The Office of a Milonguero

This is the office of a milonguero. For those if you not versed in the world of Argentine tango, a milonguero/milonguera is a person who is a habitue of the milonga, which is the place where tango is danced socially. He is also someone respected and revered for his dedication, knowledge, and love of the Argentine tango. Generally the “office” of a milonguero is the dance floor.

The office of milonguero Alberto Pax

Alberto Paz was a milonguero. His “office” was the dance floor, and his office was also the archive and library we created for him in our home upstairs in the camel back part of the house. It was there that he kept his books on tango, his art collection, his video tapes, his music collection, his memories in dozens of photo albums of our travels together teaching tango all over the world. He made many videos, wrote many articles, translated tango lyrics from Spanish to English, compiled thousands of hours of tango music for dancing, worked on our tango website and my design website. He had five or six blogs about tango that he maintained, as well as a couple of tango groups on the Internet. He watched TV up there, a steady diet of political shows and news, futbol games (soccer), along with movies and sit-coms (he loved to laugh). He practiced the clarinet, and sang along with the tango music he played (I loved to hear him sing). He sent love letter emails to me when I was in my office downstairs. He napped up there. He would come down everyday to cook for me. We would sit in the kitchen at the table for a couple of hours and talk about our day. Then up he would go again, never bored, always busy and happy with affairs of tango.

He practiced the clarinet…

There is a check list for grief and mourning the loss of loved one who dies. Starting with the sad and horrible event itself, and the surreal funeral days after that. As a widow (and daughter, son, or sibling who lost a parent), the subsequent weeks are dedicated to dealing with practical concerns of wills, sorting out finances, computer passwords, matters to do with cars, and the wrenching chore of dealing with the belongings of the loved one now gone. Oh yes, you are also trying to get dressed, eat, not get sick, take care of the pets, not let the house fall into the ghostly tragic realm of Miss Havisham, and of course assure your friends and family that you are not suicidal (though in truth you often feel this way). You also have to get back to work, whatever your regular job may be. You slap on your Facebook persona. Most of the time you sit and stare. Sleep is scarce. Or sleep takes over your days.

Downsizing is not unusual. Often a home is sold. In the case of a spouse the one left behind might move to a smaller place, whether to a family member’s home, or an apartment or smaller house. Immediately upon Alberto’s passing, many asked me if I would remain in New Orleans or go back to New York. Days after the funeral I had offers to get rid of Alberto’s clothes. Frankly, for at least a year or so after the death of someone you love, no huge life changing decisions are a good idea.

Alberto and I talked about what I would do if he died before I did. We did not have a huge savings, or insurance policies. We worked. We have our mortgaged home. I told him I would stay in New Orleans, the place of the happiest years together. And I would try and stay in our home. Years ago my 90 year old friend Miss Anne gave me a good piece of advice. She told me to have a home large enough to rent out a room or two in the event that Alberto passed away. So over those bright and breezy lunches and dinners at our kitchen table, when Alberto asked me what I would do if he died, I told him I would probably follow Miss Anne’s advice and turn our house back into the “double” that it originally was, and rent out a room or two. I also told him I would invite my sister to come and live in that half of the house, knowing that between the two of us we could somehow make it into our old age together.

It’s good to have a plan and a project. I knew I had to get the plan going before depression totally paralyzed me, and I did not have not enough money to keep a roof over my head. Of course I could outright sell the house and make a profit large enough to have a modest means to live in a shoebox of a rental. But that was not the plan. The house is 2200 square feet, so even half of that is a generous shoebox. And it is my shoebox.

So this past July I started to dismantle Alberto’s office upstairs, and turn it into my bedroom. The master bedroom will be on the side of the house that will be rented, or be my sister’s half.

It’s has been a journey filled with big emotions, and very hard work. It is phase one of the transformation of the home of a couple, to the home of widow. My aeire upstairs is like an old fashion widows walk in New England. I stand at the windows and look for my husband, my love, to sail home to me.

So I share these camera phone pictures of Alberto’s office just before I started to lovingly dismantle it.

There was not enough light, and I was snapping photos through a veil of tears. They are blurry, a shimmering mirage of time vanishing.