Category: Customs and Traditions

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Memorial Day

 

 

Before Memorial Day became  known as “The Day The Pools Open” it was called Decoration Day. It was a day to decorate soldiers’ graves in honor of their memory. In my small town, families decorated the graves of loved ones in the local cemetery, whether they were soldiers or not. I loved going to the cemetery with my mother and grandmother on Memorial Day to plant flowers on the Hunt family graves.

I’ve always liked going to cemeteries. They are never spooky or depressing. Being from a small town, I knew most of the family names at St. Mary’s Cemetery in North St. Paul.. They were the names of my classmates at St. Peter School. Schmidt…Roy…Luger…Olson …Scanlon … Knospe. They were all there. Some of my classmates were there on Memorial Day, too, planting flowers just like we did.

I don’t remember what kind of flowers my mother planted every year. I don’t remember if she planted the same thing or not. I think they were probably small and easy to grow. Maybe zinnias or marigolds?

Mostly I remember there was a small grave next to the Hunt family plot. It was smaller than the other graves and was always decorated with yellow pansies. Every year my mother would tell the same story. The grave belonged to a little boy who died before he was old enough to go to school. His mother and grandmother came every year and surrounded the grave in yellow flowers because it was his favorite color. It was the most beautiful grave I’ve ever seen.

As I got older, and learned to ride a bike, I often rode through the cemetery in the evening, after dinner. It was a quiet, friendly place, near Silver Lake. Later, after I moved to Denver, my grandmother was also buried in st. Mary’s Cemetery, next to her husband and her son, my mother’s brother, Frank, who died when he was thirteen. I haven’t been back to St. Mary’s Cemetery in a very long time. I wonder if anyone still plants flowers there on Memorial Day?

Now both of my parents are buried at Fort Snelling military cemetery. It is an especially beautiful place on Memorial Day. There are flags on every tombstone to honor the soldiers and their spouses.

My father was proud of his service in the Navy during World War II. He wanted to be buried at Fort Snelling and six years ago my mother was buried there alongside him.

There is something very solemn about Memorial Day. Yes, it is the day the pools open. But It is also a day for remembering.

After planting flowers on Memorial Day, we would have a picnic in our back yard  ~ the first picnic of the summer.  The menu wasn’t fancy and it was always the same: hot dogs, potato salad, chips, beer and soft drinks. At the end of the day, my Dad would take out his trumpet, stand in the front yard and play Taps. It was a signal that it was time for bed. Summer had started.

TAPS: Gone the sun, from the hills, from the lake, from the skies.

All is well. Safely rest. God is nigh.

 

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Independence Day

Dia de Independencia (Independence Day) was my introduction to over-the-top holiday celebrations in Mexico. I had just moved to Mazatlán and my furniture hadn’t arrived yet. I brought a sauce pan, a frying pan and a few plastic dishes in my luggage. I bought a small bed, a tiny outdoor table and two plastic chairs at Sam’s Club. I went to the used appliance store and bought a stove and a refrigerator. I had enough to survive but I wanted my stuff.

My moving truck was stalled at the border because the inspector found a package of new sheets in one of my 250 boxes. Because I couldn’t prove that I paid tax for the sheets in the U.S., I had to pay the inspector $100.00 to approve my move. 

I know it was a bribe. I know the bribe cost more than the sheets were worth. I was lucky. He didn’t open the box that contained the digital grand piano. That didn’t have a receipt either. 

Truly, I felt trapped that day ~ September 16, 2005 ~ as I watched Neto and his friends install a fountain in my courtyard. There was nothing I could do until the moving truck arrived. And then I heard the parade. The most wonderful parade I’d ever seen.

To the beat of drums and music blaring from huge speakers on top of cars, little children came walking down my street, holding hands, dressed as guerrilla warriors from 1810. Preschool boys and girls, with bullet belts and long skirts, walking with their teachers. Unbelievably cute! 

