I'd like to introduce one of my real life friends who is also an amazing writer (with a book coming out next month!) and blogger. I met Silvina at my homeschool co-op almost 2 years ago now and it was love at first site. Not only was she beautiful, sweet, smart and fun to hang around with, she was writing a novel. Obviously, I was hooked. I started stalking her We started hanging out and before you knew it, we were sharing parenting horror stories and showing each other our ravished belly buttons and C-section scars.

Anyway, I've been meaning to introduce you to her for eons, but since I've been spotty on the blog front as of late, it's been a long time coming. But, prepare for a few more Silvina posts in the upcoming months as her first novel is published, cuz I plan to pimp that bad boy to the stars. In the meantime, please enjoy this short story about Silvina's novela watching, fortune-telling Grandma. And when you are finished, pop on over to her blog, Veiled, where you can learn more about her awesomeness and her process of getting her first book published. Oh and you might want to check out the post where she was interviewed by Larry King Live. It's killer.

Novela Watching Grandma, Who Could Foretell the Future

You could say that I am a little obsessed by the supernatural, I can't help it. You see, it runs in my family.

She runs down a deserted beach, the sun setting on the horizon. She looks back, her dark long hair gets tangled around her face and she stumbles. Driven by some unseen force she gets up again and on shaky legs takes to running again—she is begins to cry and wipes her tears with the back of her hand.

In the distance, his horse kicks up a cloud of smoke, and in no time catches up to her. She looks back and stumbles again. In one flawless move he dismounts and catches her. She beats her fists against his bare chest; he draws her to him and kisses her. She slaps him and shouts something in that passionate language—Spanish. He smiles that crooked smoldering smile… she relents… [we sigh] they kiss and kiss some more.

“I wish I spoke Spanish.” You may say still riveted to the screen. “I wonder what she was so mad about?” You sit down, still watching—you are sucked in—just like my grandma.

My Spanish grandmother spent her time doing two things…well three—she did two of them at the same time. She could tell the future and she watched novelas while she embroidered—the latter being an excuse to do the watching. I used to think she was weird and boring, but time has given me the opportunity to appreciate her life. In fact the older I get the more appreciative I am of her quirky influence. For one, I still have a table cloth that she embroidered and every time I pull it out, I wonder how many hours of novela watching did this take? The other thing I have grown to appreciate is her ability as a foreteller.

I still remember her bending over me, declaring certain things about my future…things that came true. I know what you are thinking, “Novela watching grandmothers can't tell the future.”

Well… mine could. One of the times that stands out the most in my memory, happened on a stormy afternoon in Buenos Aires, where I grew up. She was visiting with us for a few weeks, my brother had invited his girlfriend to dinner and she lived in the other end of the City. He was anxious, because she was taking way too long, and in that pre-cell phone era, all you could do was sit and wait and bite your nails. She was in fact two hours overdue.

My brother paced in front of the window, lightning and thunder echoed through our house. My grandmother, more like a fixture than a member of this solemn group, embroidered in one corner of the room; light by a single lamp.

My parents tried to offer hope, but my brother was full of reproach for himself, for not meeting her at the train station.

“She'll be here soon.” My grandmother declared from her corner.

No one turned or said anything.

“…And she'll be wearing something pink.” She added.

We turned and looked at her, half mystified, half believing. Not five minutes later the doorbell rings and my brother ran to the door. There, underneath those see through extra curvy umbrellas, was his girlfriend—wearing the only pink thing she owned in the world.

My grandmother had never met her, or talked to her. She didn't know that my brother's girlfriend disliked pink, and that this sweater was the only one she had. My foretelling grandmother had a gift. She was wrong about a lot of things, but never about the future as she saw it through her gift.

Some say that these gifts get passed down, generation to generation…and they have.