Mandatory family visits were an important part of my life as a young person living with my parents. It was an unwelcome obligation as I grew into my teen years, but in the early days it was so very natural. Didn’t every family do this family visiting thing?

At least once a week, we visited my great-grandmother, Maria Arias Martinez.  She lived with one of her youngest daughters, my Great-aunt Maria and her husband, Joe.  My paternal grandmother, Felicidad Acosta, was her eldest child

My sister, Karen and brother, Frank, and I would walk in the front door of the smallish Spanish style house on Plaza Serena in Ontario, California, and there she would be sitting in her chair — or throne as we kids called it — in a dark corner of the living room where she reigned.

One at a time, we would approach the chair/throne and greet her with our limited set of Spanish sentences and phrases.  “Buenos dias, Abuela.  Como esta’ usted.”  We used the formal expression, not the familiar.  Oh no.  You wouldn’t be familiar with Queen Elizabeth, would you?

We would then kiss her on the cheek – or was it the hand?

She would smile – not beam — but truly seemed pleased to see us.

For the most part she did not rise from her chair/throne, but sometimes we did see her in motion.

She might be making raviolis – the pasta sheet spread out on the kitchen table.  Once she had the filling spread on the bottom sheet of pasta, the second layer of pasta would go on top.  She had a special rolling pin that shaped the little pockets of ravioli and a rolling tool that cut the ravioli into the individual tiny dumplings.

Now, raviolis were not a Spanish dish, but Joe, Maria’s husband, was Italian, so maybe they were for him?  I never thought of that before.  Was Great-grandmother thoughtful and did she like Joe?  I don’t believe I ever saw them communicate verbally, but that’s not fair since I wasn’t there daily.  However, I do recall that Uncle Joe did spend lots of time in his man-cave behind the garage in the backyard – and so did we, but that’s another story.

Sometimes she invited us into the kitchen to take a seat at the table while she made us delicious coffee with lots of hot milk and sugar and a small dollop of coffee in big, white cups.  I can still smell it and taste it – the perfect caramel color.

Maria and Joe were the first people to own a television in the extended family, and we often gathered on Fridays or Saturdays with many other family members to watch wrestling or a variety show – Spade Cooley, Ina Ray Hutton and her All Girl Band, and later Ed Sullivan.

Of course, Great-Grandma had the best seat in the house – that easy chair in the corner, but we kids were content to sit on the floor and stare at the green bubble screen, fascinated by it just as much as my granddaughter is fascinated with her cellphone.

I never knew Grandma Martinez’ husband, my great-grandfather, Joaquin Martinez.  He died so young and such a short time after coming to this country to Guasti, California, where my father was born in 1915 in one of the company houses next to the Guasti Mansion.  Many Spanish and Italian immigrants worked in the wine and produce business for Segundo D’Guasti, and my family was no exception.

I would love to ask her about her childhood, growing up in Asturias, Spain, and bringing her children from Spain to the United States.

I know little about her except what I’m told by two of her remaining grandchildren – my uncles Jack and Jim – now 85 and 90, respectively.

They’ve told me she met my great-grandfather in Madrid, where he was in training to be a horticulturist.  After his apprenticeship in Madrid, he was hired to be the head gardener in the small town of Bejar, in the Province of Salamanca, Spain.

After my great-grandfather died, Great-grandmother turned their large home in Guasti into a boarding house.

She came to the US with four children and had three more after moving here – Aunt Maria, her twin, Angela, and one more son, Alonso.  Was she ever scared?  Did they always have enough money?  Her English was non-existent, as far as we ever knew.  I believe the original plan was to make it big in America and then go home to Spain.

She was proud of her heritage and a bit arrogant, but she was my great-grandmother, and I felt a certain amount of affection for her.

There must have been financial struggles, especially after being left on her own with those children, but she survived to reign as queen in that little house on Plaza Serena.

 

 

The End.