That’s when I knew I had made the right decision. My home was right on the parade route. For the next five years, I watched every parade, (and there are a lot of them!) from my plastic chair placed right in front of my door.

Día de la Independencia marks the moment when Father Miguel Hidalgo, a Catholic priest, made his cry for independence. His chant, ¡Viva Mexico! and ¡Viva Independencia¡ encouraged rebellion. He called for an end to Spanish rule in Mexico.

The Spanish regime was largely unprepared for the suddenness, size, and violence of the rebellion. From a small gathering at Father Hidalgo’s church in Delores, the army swelled to include workers on local estates, prisoners liberated from jail, and a few soldiers who revolted from the Spanish army. Farmers used agricultural tools to fight. Rebel soldiers had guns and bullets. Indians, armed with bows and arrow, joined the cause. The revolution rapidly moved beyond the village of Dolores to towns throughout Mexico.

Father Hidalgo was captured and executed on July 30, 1811. Father José Maria Morelos, a seminary student of Father Hidalgo, took charge. The movement’s banner with image of the Virgin of Guadalupe was symbolically important. She was seen as a protector and liberator  of dark-skinned Mexicans. Many men in Hidalgo’s forces went into battle wearing the image of the Virgin of Guadalupe on their hats. The War of Independence was finally won on September 27, 1821.

Much like the Fourth of July in the U.S., Mexicans celebrate their country’s Independence Day with fireworks, parties, food, dance and music. Flags, flowers and decorations in the colors of the Mexican flag – red, white and green – are seen everywhere in cities and towns throughout Mexico.

Whistles and horns are blown and confetti is thrown to celebrate this festive occasion. Chants of “Viva Mexico” are shouted throughout the crowds. And school children, dressed in Mexican themes, march through the streets of their neighborhood. 

The following day, on September 17,  a moving truck with all of the belongings pulled up in front of my house. Out jumped six handsome Mexican men, ready to unload everything. Boxes containing everything I thought I would need and some things, like Christmas decorations and recipe books, I wasn’t yet ready to part with. And my piano! 

¡Viva Mexico!

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A Birthday in La Hacienda

The year was 2009.  I asked Neto how he would like to spend his birthday.

“I’d like to go to Hacienda del Tamarindo, and see Tio Gero and Tia Valvina. I would like to be there for my birthday and the Virgin’s novena.”

I had never been to Hacienda del Tamarindo, the small town near Rosario where Neto’s mother grew up. Neto’s great-grandfather was one of three men who founded the town in the early 1900’s. The family home, where Gero and Valvina raised thirteen children, is on the main street, directly across from the Catholic church. 

“Do we need to call and let them know we are coming?” I asked.

“Oh, no. Everyone is welcome. It’s the beginning of December. People will be coming from all over.”

“Where will we stay?”

“Tia will want us to stay with her in their big house.”

Neto was right. It was mid-afternoon when we walked in the front door and the living room was full of people. Most of Gero and Valvina’s children moved to the United States, but still came back every year for Christmas. Those who weren’t already there, were on their way. 

Valvina was in the kitchen, preparing food. Fruit and sweetbread was spread out on the big table, alongside pitchers of lemonade and jamaica. A grill was set up outside, coals already burning, for carne asada later in the day.

Uncle Gero met us at the door. A tall, distinguished man in his mid-90’s, he was almost totally blind as a result of diabetes. Neto introduced me to his uncle, and Gero’s charm came out in full Rodriguez style. He took my hand and led me around the living room, introducing me to everyone seated there. He insisted that I sit next to him and never let go of my hand.

Aunt Valvina, was equally charming. She hugged us both. Neto waited outside while she showed me around her home. I saw the laundry room in the back courtyard and her sewing room, where she sews linens for all the bedrooms and curtains for the windows.

Valvina proudly showed me the “barracho room,” a large dormitory on one side the patio, where the men sleep who are too drunk to come in the house. It was obvious the house had been enlarged many times to accommodate her big family. It was an old home with modern appliances, but no hot water.

