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But Mama Theresa could not be any of those things, he knew. automotive There was no cold or coal or sharpness to her. Children of many ages ran underfoot, chattering in Spanish and English and even throwing in Apache words, asked embarrassing questions and made unwanted comments, sitting, sometimes at Mama's feet, sometimes at his. Sometimes one of the smallest would crowd into the chair with him or sit in his lap, expecting as naturally as sun and moon that he would be held; and he found he liked that.

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Mama would tolerate them, ignore them, and even when she scolded it was soft and warm and loving. Dildo silicon on link page Sometimes she would hum or sing old songs, ancient songs, always en Espanol, their comfort reaching out to him. automotive on Top page Sometimes she would speak, in Spanish, in English when she wanted more than sound to reach, instruct.

automotive She never asked questions, she never lectured, she never sought reaction or a response in these quiet times, never seemed really to be paying attention to Barry. His mother's words usually burned, her angry sharp tongue analog to her leather strap, whose crack and fire he had felt too often Mama Theresa was not like that, either. automotive None of the ninos running around the place, morning, noon and night, had ever tasted the smoke of leather whipped afire. Mama told stories, stories of her children, or of someone's children; old stories of legend, of coyotes and foxes, Indian and Mexican and Spanish stories; stories of people and times she knew in the flesh and others she knew only in heart and soul and legend, her voice a light, countermelody to the gentle wind chimes and warm sweet breezes on the ramada. Subtle stories they were, even a mind as sharp as Barry's didn't catch her effortless insinuation of lessons into them; messages of strength unknown and discovered, of love for family and children and horse and land; of jokes and foibles of people who he didn't know and might never meet, and who might never have existed; of Abe her wayward son, and of Barry by sinuous parallel and unmetered congruence and geometry he could not consciously grasp, and could not unconsciously miss, with his mathematical mind. autos She conveyed not mere acceptance and healing, but the inevitability of life and events and the unimportance of it all, the futility of fighting that which is, which was, which would be. She spoke without speaking of the importance of family and friends and beauty and balance and nature. And Barry was as the land, sunwarmed and quiet and enfolded and existentially so; loved for its cracks and unevenness, it's very faults.