Tere ushered me in to my great-aunt’s Epifania’s bedroom. It was the first moment she’d had a chance to pull me away from my all my uncles, aunts and cousins. They didn’t notice my absence as they were too busy preparing the elotes they’d just picked from the milpa.
I could still hear my uncles talking and the kids running around when I walked in to the cool, dim room. Across from the door, tía Epifania was lying in her bed.
Tere announced, “Abuelita, viene Cindy, la hija de mi tío Carlos, a visitarla.”
I moved closer to greet her, expecting that she wouldn’t remember me and barely remember my dad. After all, my dad’s visits to Salamanca have been sparse over the years.
She greeted me kindly and then studied me from her bed.
“Se parece a Luz, a su mamá” she said to my cousin Tere.
I was surprised. I don’t hear that too often, except when I’m around my dad’s family in Guanajuato.
My family used to pray together every evening before going to bed. 
A few years ago, Isa held a small pumpkin carving party. I didn’t mind her guests, as many were my friends too, but I wasn’t in to it. I arrived a few hours late sans pumpkin. I sat on the couch and watched as Gabby attempted to carve the Dodgers LA logo on her pumpkin. She gave up soon after. Isa had more success with her Jack Skellington pumpkin. The others spread out with newspaper and knives on the floor and tried to keep pumpkin guts and seeds off the wood floor. 
Lotería Chicana 