Valvina called her neighbors to announce, “Neto is here with his friend, Lynda. Come for dinner.”

Soon the courtyard and the back patio were filled with people, most of whom looked like Neto with their thick black hair, flashing brown eyes and quick smiles

I was happy that Neto wanted to come to La Hacienda, but I noticed he didn’t mention his birthday. He told everyone he’d come for the Virgin’s novena. Only after most people had gone home after dinner, when he and I were left sitting around the table with Gero and Valvina, did he open up.

“There’s another reason I wanted to be here today,” he said shyly. “It’s my cumpleaños.”

Oh, my! Uncle Gero and Aunt Valvina both jumped up at once. Gero reached Neto first, and shook his hand. Valvina grabbed him and squeezed him tight. “Feliz Cumpleaños, Mijo.” They had tears in their eyes. So did I.

The next day, before sunrise, church bells rang. Portable cannons boomed in the streets. 

“What is that?” I wanted to know.

“It’s the beginning the novena.”

People came out of every home for a procession that happens every day for nine days leading up to the feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe. Men in identical white cowboy hats joined the ceremony. Some came walking, some on horseback. 

A few men went inside the church to bring the statue of Mary outside and lift it onto the back of a truck. The procession began its slow walk through town. First the truck with the statue and then the parish priest. And then the townspeople, repeating the rosary together as they walked along the cobblestone streets, some carrying flashlights and some with candles to light their way. 

I stayed inside. It was still dark and cold outside. It didn’t feel right for me to join the procession. The prayers were in Spanish. It was a private moment for Neto, his family, his neighbors and his friends.

When Neto returned, he showed me how to take a shower, by rinsing myself with cold water from a bucket in the bathroom. It was so cold it took my breath away. I dressed quickly and joined Neto and his family in the kitchen for breakfast. 

That afternoon, when it was time to leave, Neto’s cousins came to say goodbye.

“We really like Lynda. How can we get you to bring her back again?”

“It would help if you had some hot water,” he answered.

They all laughed the same hearty Rodriguez laugh.

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No Skeletons Celebrating This Year

2020 has been an absolutely horrible year! As proof, this is the first time in more than fifty years that I didn’t buy any Halloween candy. 

When I was raising my children, and later when I worked in public schools, the question of the season was “What are you going to be for Halloween?” I miss the excitement that marked the end of fall and the beginning of winter. I miss helping children choose their costumes. I miss hearing them scream and laugh as they run from house to house in the cold night air.

Because of the pandemic, there won’t be any children trick-or-treating in my neighborhood this year. Condos in my complex aren’t decorated with flashing orange lights or carved pumpkins. As we have for the past eight months, we are all staying home behind locked doors, keeping busy until it is time to turn out the lights and go to bed.

It hasn’t always been this way. In Mexico, my house was right in front of the city’s Dia de Los Muertos celebration. Musicians played loud, off-key music as they marched up and down the street, signaling that  it was time to open my door and join the Day of the Dead party. Skeletons, acrobats, and women dressed as in fancy clothes and feathered hats mingled outside. We waited together on the street for the beer wagon, drawn by a single sleepy burro, to arrive. Beer was free. The party lasted all night. The music went on until morning.

My favorite Halloween was 2013. I had moved back to Colorado and bought a condo near Buckley Air Force Base. I have always loved Aurora, one of the most diverse cities in the United States. Because housing prices are low, it is home to immigrants from all over the world, including many people from Mexico. I feel at home here.

As usual, the weather that Halloween was cold. But that didn’t stop children coming to my door. Children who didn’t celebrate Halloween in their previous countries, but who were eager to dress up and ask for candy now. I lived on a busy street, across from a park, so my home was the first stop for many of the children. That year, I had more than 200 trick-or-treaters. I couldn’t have been happier!

