I’m dreaming of a white Christmas
Cuernavaca, Mexico Newsletter
December 2007
By Katie
This is one of my favorite Christmas songs... “I’m dreaming of a white Christmas, just like the ones I used to know...” and it really hit me in a soft spot this year. I wonder if Bing Crosby also spent a year volunteering in Mexico... hmm, I’ll have to do some research on that one. :)
This year’s Christmas was a tough one for me; the hardest part being the lack of similarities between a Mexican Christmas and the ones I used to know. It went by in a blur without many connections keeping me grounded to such a treasured holiday that is celebrated by a multitude of heavenly host-families worldwide and in a multitude of different cultural ways.
So, what was Christmas for me in Mexico?
The holiday season started on December 16th with the nightly celebration of posadas. The word posada means “inn” and these parties reenact Mary and Joseph’s search for an inn in Bethlehem as told in the Christmas story. Almost every neighborhood plans to throw a posada, choosing a night between December 16th and December 24th. All of the neighborhood families help organize the big event even though only one home is designated as the inn.
Friends, families and guests start the posada by walking to different homes on the street, each time singing a song asking the family for room at their “inn.” Each family replies in turn denying the crowd a space at their “inn,” and the quest continues on for nine different houses. Eventually, the party arrives (still singing of course) at the designated home. The host family sings back a song of welcome and the party officially starts. Guests are served hot ponche (punch) which tastes a lot like hot apple cider but with many more fruit flavors, in fact, the punch is prepared with several chunks of warm, soft fruits which are served heartily in every mug. Delicious, messy, and ultimately sticky – I never mastered the way to get the chunks of fruit out of my mug without using my fingers or having a piece fall on my face when taking a big gulp.
After a period of mingling and drinking ponche, a truck-load of piñatas are pulled out, each filled with mandarin oranges, jicama (a root vegetable that tastes more like a fruit), fresh peanuts, sugar cane, and candies. For fear of having too few piñatas for the party, families seemed to err on the side of caution and buy more than enough. Kids are lined up, shortest to tallest and in lines of boys and girls. Everyone gets a turn to take a swing at the piñatas, normally with the older kids wearing a blindfold to keep things interesting. I even got a chance at the piñata during the posada hosted on my street (with blindfold, of course). The piñata rope-holders tricked me and let the piñata fall to the far side of one wall and the crowd only yelled at me “¡ABAJO!” (“down”) – so I started crouching and blindly swinging around at about knee level. Well of course, everyone was laughing hysterically at the clueless güera trying unsuccessfully to find this darn piñata. Haha. I swallowed my pride with some ponche that night but the laughs we all shared were well worth the minute or two of blindfolded absurdity.
Posadas were a full week and a half of celebrations; I was invited to a different posada almost every night and sometimes having to choose between several invitations. Still juggling my average work schedule, I actually went to a posada about every other night. I was a bit tired by the end of the whole thing but it was well worth it - it was a fun way to engage in a completely new tradition of this culture.
I woke up on the morning of Christmas Eve and found that all the stores were open and people were going about their daily business as if it was any other day. Silly me, I was expecting that stores would be closed and the only people out would be the ones en route to their family’s home. So I went for a long walk and then came home to spend the rest of the surreal morning and afternoon with Marce and Sarah.
The only celebration for Christmas occurs on Christmas Eve, a late dinner around the tune of ten o’clock at night. I spent that time with Sarah and her host family. I was quite moved that her host family came from different parts of Mexico and even a few European countries to be together and that separated or divorced spouses were even welcomed to share the time with their family. Before the meal, we each went around and gave a toast for our blessings and joys and gratitude for those around us. Well, perhaps it wasn’t that different after all. We had a big meal with traditional dishes, families came from far and wide to celebrate, and we gave thanks for being together.
Yet still, Christmas itself was so unlike my “Christmas” in the United States. My memories of Christmas are of my family cozied up in a warm home with blankets of shimmering snow on the ground outside, crackling fireplaces, the lovingly prepared meal of our own Scandinavian treats (lefse!) and Christmas cookies. I remember coming home from the late, candlelit church service on Christmas Eve and then putting on slippers with my Sunday best dress or skirt (what a classy combo). I remember the lazy ease of Christmas Day and not a care in the world except hoping there were enough leftovers of my favorite dishes for our second feast. Most importantly, Christmas is a time to share our lives with our loved ones for two whole, uninterrupted days. It is the gentle and steady love of a father, the close heart-to-hearts with a mother that is becoming a friend, the patient wisdom of a grandma sharing with her grandkids, the joking banter with an older brother. Although I have a host family here, a Mexican substitute for this time, it is different to spend Christmas away from those who share my blood. Family is family and there is no replacement. That was what was missed the most.
On one hand, the absence of “Christmas” and my family made me long for the comforts of home; and on the other hand, it made me much more open to all the differences of a Mexican Christmas. I attempted to throw myself into the celebration and enjoyed being welcomed into homes and families who are celebrating the same event but with their own unique customs. I have received a lot of love here in Mexico from the other volunteers, from neighbors, the continual flow of incoming cards from the Bethany congregation, and especially from Marce and her family, all of which is so humbling and comforting during such a vulnerable time of year. Without, it would have been much harder to find the beauty in the holiday spirit that I did find in Mexico.
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