Marian Baca Candelaria

Written by Marian Baca Candelaria Martinez in 1970
"To know him is to love him:" doesn't exactly apply to Papá Baca but strangely enough it tells much of his daughters.
Papá Baca, José María, is remembered my most as stern, solemn even cantankerous and a bit on the cruel side -- expecting and getting silent obedience at all times. I recall shaking and loosing my voice at the sight of him. I do want to mention that he did Lucy and me a great kindness.
On March 4, 1922, he brought us to Loretto where we met Sister Josina, who was for many years the joining link of the family. Our Auntie had taken and practiced the vow of poverty, but she gave to us and to the world riches money cannot purchase. An unforgettable Little Nun she was!
Born 1890, and christened Trinidad, she helped to rear her brothers, sisters and her sister's children who were numerous. Sister Josina said, "at my sister's there was always one child learning to walk another in the basket and expecting arrival of a new one."
Papá Baca was not much on recreation. The girls’ social life was nil -- but Sister Josina tells of a special occasion that they were permitted to attend, perhaps on the order of the present day wedding shower dance. Sister Josina -- then Trinidad, made a big to-do and was so happy for the rare opportunity of displaying a purple bow (her favorite color) which she planned to wear at the back of her head. She clasped said ribbon and very carefully and with much precaution gently put on her hat (a must in that day and age.)
The hat was to be removed immediately on arrival at the festival for she wanted all to soak in the beauty of her satin purple bow. She told how she created reasons to turn her back for everyone to feast their eyes, so pleased for this chance. It was super -- until time to leave when poor Trinidad discovered her pride and joy had remained stuck in her hat when removed. She told of her disappointment with sadness -- to her it was drastic -- so much so as to bring a little tear each time she related this story.
The occasion for "showing it off" never presented itself again. Papá Baca decided his daughters, Trinidad and Encarnación (Later Sister Romaulda) should enter the convent. Accustomed to silent obedience the two young girls accepted, figuring their future was settled. Sister Josina proved she did have a vocation. To us she was a Godsend. Many nieces crossed her threshold before and after our time. All loved her.
Back to March 4, 1922. Lucy and I arrived at Loretto Academy Santa Fé, New Mexico and placed there for keeps, so Grandpa thought. We were two very scared little orphans. With our severe case of whooping cough we were immediately placed in the infirmary. All were so good and kind. I soon recovered.
Lucy remained and managed to pick up any and every available germ. Lucy would be informed of her various illness, measles, scarlet, fever, chicken pox, mumps etc. etc. Sister Avelina, nurse and Sister Josina nursed Lucy through it all. After teaching in a classroom of ninety to a hundred first graders Sister Josina relieved the day nurse and took charge. As Sister Josina bathed Lucy, one day, she said, "Lucy 'Cow" (Lucy's proud interpretation of last name) “You have a nephew." Lucy saddened as she asked, "Oh, no, what kind of sickness is that? I thought I was getting well." Lucy recovered.
One summer day Sister Josina escorted her out to the play grounds, Lucy decked out in her very own original haircut she had created in her many leisure hours with nothing else available but art scissors and construction paper -- obviously she tired of cutting on papers. To me Lucy, as always was a welcome sight. Having been in quarantine for so long I had not been close to her in months. We clasped hands; to the chapel we went to give thanks. Overflowing with joy, we began our lives together in our new home with our precious Auntie, Sister Josina at our side -- a place she never left.
Speaking of the chapel brings to mind that Sister Josina's Saturday job was to clean God's House. What a familiar sight to see our Little Auntie in the highest parts of the Old Marble Altar along side the Dover emblem of the Holy Ghost. They looked so good together -- had much in common -- both enlightened people. Sister Josina worked hard to keep this precious place spotless.
We often helped remove wax from candle holders. How very privileged we were made to feel. I shudder to think of the miles a meter would record that Sister Josina traveled on her knees scrubbing, waxing and polishing every nook and corner. Many years and many callused knees later I visited Sister Josina. She led me to the chapel door and said, "I no longer clean God's House, look for yourself. I have been replaced.” There in place of eighty nine pound Sister Josina were three husky men with complete electrical equipment doing the job she had done with her own little hands for many years. My heart bled for her as I watched her forefinger nail between her front teeth -- a habit of hers when disturbed.
Lucy and I were not among those who had an allowance to spend at the candy store, but our treat come at 3:00 o'clock each day for eight years when Sister Josina came from St. Frances School. We would meet her at the back green gate. She would reach down in her pocket (if said pocket could talk -- WOW!) and out came "goodies" for the nieces. Candy, piñons, fruit and even sandwiches.
Delicious they were indeed! These surprises and generosities were not limited to these occasions -- never a feast day or birthday passed but what we found a neat little package at our place in the dining room. Which brings me to a little incident I'll always remember and gloat over.