My first visitor was a little skeleton from Mexico. He was about five years old. When he saw that I was giving out Butterfingers, he was thrilled.

“I know, Butterfingers are the best,” I said, as I gave him an extra one to put in his pillow case.

“No, YOU are the best!” he replied. And he gave me a hug. Mexican charm starts early.

Then his little princess-sister, who didn’t know what to do, gave me a hug, too. It was Halloween magic on the streets of Aurora.

My absolutely favorite Halloween character from 2013, however, was an elderly woman from Korea, who was trick-or-treating alongside everyone else. I thought she was a chaperone but she didn’t have any children with her. I answered the door, expecting to see a giggling group of children but Mama was there alone, smiling a big toothless grin and showing me her orange plastic pumpkin. She wasn’t wearing a costume. I gave her two Butterfingers. Halloween was for everyone. 

I pray that someday it will be again.

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¡Viva Mexico!

Dia de Independencia (Independence Day) was my introduction to over-the-top holiday celebrations in Mexico. I had just moved to Mazatlán and my furniture hadn’t arrived yet. I carried a sauce pan, a frying pan, and a few plastic dishes in my luggage. I bought a small bed, a tiny outdoor table and two plastic chairs at Sam’s Club. I went to the used appliance store and bought a stove and a refrigerator. I had enough to survive but I wanted my stuff.

My moving truck was stalled at the border because the inspector found a package of new sheets in one of my 250 boxes. Because I couldn’t prove that I paid sales tax in the U.S. for the sheets., I had to give the inspector $200.00 to approve my move across the border.

I know it was a bribe. I know the bribe cost more than the sheets were worth. I was lucky. He didn’t open the box that contained the digital grand piano. That didn’t have a receipt either. 

Truly, I felt trapped that day, September 16, 2005, as I watched Neto and his friends install a fountain in my courtyard. There was nothing I could do until the moving truck arrived.

And then I heard a police siren announcing a parade. The most wonderful parade I’d ever seen.

To the beat of drums and music blaring from huge speakers on top of cars, little children came walking down my street, holding hands, dressed as guerrilla warriors from 1810. Preschool boys and girls, with bullet belts and long skirts, walking with their teachers. Unbelievably cute! 

That’s when I knew I made the right decision. My home was right on the parade route. For the next five years, I watched every parade, (and there are a lot of them!) from my plastic chair placed right in front of my door.

Día de la Independencia marks the moment when Father Miguel Hidalgo, a Catholic priest, made his cry for Independence. His chants, ¡Viva Mexico! and ¡Viva Independencia¡ encouraged rebellion and called for an end to Spanish rule in Mexico.

The Spanish regime was not prepared for the suddenness, size, and violence of the rebellion. From a small spontaneous gathering at Father Hidalgo’s church in Delores, the army swelled to include farm workers from local estates, prisoners liberated from jail, and a few soldiers who revolted from the Spanish army.

Farmers used agricultural tools to fight. Rebel soldiers had guns and bullets. Indians, armed with bows and arrow, joined the cause. The revolution rapidly moved beyond the village of Dolores to towns throughout Mexico.

Father Hidalgo was captured and executed on July 30, 1811. Father José Maria Morelos, a seminary student and friend of Father Hidalgo, took charge. The movement’s banner, with an image of the Virgin of Guadalupe, was symbolically important. She was seen as a protector and liberator  of dark-skinned Mexicans. Many men in Hidalgo’s forces went into battle wearing the image of the Virgin of Guadalupe on their clothes. The War of Independence was won on September 27, 1821.

Much like the Fourth of July in the U.S., Mexicans celebrate their country’s Independence Day with fireworks, parties, food, dancing and music. Flags, flowers and decorations in the colors of the Mexican flag – red, white and green – are seen everywhere in cities and towns throughout Mexico. Whistles and horns are blown and confetti is thrown to celebrate this festive occasion. Chants of “Viva Mexico” are shouted among the crowds. And school children, dressed in Mexican themes, march through the streets of their neighborhood. 

