umbrella.
Abuelo knew when he was beat. Abuela kept her tesoros and Abuelo never said another word as her collection grew and grew.
And now, thanks to clever Abuela and her station wagon, I have my favorite place in the world, where I can go and explore and do and be whatever I want, and no one ever says “No” – in English or in Spanish.
