Mezclando
My first memory is of Abuela stirring a pot in the kitchen. I stood beside her on my tippy toes, fingers curled on the cream-colored linoleum countertop. “Cuando voy a la e’cuela voy a e’tudiar duro.” I promised. “Así es.”...
My first memory is of Abuela stirring a pot in the kitchen. I stood beside her on my tippy toes, fingers curled on the cream-colored linoleum countertop. “Cuando voy a la e’cuela voy a e’tudiar duro.” I promised. “Así es.”...