The following day a moving truck with all of my belongings pulled up in front of my house. Out jumped six strong, handsome Mexican men, ready to unload everything. Boxes containing everything I thought I would need and some things, like Christmas decorations and recipe books, I wasn’t yet ready to part with. And my piano! 

¡Viva Mexico!

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Primavera

¡Primavera! The first day of spring. Of course the holiday is celebrated with a parade. Everything in Mazatlán is celebrated with a parade. And because my home was on a busy main street, every parade went right past my front door.

Some of the parades, I must admit, began to have a sameness about them. Gorgeous girls with long dark hair and beautiful black eyes wearing tight sequined dresses and sparkling tiaras. Military bands and dancing horses. Music booming from speakers the size of my kitchen stove.

But the Primavera parade is something special. Held on the first day of spring, it is a day for preschoolers and kindergartners to dress like flowers, butterflies and baby animals. Mothers walk alongside their children or push them in fancy strollers along the parade route. Teachers walk with their entire classroom of preschool children, all of them holding hands. Often, to my horror, tiny boys and girls were perched on the hoods and even the roofs of cars and trucks decorated with balloons in every possible spring color combination.

The parade would never be allowed in the United States. It is certainly too dangerous to allow babies to ride on top of moving vehicles. And yet, the smiles on the faces of the children and their proud parents made this my favorite parade of the year.

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Q and A: Week 3

This week I’m going to answer some of the questions I’ve received since I first posted from Mexico two weeks ago.

Q: What is your favorite part of being in Mexico?

A: Do you really want to know? The beautiful weather! We sit on the patio in the morning, drinking something hot (coffee for him. chai for me) and eating sweet bread. At 7:00 in the morning, I’m in my t-shirt and shorts. Can you imagine? At night, we go for a walk to the OXXO (think 7-11) for fresh tortillas or pastry for the next day. I’m going to miss this when it’s time to come back to Colorado.

Q: Is there anything that is frustrating or difficult?

A: Yes! This is not the all-inclusive life that most Americans experience. The nitty-gritty of daily life in Mexico is eye-opening and can be tremendously frustrating. For example, Neto spent an entire day getting car insurance because the computers were down at the insurance agency and didn’t resume operation for hours.

It took Neto most of last week to get his driver’s license renewed because he didn’t want to  bribe someone to speed up the process.. It is all part of being poor and dealing with a government bureaucracy that can be both cruel and stupid, in equal measures. 

Every day Neto returned to the DMV and was told he needed to produce more proof of his address ~ the house he’s lived in for more than 50 years. Having the address listed on his nearly acquired car insurance wasn’t enough. Finally, after four days of standing in line and meeting with different unhelpful clerks, he returned to the office with his old driver’s license and social security card, his brother’s birth certificate and driver’s license, and a copy of the electrical bill. Success! The photographer took his picture and he went on his way.

Q: How is the car?

A: The car needs work but is running well. We have questions about the previous owners, however. From the car’s documents, we know it was stolen in Mazatlán and recovered in Cabo San Lucas. The car used to be bright red before it was painted its current iridescent green. It has six gears plus reverse. The automatic windows are tinted dark black but they no longer work. It’s a car made for fast get-aways and who knows what else. We’re lucky to have found a mechanic who can get the windows working again.

Q: What happened to the cow?

A: As far as we know Prieta is alive and well. Neto’s uncle, Ramon Rodriguez, is the unofficial veterinarian of Hacienda del Tamarindo. He runs an animal rescue out of his tiny home and saves injured animals he finds in the forest. When he heard that Neto hit the neighbor’s cow, he went to the farmer’s house and offered to help. Tio Ramon fashioned a cast out of plaster so the cow could continue to wander and eat grass by the side of the road. When it was time for the cast to come off, Ramon made a brace to using sticks and a piece of leather to support the cow’s leg until it was completely healed.  Ramon is a living legend. A true animal whisperer.

