>> And I want to end my--I decided also in this collection that celebrates Los Angeles.
It's called Los Ángeles andan en bicicleta, Angels ride bikes.
And, in this case, the artist decided to take photos of her family because she said
that there were no - In picture books that she had when she was a kid in California,
she never saw people that looked like her father or her mother or her uncles or her aunt
and that's why, you know, you have here this cachetón, gordito, bigotón, you know?
That's ok, to have it in a picture book.
And this is her aunt y su sobrino, the nephew.
The poem goes My grandma is an angel.
I learned Spanish from my grandma.
Mijito, don't cry, she told me when my parents would leave to work at the fish canneries,
and I would fall asleep in her arms once again.
When she said niño barrigón, my little chubby boy, she laughed.
With my grandma, I learned to count clouds, to recognize mint leaves in flowerpots.
My grandma wore moons on her dress, Mexican mountains, desert, oceans.
In her eyes, her breaths, her voice, I see them, touch them, smell them.
One day I was told she went far away but still I feel her next
to me whispering in my ear "mijito".
And --