In Her Heels

Today is my Mima’s, Josefa Berta Herrera Amador, birthday. As I lay in bed last night, unable to sleep, it occurred to me that this day was a very special one because it marked an entire century since this world was graced with her presence. Immediately my mind was flooded with memories, flashes of still photographs, how much I still love the instant-memory-producing smell of Youth Dew and HER HEELS. These heels I’m referring to are not your typical grandmother heels. I’m talking Olivia-Newton-John-at-the-end-of-Grease heels!

Despite the fact that she passed 30 years ago this month, she’s never really been gone and continues to inspire and teach me lessons which I’m starting to believe perhaps, have been manipulated and embellished based on my memories of her. Perhaps lessons which, in my mind, have evolved from our experiences with her since she wasn’t so much a director as she was a leader by example. What I can say is that these lessons, her influence and ultimately MIMA herself, lives in just about everything I do and the way I do it. I am still subject to what she might think and I’ve often attributed this ‘watching from heaven’ as keeping me on the straight and narrow. I have to admit that I am grateful to God everyday that she was my Mima for 17 years.

I’m grateful she instilled in us the on-steroids importance of family. Family came first, NO MATTER WHAT! The Herrera sisters were extremely close and unconditionally dedicated to one another in a truly amazing way. Each of the children were all of their children and this giant Cuban family of ours wasn’t perfect, but we were ours. She taught us that blood was thicker than water but love was thicker than blood. Whether we needed a scolding or a congratulatory pat on the back, she delivered these in her heels.

I’m grateful she instilled in us, at least in Laura and Ira, the importance of taking care of ourselves. She loved having her mani/pedi’s before it was really a ‘thing’. I remember anytime a gray hair made an appearance, she’d place her hazmat suit on and with a toothbrush, carefully applied whatever version Clairol had of Red Brick. She wore an anklet and had amazing legs even Tina Turner would be jealous of. She did her nails, dyed her hair, cleaned the house, walked us home from school, chased us home with a broom, cooked and cooked and cooked, all in her heels.

I’m grateful she instilled in us an adventurous spirit, remembering all too well her ambition to drive, her ride on a motorcycle, her love for the snow, her love of travel and our train ride to Jersey, all in her heels.

Mostly I’m grateful for her teaching me how to be compassionate and passionate, giving and forgiving, loving and overloving, classy and sassy, how to be kind yet strong, how to trust but verify and most importantly how to be graceful yet take no one’s shit and she did this all IN HER HEELS!