It was lunchtime, dining room was on the second floor -- steps were narrow. We were going up double file in silence, as required, looking straight ahead, like ladies, when I felt our Superior, Sister Bernard, grab my arm, hit me, scold me angrily -- following our strict orders not to turn around or talk in rank -- I waited until we reached the top of the stairs to ask what I had done. Sister Bernard looked surprised as she said, "Wrong girl -- thought you were Marcel!"
Someone, not I, rushed to Sister Josina, told her I had been mistreated unjustly. At our very next meal there at the refectory stood little Sister Josina along side two hundred pound Sister Bernard. I wondered why but soon found out. After grace, Sister Bernard said, "Before you get recreation I have an announcement; yesterday I struck Marian Baca by mistake. I wish to apologize before all. I am very sorry Marian," she said standing by our table. At that Sister Josina left happily, not before assuring the superior I was not responsible for her knowledge of this incident. Turning back Sister Josina said, "O, Yes, next time Sister Bernard, look before you hit." You wonder why I loved this little Nun. Nobody, but nobody dared order our Superior around.
Among the million things Auntie did for us I recall how she insisted we place our soiled handkerchiefs in a bag she replaced with clean ones every Saturday. These she laundered herself. I could never understand why she didn't want us to send them in the general laundry since she had seen that hankies had our names and no danger of getting lost. Perhaps to check to see we had clean ones daily. However our Lucy always forgot hers (I believe she does to this very day) soiled or otherwise. Sister Josina would meet her on the play grounds with "Lucy Cow, do you have a hankie?" Sheepishly she would answer, "Doo" suggesting very much need of a handkerchief. Sister Josina searched in her bottomless pocket as if by magic produced a hankie for that Lucy.
The years slipped by -- many relatives and friends visited Sister Josina except on first Sunday of the month. Lent and Advent. Always we were brought into the parlor and introduced as "Marian and Lucy, my brother's Nazario's girls." To friends she would add, "he died so young -- was smart and promising -- well -- he was the cream of the crop.” How my heart filled with joy. To myself I would say, "you Sister Josina, are the cream of the feminine side.” I told her this often and thankful I did. Wherever Sister Josina was the relatives gathered -- she and she alone possessed that magnetic power. She was the joining link of a very large generation.
Life at Loretto was routine. Graduation 1929, many including Sister Josina were certain I would be a nun. Never could figure what gave them that impression. When I was confronted with, "Do you plan on joining the Loretto Order." They seemed stunned and disappointed -- especially Sister Josina when my answer was, "No, the world needs good mothers, and I intend to be that." Even though Auntie was a bit let down she added, "You are right Marian, how else would we have vocations. I haven't been much help in that direction. But I tried as a mother.
We had Sister Josina visit in our homes through the years. She brought us much joy. Always had a package hid in that famous built in pocket of hers. Once she handed me a neatly wrapped box just as she was leaving to be opened after she was gone. The package was labeled "Mouse trap guaranteed to kill by scaring them to death. We found, to our amusement and pleasure a picture of Sister Josina. On these visits, Sister always played the mouth harp -- danced to her polkas -- daringly picking up her habit, even exposing her ankles -- how cute she looked -- how she loved it. I think she pictured herself wearing her purple "bow".
Sister Josina had a sparkle in her eyes, dimples on her cheeks, and that daring streak I dearly loved. In those days religious life and rules were strict. Evenings, after dinner few disasters were seen on premises except those on duty. I was attending Loretto centennial, anxious to spend every possible moment with Sister Josina and Sister Romaulda (who lived together now). I was very sorry they would not be a the program that evening. They were presenting the History of Loretto, which the nuns attended that afternoon with orders that no nun must be seen at the evening performance. Convent quarters were locked as customary at 7:00 p.m. I walked into the auditorium a bit sad -- imagine my surprise when I discovered, in the rear of the place two Black Crows (we called them that with affection) motioning me in their direction. I quickly joined them, a very nervous Sister Romaulda who greeted me with "this was Josina's idea; I don't know how she dared or how we will get back into the convent." Sister Josina relaxed and smiling said, "no te apures Romaulda, you don't think I came unprepared. Here are the keys I swiped from Mother Superior's desk. Our night clothes are in the downstairs closet -- so what -- no rule says we can't get up out of bed and go downstairs." This day and age it doesn't seem too daring -- but believe me it was! Sister Romaulda continued to be afraid. Finally Sister Josina said, "enjoy this now -- we see Marian so seldom -- if we are caught we will pay later; you're not going anywhere else."
Through the years, I kept Sister Josina posted, especially when in need of prayer
Sister Josina taught at St. Frances in Santa Fé for fifty years. During that period more than four thousand children began their education under Sister's directions. She claimed that one of her most illustrious pupils was the late Monsignor José García -- but he was a rascal."
As sister closed her classroom doors over eight hundred gathered to thank her for what she had done for the community. It was said, "we join fifty years of Santa Féans who had their noses wiped, their childish tears dried, and the doors of learning opened to them by this devoted woman.
In January of 1969, our dear Sister Josina suffered a broken hip -- between that and arthritis she laid unable to move a muscle with this poem by her bedside:

