Relationship: Child of im/migrant

 Occasionally I would sleep over my grandmother's home when i was younger, before my teens. I only spoke English while my grandmother, Mama, spoke Spanish. I would normally pay attention to her body language and little gestures for communicating, but there is a time that no words are needed. It was when she prepared breakfast. She would wake up early in the morning, before me, just to make avena. Avena is oatmeal, but she prepares it with a more smooth liquid consistency. To achieve this consistency, she would use a turned wooden whisk, a molinillo. Before i could open my eyes, the smell the sweet oats and the sounds of the molinilla, "crrah, crah..." would wake me. Mama would serve us with the most loving intentions. 

 Molinillos are not a common utensil. It took a couple of years to find the perfect one for my kitchen. I have one not to make avena like my Mama, but to hold on to those childhood memories.  

Place(s): Washington Heights, NYC; USA
Year: 1965

– NQ

Relationship:  Child of im/migrant Child of im/migrant