christmas crackers

Merry Christmas to all of you on this fine morning.

It just occurred to me that for the twelve Christmas days I have spent in Mexico, I have not written about how my neighbors celebrate the day. Of course, like all cultures, each family has its own traditions. But there are themes that show up in a lot of Christmas celebrations here.

When it comes to celebrations, many Mexicans are fond of sound -- anything to blot out the serenity of silence. My neighbors started early yesterday morning with music as they cleaned up their house for the arrival of friends and family.    

I do not know Mexican music very well, so I cannot even venture a guess at how to classify it. But I did recognize one thing about it. It was loud. Loud enough that I had to turn on the subtitles of a movie I was watching because I could not hear any sound from my speakers.

A northern visitor stopped by in the early afternoon to wish me a vague seasonal greeting. We tried to chat, but the music interfered. He finally lost his temper and said: "Call the cops on them," and left in a not-so-seasonal huff -- vague or otherwise. I wished him a sincere "Merry Christmas," which must have sounded ironic to him. It wasn't.

The man of the house across the street saw our exchange and came over to talk with me when my visitor left. We exchanged pleasantries and talked about the neighborhood. He then invited me to join them for dinner around 11 that night. Omar also invited me to his father-in-law's house for dinner around 11 or midnight and to join in the festivities with Yoana's family.

That sounds late for dinner to our northern ears. But the tradition is to attend midnight mass on Christmas Eve and then return home to eat dinner in the early hours of Christmas Day. Some families give mass a miss and head straight to the dinner table around midnight. That is my neighbors' tradition.

As you would anticipate, the music filled the air for the full day -- and night as it would turn out. Guests started arriving in the late evening.

For the rest of the night, the music was punctuated by the sound of fireworks that shook the doors in my house. At midnight, the music switched to a celebratory four-bar coda played by the local town band at various events. (I really need to ask about it source.) At the end of each fanfare, a barrage of fireworks were fired off sounding and looking like World War Two footage of the siege missiles at Leningrad.

I had no idea how they could be lit that quickly. Around 1 I wandered across the street to at least make an appearance. I asked my host about the fireworks. He proudly pulled out his telephone to show me a video of what had happened.

They own a burn barrel (a repurposed 55-gallon oil drum) that sits on the edge of the street, Keeping with its name, a fire was burning at the bottom. In the video, a guest carries a large box of fireworks to the barrel, dumps them in, and we have our own reenactment of the finale of The Overture of 1812. The paper in the street this morning once served as wrappers for the fireworks.

And still the music played on as the guests ate, drank, and celebrated. Even with my fan on full, I may as well have stayed at the party because the music was loud enough as if I were listening at my neighbor's house. (I suspect that was the subtext of my invitation: "You may as well be here.") It finally stopped around 6, and I was able to get three hours of sleep.

Now, I am curious, as you read this account, which of two moods it put you in. Were you upset that neighbors could be that noisy? Or were you tempted to join in, if not the party itself, the celebratory nature of the gathered family and friends?

Not long ago, I would have probably counted myself in the first group. But I would have been a contrarian if I had because I play movies in my house at a rather high volume, and the list of music I listen to that requires high volumes (the fourth movement of Beethoven's ninth symphony, Handel's "Hallelujah" chorus from The Messiah, Wagner's "The Ride of the Valkyries") are not strangers to the house with no name.

Adam Smith in The Theory of Moral Sentiments offers a thought device he called "the impartial spectator" (what we would probably call "objective") to help people see the world in a broader perspective. In the process, we divest ourselves of private concerns and learn to see the world free of the distorting lens of our self-interest.

I do not always succeed in doing that. I will confess that more than once last night I prayed for the party to draw to a conclusion.

But the party had its own story arc and I needed to drop my private concerns knowing full well that the people at the party were enjoying themselves -- and, with a bit of patience on my part, it would eventually come to an end. As it did.

So, here I sit on this cheery Christmas morning of 2020 knowing that my neighbors have welcomed in the day with high celebration. Tonight, I will have my own celebration of the day.

I will don my white tie (if I can still slip my newly-corpulent self into its confines) and have dinner at Papa Gallo's with two or three friends and acquaintances. If there will be music, it will be Guy Lombardo-soft and the fireworks will be provided by liquor-fueled political tempers. And, just like last night and this morning, I will be an impartial observer of cultures celebrating.

And that brings us back to where we began.

I wish you all a Merry Christmas in whatever method you choose to celebrate it.