Bewley's Oriental Café, a traditional establishment in Grafton Street, Dublin, Ireland, first opened in 1927. In the 1930s, for a treat, my maternal grandmother used to take one of her six children there for cream buns and tea each week.
More than fifty years later, in 1982, my mother, Ella, and I visited the same café together. I remember the aroma of freshly ground coffee, the clattering plates, and the constant chatter. The café was sombre; the floor, tables and wall panels were all made from dark wood. Sunlight illuminated the large stained-glass windows; the light appeared to breathe life into the brightly coloured exotic birds painted on the classical pillars. A display case was filled with chocolate eclairs, cream mille-feuilles and all kinds of fancy cakes.
My mother Maria was born in 1933 in El Rancho Libertda in Zacatecas, MX, and later lived in Emiliano Zapata, Zacatecas and somewhere in Mexicali before they moved to Los Angeles, CA and finally to Pico Rivera, CA. I had the good fortune to find...
With few facts and fewer memories, it is not easy to paint a comprehensive picture of the totality, the gestalt of a person. Be that as it may, the following is an attempt to present, as clearly as is possible, a straightforward, honest depiction of my mother, unclouded by sentimentality and bias. These are the facts, as I know them, as pertain to my mother’s life. Let the facts, few though they may be, speak for themselves.
Note: as this is not my story, but my mother’s, I use the pseudonyms Dor for my mother, and Demo to denote my father out of respect for their anonymity. As far as I know, they are both still alive and would prefer this. That my father is being as forthcoming as he now is about mother and the details of our lives together is a truly wonderful thing, and I thank him for that. After a life of denial, it can't be easy, and is testament to his good character.