Santa Claus came to town on Tuesday.
So did Joseph, Mary, wise men, shepherds, and an assorted cast that would do Cecil B. DeMille proud.
It is Christmas in Mexico and cultures are clashing.
There were few signs of Christmas in Melaque until this week. The school had its Christmas tree. A few shops had small decorations.
But it was difficult to distinguish the red and green motif for Guadalupe home decorations from Christmas lights. I think there may be another assimilation point embedded in that bait.
With Guadalupe duties out of the way, my neighbors have launched full throttle into Christmas. And I mean Mexican serious.
Around noon on Tuesday, I was rushing back to the house with some ice. Of course, the street was blocked. It seems that every time I get into a rushed northern mode, something gets blocked. The streets. The store aisle. The toilet.
This blockage appeared to be a group of mothers -- with cameras. I have one of those. I should have known what I would find.
If I have learned anything in Mexico, it is this: If you cannot go forward, stop, get out of your car, and enjoy whatever is going on.
I´m glad I did.
The mothers were photographing what mothers the world over photograph -- their children.
But not just their children. Their children dressed up in Christmas pageant finery. Mexican Christmas pageant finery. Not your dad´s left over robe or a worn-out sheet.
Stars. Mary. Joseph. Wise men. Shepherds. Angels. And some not-so-apparent assorted cast members.
Even though they were infant school by age, they formed willingly into a solemn procession. And processed.
They walked only two blocks with faces set sternly showing that Serious Work was being done on the cobblestones of San Patricio.
And they were accompanied by song. I say ¨accompanied¨ because the children were too intent on their roles to join in song. The mothers and teachers provided the cinematic soundtrack for this trek to Bethlehem. They sang full-throated and with joy -- except for the frequent maternal note trapped on the border between singing and crying.
Then they stopped. More singing. More photographs. And the distribution of candy to the entire cast. Solemn faces breaking into smiles of unexpected gifts.
This is, of course, the opening of the season where a very young Mary and an equally-young Joseph will walk home to home seeking entry -- only to be refused. But a door will finally open to admit them to provide succor from their long journey.
A good lesson on life´s vagaries and subsequent grace.
There was not so much grace with the arrival of Santa in San Patricio that evening.
No solemn procession for Saint Nick. He arrived with an entourage of tracer light bedecked vehicles -- including electronic reindeer who appeared to have escaped from the Costco zoo. And there was the omnipresent Mexican fiesta accessory: the speaker-topped car blaring, in this case, Jingle Bells in Spanish.
It was pure Vegas with the odd exception that Santa was on a wooden-wheel cart. Perhaps humility tarted up in show girl lights?
Santa was thin as a Grinch, and as European-featured as -- well, Santa Claus.
The children ran for blocks to greet him. Or to greet the candy he was showering on them.
The parade ended under a giant piñata that was whacked and whacked until it disgorged its bounty of sweets -- sweets that were scooped up by children gone wild. Sugar must be the foundation of everything Christmas in my small village by the sea.
I am not one of those outsiders who rails against American and Canadian culture ruining Mexican holidays.
The ancestors of the people in this village have been dealing with waves of invaders for thousands of years. Each wave has been assimilated into the existing culture. The result being the current menudo that surrounds us.
So, bring on the kids learning about the incarnation and the salving balm of grace. But we can also fit a bit of Santa into the day to celebrate the sheer joy of life.
I suspect the young Jesus would have liked his whack at the piñata.
So did Joseph, Mary, wise men, shepherds, and an assorted cast that would do Cecil B. DeMille proud.
It is Christmas in Mexico and cultures are clashing.
There were few signs of Christmas in Melaque until this week. The school had its Christmas tree. A few shops had small decorations.
But it was difficult to distinguish the red and green motif for Guadalupe home decorations from Christmas lights. I think there may be another assimilation point embedded in that bait.
With Guadalupe duties out of the way, my neighbors have launched full throttle into Christmas. And I mean Mexican serious.
Around noon on Tuesday, I was rushing back to the house with some ice. Of course, the street was blocked. It seems that every time I get into a rushed northern mode, something gets blocked. The streets. The store aisle. The toilet.
This blockage appeared to be a group of mothers -- with cameras. I have one of those. I should have known what I would find.
If I have learned anything in Mexico, it is this: If you cannot go forward, stop, get out of your car, and enjoy whatever is going on.
I´m glad I did.
The mothers were photographing what mothers the world over photograph -- their children.
But not just their children. Their children dressed up in Christmas pageant finery. Mexican Christmas pageant finery. Not your dad´s left over robe or a worn-out sheet.
Stars. Mary. Joseph. Wise men. Shepherds. Angels. And some not-so-apparent assorted cast members.
Even though they were infant school by age, they formed willingly into a solemn procession. And processed.
They walked only two blocks with faces set sternly showing that Serious Work was being done on the cobblestones of San Patricio.
And they were accompanied by song. I say ¨accompanied¨ because the children were too intent on their roles to join in song. The mothers and teachers provided the cinematic soundtrack for this trek to Bethlehem. They sang full-throated and with joy -- except for the frequent maternal note trapped on the border between singing and crying.
Then they stopped. More singing. More photographs. And the distribution of candy to the entire cast. Solemn faces breaking into smiles of unexpected gifts.
This is, of course, the opening of the season where a very young Mary and an equally-young Joseph will walk home to home seeking entry -- only to be refused. But a door will finally open to admit them to provide succor from their long journey.
A good lesson on life´s vagaries and subsequent grace.
There was not so much grace with the arrival of Santa in San Patricio that evening.
No solemn procession for Saint Nick. He arrived with an entourage of tracer light bedecked vehicles -- including electronic reindeer who appeared to have escaped from the Costco zoo. And there was the omnipresent Mexican fiesta accessory: the speaker-topped car blaring, in this case, Jingle Bells in Spanish.
It was pure Vegas with the odd exception that Santa was on a wooden-wheel cart. Perhaps humility tarted up in show girl lights?
Santa was thin as a Grinch, and as European-featured as -- well, Santa Claus.
The children ran for blocks to greet him. Or to greet the candy he was showering on them.
The parade ended under a giant piñata that was whacked and whacked until it disgorged its bounty of sweets -- sweets that were scooped up by children gone wild. Sugar must be the foundation of everything Christmas in my small village by the sea.
I am not one of those outsiders who rails against American and Canadian culture ruining Mexican holidays.
The ancestors of the people in this village have been dealing with waves of invaders for thousands of years. Each wave has been assimilated into the existing culture. The result being the current menudo that surrounds us.
So, bring on the kids learning about the incarnation and the salving balm of grace. But we can also fit a bit of Santa into the day to celebrate the sheer joy of life.
I suspect the young Jesus would have liked his whack at the piñata.
Note:
I have some great photographs to be added to this blog when -- and if -- my computer returns from the land of the undead.
