 | Paula  |
After a few good years in Chicago, my father lost his job. My mother wasn't too upset about it since she was homesick and fed up with the heinous weather. My parents decided to move back to California. I had no idea what that all meant. My only goal was to sneak into their bedroom while they were busy packing boxes. For there, in all it’s red, and silver splendor stood the forbidden statue of Jesus, atop their tall mahogany dresser. All I ever wanted was, to hold it. Just once!
It would be easy, I would just quietly pull out the emptied drawers slightly and climb them to the top. It was scary endeavor, but I managed to reach the final forth drawer. Holding on to the top ledge with my left hand, the statue was now less than a few feet from my grasp. Anxiously, I reached out my arm in hot pursuit. To my extreme horror, the monstrous chest began tipping over and I could do nothing more than retreat my arm and hold on to the ledge for dear life. As if this wasn’t bad enough, my unbelieving eyes fixed upon the heavy icon, as it slid nearer and near toward me. With a life of its own, it smacked hard into my face and the impact hurt so badly that I screamed out like a banshee. Simultaneously, the statue bounced off, crashed onto floor, and the heavy dresser slap-strapped me to the ground. By this point my parents had run into the room and lifted the chest off of me. I was shaking, I was so distraught. But, worse was yet to come, as I was whipped around to suffer my mother's wrath. Christ had begun entering my life in strange ways.
We took the train back to California and moved into the Silver Lake home of my Grandmother, Catrina Servetti. At this point, she was in her late seventies and still going strong, keeping to her daily routine. Early every morning, my younger sisters and I sat on the floor in the living room waiting for Grandma's ample body to emerge from her bedroom. Dressed in a cotton shirtwaist, that hung loosely over her immense breasts, opaque stockings and chunky black shoes, she'd settle into her oversized rocking chair. We'd watch, mesmerized, as she brushed her barely grey hair into two thick braids, and secure them across her head with hairpins. Leaning forward, her wrinkles would hint at a smile of amusement as she reached out to pinch our bums. When she rose, wrestling off her creaking chair, we'd follow her eagerly into the warm kitchen; there she would boil coffee grains in a white enamel pot. Then, after straining the brew, she'd add sugar and scalding milk. She poured the mixture into thick crockery bowls, and butter hunks of crusty bread, then plunk them down on her old table. Greedily we’d dip the bread into the coffee, and stuff our mouths, until we could eat no more.
After breakfast, we would snuggle into the lumpy living room sofa and watch television while Grandma knitted argyle socks for my father and Uncle Albert. A blend of Clorox, musty furniture cushions and coffee formed a scent that was as splendid as the morning. Sheriff John, Crusader Rabbit, The Lone Ranger, Sky King and Engineer Bill were our companions every day until lunch time. Grandma’s house was an honorable place to be. She was gruff, but she loved us. Come lunch time, she would give us bologna sandwiches with white Weber’s bread and then it was time for our naps. She'd wake us just as it was time to watch Queen for a Day. I cannot remember precisely, when my black and white world turned to color ~ some days, I wish it never had.
Later, we would play in the back "screened porch" while Grandma loaded clothes in her old ringer washer, and started preparing the food for Sunday's meal. We would play under the wooden table, snatching up the pieces of fallen pasta dough, to mold toys. Ultimately, we'd grow greedy and argue over who got the larger pieces, until Grandma got the broom after us, yelling, "Carumba muchachas, cabeza traviezo!"
| | wolfwitch  Wolf Witch |
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| | Mad Butterfly  Divine Madness |
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| | Paula Paula Servetti |
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| | Paula Paula Servetti |
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| | Paula Paula Servetti |
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