On the morning of September 10, 1967, Stella’s family and friends saw her off from this airport on the occasion of her first trip to the United States. Her father had enrolled her in Prospect Hall, a small business school in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida, that trained young Latin American women to become bi-lingual secretaries. She was excited, nervous, and at the same time sad. When she boarded the airplane she looked for a seat in the rear, the only portion of an aircraft that survives crashes, her brother had told her. She found an empty seat in the middle of a row of three. The window seat had a large copper plate with a “Chibcha” indian design of the type that only a tourist would buy, and a card that read “Pasajero en Tránsito” indicating that this seat was already taken by another passenger. Too bad.

Sometimes there’s just no stopping them when they’ve had a little too much Aguila.

Our friend Gloria called today I suggested a trip to Parrot Mountain. I had never been there but the prospect of spending a lazy afternoon with a few hundred colorful birds sounded great. I was not disappointed.

Obon, August 15, 2009, Cosby, Tennessee

We are returning to the states tomorrow at dawn. Yuck. Although this trip has left me exhausted it pains me to leave. We are joined for lunch at Carlos and Nena’s by Alberto and Beatriz. We share parting glasses of wine. Carlos plays the piano. Mauricio and I walk Platon. We (Stella) still have to pack, but first we will visit Luisa one last time.