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Dia de Los Reyes

Oh, no! Not another Mexican fiesta!

Oh, yes! January 6, is Three Kings Day. Like most holidays that mirror Catholic feast days, Dia de Los Reyes was introduced by priests from Spain as early as 1521. It is a day that honors the legend of the Three Wise Men, who followed a star to Bethlehem and presented gifts to the Baby Jesus. 

Children in rural areas traditionally receive gifts on Three Kings Day ~ often candy, clothing and school supplies. They write letters to the Three Kings and place the letters in their shoes, next to a small dish of straw for the kings’ camels. It is an endearing tradition that is celebrated in homes and businesses and is marked by a Rosca de Reyes, a King’s Cake. 

The King’s Cake is baked in the shape of a crown and has a small doll inside, which represents the infant Jesus hidden from King Herod’s troops. The cakes are decorated with candied fruit to look like a crown’s jewels. Tradition says that the person who gets the slice of cake with the doll inside must provide tamales for Día de la Candelaria in February.

Children return to school every year on January 7th. They are happy to see their classmates, to talk about the gifts they received and tell how they celebrated the holidays.

Public schools in Mexico are very different from schools in the United States. All children wear uniforms. Some teachers are well-trained but others inherit their positions from family members in government sanctioned nepotism. Children go to school only four hours/day, either in the morning or the afternoon. They don’t go to public libraries or have books to read at home. A favorite activity for girls is coloring, while boys prefer to play outside. Children often fail grades and it is not unusual for students to be thirteen years old and still in elementary school. By the time these students are ready for middle school, the girls are well-developed and gorgeous. They boys have broad shoulders and facial hair.

When I worked in Colorado public schools, niños like Neto were considered “hard and fast” little boys. Although he was bright and loved to learn, Neto was expelled from kindergarten after just one day and sent to a military school in Tepic, a busy city five hours away. 

Neto tells the story of, Mudo, a classmate he met when he returned to Mazatlán at the end of fourth grade. By that time Neto was a hard-working, well-disciplined student who had been in a military classroom eight hours/day for the past three years. He surely was the most advanced student in his class.

Mudo was given his nickname (mute) because he never spoke. Their teacher, Enrique, maintained discipline by walking around the classroom with a ruler, hitting boys who were not paying attention or were causing a disturbance. Enrique was a small man, smaller than either Mudo or his friend, Bebe, who were clearly much older than Neto. 

One day, Mudo had enough. Just as Enrique raised his arm to hit Bebe with his ruler, Mudo stood up at his seat, walked over to the teacher, silently took the ruler out of his hand and punched him hard in the jaw. School was dismissed for the day and Mudo left school to go to work with his father. It was a dramatic end to his school career.

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Day of the Innocents

Fiesta season never ends! Today, December 28, is Día de los Santos Inocentes, Day of the Holy Innocents. It is a day for all kinds of practical jokes. And beware of lending money! Tradition says money borrowed today doesn’t have to be paid back.  A person who falls for tricks on December 28th is referred to as an Inocente Palomita ~ “an innocent dove who lets himself be deceived.”

Day of the Innocents is based on a tragic biblical story and probably goes back to the Middle Ages. According to the Gospel of St. Matthew, when King Herod was warned of the birth of the “new king of the Jews” (the baby Jesus) he went into a jealous rage and sent soldiers to kill all boys under the age of two. The children killed during the rampage are known as the “Holy Innocents.” Jesus escaped death because his parents were warned by an angel and fled Bethlehem. King Herod was tricked trying to maintain control of his kingdom and the tradition of trickery continues to this day.

Neto remembers Dia de los Inocentes, 2003, as an example of  the truly diabolical Mexican sense of humor. He still laughs when he tells the story. A strong tidal wave hit the west coast of Mexico the previous October. On Day of the Innocents, the Mazatlán newspaper republished the story as if it were happening that very day. People panicked. They fled the city in huge numbers, carrying little but the clothes on their backs. They stayed hidden away until the newspaper published a retraction days later. But the newspaper never apologized. It was considered good fun to fool so many “innocent doves.”

