Cause She's a Woman

Dyed jet black hair, long painted nails, dressed to the nines, make up like a covergirl from the 50’s, she was a throwback to a time of classic beauty. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, carefully arranging her starry night colored coif and slowly dragging from her Winston cigarette. To me, she was the definition of strength and beauty. Though she was an older woman, it was difficult to allow her beauty to escape you. Skin the color of salted caramel, laugh lines deeply etched telling the story of her life and how she loved living it. Her eyes would’ve made Betty Davis jealous, large, dark, knowing orbs that showed sparks and flashes given her particular mood. My Tia Lupe was an anomaly, the exception to the rule, a stand out in a crowd kind of woman.

A widow, a single mom, a business woman, a seamstress, and a cook extraordinaire. In one day she would have welcomed new tenants into the apartment house she owned, gone to the bank, grocery shopped, washed clothes, prepared from scratch, tortillas, frijoles, carne guisada, salsa fresco, and enchiladas, all while sipping a tab and singing aloud her favorite boleros from years gone by. She was a force. She could blow as gentle as a light spring breeze that carries with it the smell of her many blooming roses or as fierce as a hurricane with electricity emanating directly from her. From her raspy smoker’s voice to her contagious laugh, to the strange little tongue clicking sounds she would make when deep in contemplation, her spirit infused yours, empowered it even. Empowers me still.