This dear little book is made up of childhood stories with images to color.
These mythos were told to the author by her grandmother, deep in the hills of Northern New Mexico.t is all about Saints and Angels.
My grandmother was a born storyteller. Like a lot of storytellers, she took great liberties with her tales – letting her imagination lead the way. The beauty of that was – the old stories came to life, real life, in an almost indescribable way. Indescribable unless you were actually there to hear them.
They were not, by any mean, all Bible stories. Grandma had a huge reservoir of cultural and spiritual traditions to draw from. Sometimes, either on purpose or by accident, her stories became a little mixed up. That never bothered grandmother one bit, because she understood that the old stories, no matter what the culture, were often just different versions of the same experiences.
After I grew up, I realized that some of grandmother’s stories could not be documented historically. But who’s to say what in the old stories is documentable anyway? What mattered was the great joy and love she spread all around her through her mythos. Nothing can take the place of her gentle voice, her enthusiasm and her animated narratives. But I have tried with my words and drawings to bring to you a bit of what was more entertaining for us, her grandchildren, than all the modern TV shows combined.