The Only solace
To walk I cannot use my feet
My hands, I cannot use to eat.
But O! I have my eyes to see.
Dear God, You are so good to me.

My body's is bound with an iron chain.
I am quite cognizant of pain,
But I restrain the blinding tear
and thank you God, that I can hear.

For every need I must depend
Upon the service that other rend....
O heavy cross, the galling kind,
But, Thank you god I have my mind.

Daily, hourly ,suppressed desire
To do for other ignites a fire
that lights my way up Calvary's Hill
The only Solace, ‘Tis God’s will.

She died on February 10, 1970. I can picture the Golden Gates wide open awaiting her arrival -- hear the trumpets playing -- St. Peter and our Daddy Nazario greeting her with a big welcome -- St. Peter saying "Come in; you, like your Brother N.G., are white clean through." No doubt Sister Josina is sitting in her well-earned throne probably even showing off a beautiful purple bow. One thing I know, she is wearing her traditional Loretto habit that she dearly loved.
This little poem that I learned on my father's knee -- I can still hear Daddy, "recio ya despacio hijita[1]."

A Big Love
If you could see my love for you
How big it is -- how wide,
You'd look at me and wonder how
It ever got inside."

There were hugs and kisses all around as Lynae and Brent followed Mom to the car. “I hope you can come back again,” Auntie Marian and Eugenia told them. “It’s been a wonderful visit.”
“We’re headed down to Arizona to see my granddaughters first thing in the morning.” Mom answered bending to hug her four foot eight inch Auntie. “But we hope to come again next summer.”
The car pulled out and headed back to Río Rancho to spend one last night with Grandma Lucy.
“That was fun,” Lynae agreed. “That made the visit to Loretto Academy even more important to me.”
“I wish we could have stayed for the dances tonight at the festival!” Mom sighed. “But we need to head on down the road.”
“I’d like to see the cock fighting and bull baiting.” Brent’s eyes lighted up.
“I don’t think they do that now, but it was a popular tradition in the 1800’s. “They had all kinds of dances, waltzes, tango, the cuna, or cradle dance, but my mother jokes about doing the fandango. I found out it was really a dance. Everyone danced, the poor, the rich, the ladies and young people. I read that the dances went on almost every night and the streets had a carnival air. The dances were announced by a parade of the musicians around the plaza. But the young women were always chaperoned, and did not very often choose their own mates[2],” Mom added in a stern tone turning toward Lynae.
“I think our next adventure should be to Auntie Lola, and Uncle Eliseo and just force them to tell us stories and record them.” Brent insisted.
“We’ve tried that,” Mom explained, “and we have a few, but they just clam up when they see a recorder. The best luck I’ve had is writing down what I know or remember hearing and then having them correct all the mistakes and misunderstandings.”
[1] recite it a bit slower, little daughter that I love
[2] Santa Fe Trail 170