More family, some tears and sweet memories

When my friend, Lyn, told me she wanted to take me to the local bar about one block away, she explained that it didn't have a name and was, in fact, in the "sort of" living room of a house.  She never went alone since it was usually filled with men only since her husband passed away.  Since I was here, we decided to go have some cafe con leche and meet the bartender named Pepe.
"Oh, by the way," she said, "this man might also be your family."
Since there appeared to be family all around Los Nunez, I was prepared for a maybe branch on the Ruiz family tree.  What I wasn't prepared for were the tears and intense emotion that followed.

It was our first day of rain.  We held umbrellas, braved the cool wind and started our trek down the hill.  Brightly colored azulejo tiles were spread across the front of the bar and the door was open.  Clicking our umbrellas closed, I heard a man's voice say, "Hola!"  Lyn led the way inside the small bar and I saw a man greet us with a welcoming smile.   This is Jose Pepe.

When Lyn told Pepe that I was the daughter of Miguel Ruiz Silvan, his head jerked up and he stared at me before giving me the traditional kiss on each cheek.  And then he smiled.  "Primos," he said (cousins).  And he pointed to himself and then to me.   What?  More cousins?  We ordered our coffees.  He pulled glasses out of the cabinet (no cups) and dropped teaspoons in each glass.  Then he poured condensed milk into mine, about 1/3 full.  Black for Lyn.  Milk for me.  By the time the coffees were in front of us, I'd learned that my father had been in the bar so often, he'd practically lived there.  One block from la casa redonda.  Of course, he did.   I was delighted, pulled out my phone and Lyn took our photo together.  Another cousin.

And then, after talking in my fledgling Spanish, another man walked into the bar.  A beautiful man with gray eyes and black hair peppered with gray named Juan, the oldest brother in their family.

He was the goat herder I'd heard about that always appeared on the hill high above la casa redonda, now retired (jubilado).  More cheek kisses. Oh!  Another photo, this time with me between both men who were beaming at me, happy to meet a cousin from America, and Miguel's daughter.  And he gave us a dozen eggs from the chickens...

More conversation (I was getting better each moment with my words...), my coffee was half gone when Pepe reached for a bottle by the counter and tipped it into our coffees:  anisette.  "Su padre's favorito."  (your father's favorite)  YUM.  It was delicious.

And then a third man walked into the bar.  This was Antonio, another brother, who used to transport fruit to the community.  More cheek kisses.  Oh!  Another photo.  This time with three men and me.  Crazy laughter and more Spanish words were tossed around the bar and I was barely keeping up by now.  I explained I was researching my Ruiz family to write a book about them titled Ruiz Legacies, that I was going to Cordoba on Sunday and then to Algodonales by the end of the week before getting to my rental house in Calahonda by the first of April.  They were very interested to learn two of my brothers were flying to Spain in May and we would return for a visit.

By this time, all the cousins were talking and peppering me with questions and Lyn was helping us along.  And then a fourth man walked into the bar named Andres.  What?  Their brother.  Now I had four cousins and another photo... and more cheek kisses.

I learned that my father had put electrical outlets behind the bar, that he'd eaten many meals with them and they missed him.  They asked when he died, where he died and a number of questions as they told me how important he was to them in their lives.  When they asked me how old I was, I told them seventy.  I was puffed up when they were all shocked because they said they couldn't believe it... (thank you, cousins).

Lastly, Juan invited me into another room.  He seemed very animated and anxious for me to follow him.  When I went into the small living/dining room, I saw a woman sitting on the couch.  When she saw me, she threw both hands to her cheeks and said, "Hija de Miguel!"  (daughter of Miguel).  She got up and kissed me on both cheeks and then wrapped her arms around her chest and rocked back and forth, telling me how much she loved my father.

I was stunned to realize I was understanding her Spanish.  And my chest started to expand and fill up with emotion.  I glanced over and Juan, whose eyes now glistened and he was wiping his eyes with a handkerchief and nodding toward us.  The words began to stumble and my eyes blurred.  This was the most emotional day so far as we discussed our Ruiz family tree.  I took a selfie photo of me and Carmen and then noted the names of their parents and grandparents.   Juan pointed to photos of his mother (Maria Ruiz Romano) and his father (Diego Gonzales Morales).  When I snapped photos of their framed photographs, his eyes filled again.   I had the names of their maternal grandparents, Maria Romano Nunez and Manuel Ruiz Cobo so I can follow the family line for my book.

There were six siblings:  Juan, Mari, Manolo, Carmen, Jose Pepe and Andres.  All of them were involved in the family business in some way and all of them lived either in Los Nunez or nearby villages (Campanillas and Puerto de la Torre).  The family ties in this small village are so foreign to me as an American since we have a tendency to live in every area of the United States.  This was a small piece of Spain where everyone congregated together closely and supported one another.

Carmen and I talked like we'd known each other for years.  She kept caressing my cheek and saying, "muy guapa"  (very pretty).  She reminded me of my abuelita (grandma) and invited me and Lyn to her house just up the hill.   We kissed the brothers goodbye with an hasta entonces (until then) since I would return with my brothers soon.  Carmen's garden was tidy, weedless and filled with colors.  She had two plumerias (my favorite), roses and so many other flowers, plants and trees, I couldn't count them all.  A widow for five years, I could see she spent her time in the garden.  I heard a dog barking and I asked if it was her dog?  "No tengo animales!" she was quick to answer.  (I don't have animals).

By the time, we said our goodbyes my chest was still tight and it was difficult to swallow.  She hugged me tightly and kissed both of my cheeks, patted them gently and sent us on our way.  She knows we will return in May.

The Ruiz family blooms in so many directions.  I actually felt my father in that house, in those cousin's hearts and got to know him just a bit more.  All of us change over the years and I am happy to learn he found himself in Spain, the land of his dreams.

And now I am here to enjoy the land, friends and the family he cultivated for those that came after him.  It was a loving tribute I could not have imagined.