Tia Delphina

The first time I remember tasting homemade corn tortillas I was about four. My Tia Delphina was the culinary expert in this and she would make the best ones. They were thick…thick enough to slice. They were both sweet and slightly nutty flavor. And a perfect texture. 

In case you didn’t know, Tia is Aunt in Spanish. 

She and my Tio Ladisloe lived next door to my grandparents in Del Rio, Texas. My grandfather, my Buello, was her younger brother. There was a connecting gate in the backyard to their properties and a little wooden bridge that we would walk on to get to her house. Beside that bridge was one of the largest pomegranate trees I’ve ever seen. 

My Tio, also called Larry, was a carpenter. All around their home were little things he had made with his own hands in his shop. He built shelves for my Tia’s plants. He built her a room for her African Violets and their small breakfast table. Sunday mornings after church I would hurry over there to sit on his lap as he read me the Sunday Funnies. Then the two of us would play with silly putty by pressing it onto the comics. 

My Tia always wore a dark dress with her hair up in a bun. I saw it down one time and it was almost to her knees. She also always wore a white apron with pockets that usually had a clean tissue or two in them. Occasionally I got to over and help her do her wash. She had an old wringer washer and had different alluminum tubs with clean rinse water. A large pole helped her to push the clothes down into the suds. And for the extra dirty clothes, she had a washboard that she would use to scrub out the stains. 

But my favorite time to hang out with her was when she pulled out her hot plate. Any time my Tia was making tortillas I was there. I would watch as she mixed the corn masa, made the dough into little balls, and then patted them into little flat patties of goodness. She would place them on her hot plate and turn them with her fingers. 

(Asbestos fingers run in the family. We all can turn tortillas with the tips of our fingers.)

When the second side was done, onto the towel it would go so it would stay nice and hot. She would look to her right where I was standing and would usually give me the first one. She sliced it open and then either put a pat of magerine in there or a little chedder cheese…rat trap chedder, of course. 

My Tia and I communicated well. She spoke very little English and I spoke very little Spanish. I mean I did, but don’t think she would have appreciated the colorful words I had learned from the neighborhood boys. But even though we didn’t speak each other’s language…we understood each other well. 

From my Tia I learned the patience of communication. I just had to learn to listen as she spoke in Spanish and I would translate it in my head into English and then reply. The art of conversation was learned at a very young age by a woman who was wise and good. 

Thank you Tia. I’m the communicator I am today because you taught me that. I look forward to sitting down with you again someday and continuing our conversations. 

Your loving niece,

Teresa (pronounced Te-de-sah)