Excerpt from the book

Before, the De la Garza girls never did one bad thing in their whole lives. I went to boarding school with four of the seven sisters and their goodness served them well. All of them led reading groups, checked spelling papers, cleaned erasers and couriered important messages to the principal. In second grade Maria De la Garza led the rhythm band. Her cape was white. Mine and everyone else�s were red. She directed our triangles and sticks and tambourines wit the assurance of one who knows she�s right because she�s doing what she was told. Those De la Garza girls grew up always doing what they were supposed to. Their mother was meek and humble of heart. How she had so many children was a mystery since Do�a Edicia De la Garza in the throes of passion was about as unlikely as heat stroke in January. Somehow one envisioned her lying splayed on the bed, doing what she was told and boom, she was pregnant again. On Sundays the whole family would come into church with their father, Don Elias, ushering all of them into place. His tall regal frame was last in the pew. When he placed his Stetson hat behind him and knelt down with his hands folded, you knew they were all accounted for. They were always neat, pressed and pasted with meekness.

I remember our family a row behind them. My brothers reaching across me to pinch each other, my sister under the pew taking off her Sunday shoes, my mother rolling her eyes and gritting her teeth while my father was removed from it all in a pious state of prayer book immersion.

The De la Garza girls never saw any of it. Their heads never turned. Their attention was riveted to the front of the church. When they grew up and had families of their own, they knew the ritual well. They had plenty of children and faithful husbands. They cooked; they cleaned and they even canned. Each of their homes had cellars with rows of canned peaches, pears, chiles, apricots, jams, pickles, peppers and preserves. They baked bread; made homemade tortillas. They sewed curtains and most of their own clothes. Marrying one of the De la Garza girls assured you of your own raven-haired Martha Stewart.

I was in the Wal-Mart one day not too long ago. I looked at the woman once, twice. It couldn�t be, but it was. No mistake, it was Margarita De la Garza, the slight build, the salt and pepper hair. She bent over stealthily looking around before she raised her foot and gave the swift kick. The kick had such force she almost fell over. It was if her slight frame was never meant for more than being carried aloft by four men holding a wooden pallet, like the Santa Rosa statue on her feast day. Then Margarita caught her balance, placed her arms on her hips and stood defiantly. It was great watching Margarita that day, since I never did understand how those De la Garza girls could be so good. It was wonderful to see Margarita have her fit and give the swift kick to the gumball machine which wasn�t yielding its twenty five cents worth of gumballs she felt were her due.

Now she took her arms down to her sides, clutched her purse, assumed her other self with shoulders slightly bent, eyes downcast and said, �Excuse me� to me as she passed. But, I had seen it with my own eyes, and if it were possible with her, it was possible with all her sisters. Time past, and I begin to get word of the sisters from my friend, Annie Gomez, who had stayed in the village. Occasionally, I would also get a copy of the village newspaper.

Stella De la Garza was caught doing graffiti at midnight on the church wall. She had written: no more orig. sin. When the priest, Father Humberto, asked her gently to explain herself, she couldn�t say anything. Out of curiosity, he then asked why she had abbreviated original referring to sin. Her eyes avoided him and with a barely audible voice replied,�I,I just couldn�t spell it out.�

Father Humberto began to think the world was falling apart when Clara De la Garza came to confession shortly after Stella�s orig. sin incident. Clara confessed she did not like her mother-in-law, Do�a Eufemia. Clara, in a hushed, but audible,whisper, told Fr. Humberto how she put Do�a Eufemia�s name on a piece of paper and then put it in her shoe, thereby stepping on her mother-in-law for an entire day. Fr. Humberto could only advice her to take Do�a Eufemia out of her shoe and say three Hail Marys.

Then I picked up the newspaper and read that Tonita De la Garza had joined a women�s motorcycle team. They had been invited to tour Japan. Tonita was pictured in the front row with her leathers and her Harley just before the plane took off for Tokyo. She looked so ecstatic and had such a big smile it appeared she might not need the plane to get to Japan.

There was considerable talk in the village about Rosa De la Garza and her baby shower gifts. It seems she crafted hats for baby girls from plastic fruits. She sewed the fruits to an elastic band. Proud moms showed off their baby girls with an apple or a banana covering one eye, in a sort of wilted Carmen Miranda headdress.

Rosa De la Garza joined a tap dancing group. They entertained in nursing homes and Rotary Club functions. They had their own float in the Memorial Day parade. They called themselves �The Goin� Grannies�. Last I heard they were planning a calendar in their tap dancing costumes, using a select group of the �Grannies� for each month.

When Maria turned seventy someone gave her a copy of a poem called �When I am Old I Shall Wear Purple.� And so she did. She went to Albuquerque to store after store, buying everything she could find in purple. Her husband, who preferred lavender, thought it odd, but decided it was best to say nothing.

However, these escapades can�t leave me mute. I feel it is my unmitigated responsibility at the first opportunity to tell Do�a Edicia, Don Elias and even God. Do�a Edicia might be inclined to ly splayed on the bed, do what she is told and boom, start over with a new batch. Don Elias might think that if he just ushers the whole bunch into church one more time, it�ll work out. And God? Well, God only knows what God will think!