A glass of milk

ANNIE VALA'S DIARY

This is a funny story. Or, at least, that's how I decided to tell it.

My blue Italianas ended up covered in milk. Yes, milk. And to understand how, I have to tell you that I recently went to meet my great-grandmother. You read that right: I have a great-grandmother, 101 years old.

Why hadn't I met her? Well… there are still those conservative families where, if your parents weren't married, the children aren't as loved. I grew up with that distance. But my grandfather, one day, told me that he would talk to her, that it was time. And I took the plunge.

I looked for a long blue dress and put on my blue Italianas. I wanted to look elegant, delicate, feminine. I wanted her to like me, I guess. You never stop wanting your family to like you, even if the family arrives late.

When I arrived, I was impressed. How can a 101-year-old person still walk, move, maintain herself so well? I stayed quiet almost all afternoon, surprised. She only asked me two questions: if I was married and how old I was. I answered. And we didn't speak again.

Until night fell and she asked me for a glass of milk. I accompanied her to the kitchen, poured it for her. And then, with all the calm in the world, she emptied it all over my shoes. "Sorry, mija, my eyesight is failing me," she said. The same woman who, a while earlier, was moving around her house without a cane and without hesitation.

I want to believe she's telling me the truth. I really want to believe it.

But I was dying for my shoes. So I said goodbye and left.

And do you know what I took away from that day? Two things. The first: that my great-grandmother is 101 years old and can still dance and move, because she has a will to live. And that it is that will, not age, that keeps us standing. The second, more practical: that if milk spills on leather shoes, they are cleaned like this —and I'll write it down for you, because it's better to be prepared for the great-grandmothers of the world—

-Use a clean, dry cloth to absorb the excess.

-Don't rub hard; just press gently.

-Lightly dampen another cloth with warm water (very little).

-Clean the area with gentle movements.

-Dry immediately with a dry cloth.

My Italianas were good as new again. And I was left with a story that, I swear, I'm going to tell at every dinner for the rest of my life.

Love,

Annie Vala