My Tita

Tonight Dylan is working on his 10 minute writing, so I thought I'd join him.  I glanced at the title of his paragraph, hoping that it might help me figure out what I should write about.  His title is "Tita", an Arabic word which is slang for "grandma".  When I was growing up I had a Tita, not grandma, so when my kids were young I decided that they should have a Tita too.  My sisters' kids have always called my mom  "grandma," so I broke the trend.   I never have asked her if she liked being called Tita, I guess because I know she does.

My Tita was always old.  My mom is the youngest in her family and I, too, am the youngest.  Being the youngest of the youngest makes for an old grandma.  If Tita were alive today she would be 123 years old - 72 years older than me.  

We used to visit her in Austin very often - maybe monthly.  I loved going to Austin.  We had cousins who would visit while we were there, and we would have so much fun together!  Tita lived very close to a railroad track.  We would spend hours playing around that railroad track.  Whenever a train was near, my mom and the aunts would come outside and make sure we were safe.   I always thought they went overboard, but now I can understand their concern.  They still went overboard, though.  I can remember putting pennies on the track and waiting for the train to come by.  After the train left we would run up and down the track looking for our smashed pennies.  Sometimes we couldn't find them, but usually we did. 

 

Tita's house was made of big rocks instead of bricks.  We used to get a bucket of water and paint brushes, and paint the rocks with water.  The rocks would become darker, so it looked like we were painting colors.  I bet we spent hours painting those rocks.  It's funny to think about that now.  What a creative way to keep the kids occupied!

Tita had a garden and fig trees.  I don't remember much about the garden - she probably grew the usual veggies.  But with the fig tree she used to make fig preserves.  She also had a pomegranate tree.  I loved to eat pomegranates.  I would tear the little sections apart and try not to get the juice on my clothes.  I must have been the only grandchild who liked pomegranates because my aunts actually mailed me two pomegranates.  If my sisters had liked pomegranates they would have mailed them to all of us, but they mailed them just to me.  Unfortunately the pomegranates didn't survive the trip to Dallas.  They arrived in a neat little package but they had rotted.  I was so disappointed! 

Tita could speak English but in her later years she mostly spoke Arabic.  My aunts would have to translate what she was saying.  Almost always she was asking me if I wanted anything to eat or drink.  I think that in the Lebanese culture, people are very hospitable and communicate love and caring with food.  I know that my Tita loved me and cared for me. 

You Have to Start Somewhere

I've had writer's block for 51 years.  Make that 45 years - it couldn't have been writer's block when I didn't know how to write.  I have a friend, Sue, who has been blogging all month long and, as I read her blogs I think to myself, "I can do that!".  But then I don't.

So here it is.  Day One.  

My son Dylan, a 5th grader, has to write in his journal for ten minutes every day.  His journal is full of interesting stories and true life experiences.  He may not realize it, but his journal is something that he will treasure years from now.  I would like this blog to be the beginning of something that I will treasure, too.  As I become more and more comfortable with this whole blogging idea, maybe I'll get less and less blocked.