A Hen House Happening

Saturday morning was spent selling Los Pollitos t-shirts at a holiday sale.
The sale, put on by crafty mamas, was just four hours, but my getting ready was four days in fits and starts – folding, boxing, counting, packing, hauling. Worth it though. The long hours of work on this business – and the moments of “Ay Dios Mio, what did we do?’’ – melt away when a new mom, or a sweet grandma grab a little egg box and laugh and coo. It feels even better when they say we are geniuses, but I’ll take what I can get.
The best part of Saturday was meeting two elegant and great-smelling Latinas who came to the show. They were so gracious and charming and so very much a reminder of home. One was from L.A. and visiting a son who lives here, while the other has lived in nearby Kentucky for a few decades. Kentucky, people. And she still has that unmistakable chispa and cache.
The Kentucky mama said she didn’t speak Spanish to her children, now grown, because you just didn’t do that then. You blended, you passed. She congratulated me for trying with my own.
“Yo trato,’’ I told her.
Keep trying, she said.
A “Pachanga’’ tee is now in Kentucky, in the possession her little granddaughter.
So worth it.