Linda “Chilpa” Stetson

My mother was a woman of two worlds, two cultures – Mexico and California.
In that spirit, my eulogy will also be in two parts
Let me start by going backwards

She got old – una viejita
I know we are all feeling it
The gray creeps in
Aches and pains pile up
With Chilpa it was those things along with a brain that had holes
Toward the end, she could barely talk
Couldn’t stand, let alone walk

But even as age ravaged her body, and left her with myriad ailments, her spirit remained the same
She was unfailingly kind
Always beaming when the attendants came to check on her
Her Bright and Sunny smile and her ready hello and earnest “how are you?” meant she was beloved by the staff

My Last visit was with Mira and Skyler
They did her nails, which made her happy
We read Harry Potter in Spanish to her
She got to see full-force, 22 year olds communicating at high speed

I tried to go out to Vermont every month or so. But they were quieter visits
I would hold her hand
Read books en español
Rub her scalp
It was easier in VT

When we moved her out, we got her settled in an dementia ward
The interview process was interesting, because her ready smile and willingness to engage made her appear to be high functioning and ok to stay in a regular apartment, it was only after we talked about her wandering episodes that it was clear she needed more help than that
The episode, of course, happened on her last day in Oakland

She had been having a helper come during the day while I worked
Unfortunately, the attendant was sick that last day and I figured she would be ok for the few short hours between my meetings
I only knew what had happened after the Police knocked on my door
Chilpa had wandered out of her house and locked herself out
Had walked past my house and gone to the neighbors
She couldn’t really explain what was happening and they eventually
Called the police

It was the worst possible way to end a period that had been, in many ways some of the best time that I spent with my mom.
We moved her up from San Diego to live in the house next to ours after Jim went into hospice
We convinced her to come because of COVID and Jim having a lot of attendants coming through the house, but she was clearly beginning to suffer dementia and we wanted to have her close by to take care of her
Fortunately, the house right next to ours became available to rent
We got her settled with the cat, her stuff, us – all good
At least it seemed that way at first

As many of us did, I took up Sourdough bread baking during COVID and had become pretty decent at making batards, bagels, rounds, you name it
As cooking was one of the things that most bound us together, I thought I would teach her how to make a sourdough loaf
We went through it a few times, but she was clearly struggling, so I wrote up detailed instructions and diagrams on how to knead and stretch the dough
But even after walking through the instructions multiple times and making bread a few times, I came over to a smoking oven with the bread half burnt and not risen
It was there that I realized she was never going be able to bake bread again

This was the woman who cooked my entire life, who believed that the right meal could bring people together, who saw cooking as an expression of love, who taught me and my brother to give by cooking
And she couldn’t do it
I left her house bawling my eyes out and inconsolable

It was at that moment that I realized she was not going to get better.
A part of me had been thinking that with more stimulus, getting her migraines under control and love, that we would be able to stop and maybe even reverse what was clearly happening to her
I won’t say it was folly, but it was the first time (and this sadly repeated itself many times) that we realized we were way behind what was actually happening — we were thinking things were the same as they were a few months prior and they were not – in fact they were quite a bit different and we were just catching up

Covid and the embarrassment of forgetting
During COVID, most of you lost touch with my mom
Her slowly woven COVID cocoon left her isolated and alone
But it was more than that, it was also the embarrassment of forgetting that turned her inward and disconnected from the people she loved
It think it is fair to say that my mother was vain – not in a obsessive way, but she never felt stronger than when she was dressed to kill, hair perfectly in place, makeup just right – she was a force of nature
And when she forgot things in front of other people, it left her hollowed out and embarrassed in a way she did not like

I recount this because only a few of you know what happened to her when she moved away from San Diego and her life, with its twists and turns, needs to be known by her friends and loved ones
She loved and trusted you all and her entire beautiful self needs to be understood and remembered
So let me now flip the coin that was my mother – a person of two cultures, of two places, of two sides that make the whole

La Receta de Chilpa

Sourdough bread is really very simple
Flour, water, salt and starter
Folding and waiting
And then you bake it
I tried to teach my mom this simple thing and failed

The woman who gave me cooking
Who showed me that cooking is a gift to your friends and family
That it is a way of saying I love you
Who taught me that you can spice up your life, every day

But I failed her in this

We would watch the taco chronicles en Español
Remembering las vistas de Mexico
La gente orgullosa de su comida
De carnitas, be barbacoa, de guzanos de maguey

We would watch, speak in Spanish and cry for our shared love of Mexico
Of Pachuca, of Tia licha, of our yearly migration back to home
My mom taught me how to make frijoles –
The soul of Mexican cooking
And I spent a year in college playing with the recipe,
Adding too much garlic, too little onion, manteca, aceites, sal, pimienta,
To get the the frijoles just right

I was never more proud than when she said my frijoles were the best
She had some recipes we would rather forget,
Rialto goop is probably at the top of that list
A concoction of Egg noodles, hamburger helper, creamed corn, cheddar cheese
Though, I think my Dad loved her all the more for it actually

In turn, I have given cooking to Mira and Skyler
And Duce has passed it on to Arianna and Andrais
Chilpa’s practice, this cultivation of love, was done in an apron
Often with a glass of wine
And she would ask how things were going

Lettuce torn, tomatoes chopped, raw hamburger eaten with salt
Helado de limón, made from our limes which she insisted on calling limones
Chocolate cake with seven minute frosting, which only she liked
Pastes, a meal that literally was Chilpa,
An English hand pie gone native in little corner of Mexico
Draped in silver
Con un poquitito de chile, carne, puerro, sebo, manteca y perejil

We were in the Pueblita of Pachuquilla, en Hidalgo outside of Pachuca
We got tacos de barbacoa, pastes, pulque and guzanos de maguey
The fried guzanos came to the table, looking very much like little French fries
And Shelly just grabbed one and ate it
It was there and then that my mom blessed our coming marriage

This was what it was to experience chilpa,
To drink deep of the altiplano, of the smoke of the pib,
To listen to la gente hablando de cosas grandes y pequeñas
To experience the joy of Chilpa
Of her endless love for her friends, her family, her home