As an American, living in Mexico, most of the tricks played on me were tricks of language. I was an Inocente Palomita. I was easily fooled! One morning as I went to breakfast with friends, someone told  me that if I wanted to order eggs, I should say, “Tiene huevones?” Because huevos means eggs, I believed I was ordering two fried eggs. The waiter stared at me with wide-open eyes. My friends at the table started to giggle, then broke out in raucous laughter. I used a slang expression that compares eggs to male anatomy. I didn’t order a two-egg breakfast. I asked the waiter, “Do you have big balls?” 

Because I don’t have any pictures of practical jokes, I am including a picture I took in Puerto Vallarta on December 28, 2014. I believe the girl on the left is giving me an obscene gesture. Maybe it is her idea of a practical joke?

These children, who spend all day selling trinkets on the street for a few pesos, are my idea of Los Santos Inocentes. They are the beautiful children of Mexico. It is a modern-day story of a baby born in poverty.

As we approach a new year, a new decade, please remember the innocent children around the world. Protect them as if they were your own. Because they are.

Feliz Año Nuevo. Happy New Year!

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Las Posadas

Las Posadas is a lovely Christmas tradition in Mexico. For nine days, from December 16-24, communities hold posadas, traditional religious plays, that commemorate Mary and Joseph’s search for a place to stay in Bethlehem before Jesus was born.

Neto is invited to multiple posadas every year. There will be posadas in his neighborhood and one at Los Colores, the Catholic meeting he attends every Wednesday night. Posadas are usually held after dark. Guests play the part of pilgrims, carrying candles to help them light their way as they go from house to house, knocking on doors asking for shelter.

One year Neto and I were in Bucerias, a small town north of Puerto Vallarta, for Christmas. We attended a posada at Los Arroyos Verdes, a beautiful ecological retreat located in a tropical rainforest on the outskirts of town. Children from the local orphanage played the main parts ~ Mary and Joseph, angels and shepherds. Mary was blind and sat on a real donkey. Those of us in the audience were divided in two parts ~ the innkeepers and the pilgrims.

There is a song that is sung at every posada, back and forth between the innkeepers and the pilgrims. The ceremony begins as Mary, Joseph and the pilgrims ask for lodging, or “posada.” The innkeepers reject the pilgrims and tell them to go away. Finally, after listening to the pleas of the pilgrims multiple times, the innkeepers sing, “Wait! It is you, Joseph, and your wife, Mary! Please come in. I did not recognize you!”

To this, the pilgrims sing, “God will repay you for your charity and fill you with blessings in heaven.” 

And then the party begins! There is a special piñata for the children ~ a seven-pointed star that represents the seven-deadly sins. Children whack away at the piñata with a stick until it is broken, representing God’s victory over the devil. Candy and trinkets fall on the ground and the children run to gather up as much as they can, scooping their loot into their outstretched hands and pants pockets.

Of course, there is plenty of food and drink. At our party, the food was pot luck. Typical Mexican foods are tamales, pozole and buñuelos, deep fried dough drizzled in syrup and rolled in cinnamon sugar. Drinks include Mexican hot chocolate, atole (a hot drink made from corn flour),  beer and shots of tequila. Neighbors often hire a band and the party lasts until early morning when it is finally time to go home.

I love the symbolism of La Posada. At Christmas, a time for candles to light our way during these dark winter nights, I am reminded of these words from the song, Light One Candle by Peter Yarrow:

“Light one candle for the strength that we need to never become our own foe.

And light one candle for those who are suffering. Pain we learned so long ago.

Light one candle for all we believe in. That anger not tear us apart.

And light one candle to find us together with peace as the song in our heart.”

¡Feliz Navidad!