Keep it simple
Half a lifetime ago, the West family went south for a Christmas vacation in a quaint, little village on the Gulf coast of Florida. The pencil factory was long gone from Cedar Key. Tourist traffic roaring along I-75 never gave it a sideways glance.
Life at the Key was guaranteed simple but there was a hidden attraction. Three little restaurants packaged the local catch with their own recipes for slaw and hushpuppies and served sensational seafood dinners. There was also a cove for bird-watching and gathering shells and an ancient Indian mound which, if properly probed and stirred, might yield artifacts.
The rented house had lights and water but no TV. The only electronic entertainment was the blinking caution light at the intersection. The young Wests loved it but could never agree on exactly how many times it winked per minute.
Our holiday plan matched the place. We were going to take walks, sing carols, pray a prayer, study stars and enjoy moonlight on the water. Eventually, we would exchange modest gifts purchased locally. That meant the ancient arts and crafts shop or the drugstore.
In the days before Christmas, Gary, Jayne and Donna met several village children. They really liked the Thompson girls, Joy, Gay and Tina, but Key people seemed so shy. The Wests asked a thousand questions. The Thompsons answered some and also learned a few things. They had no idea that watching birds or gathering seashells was fun.
Friendships flourished. The Thompsons were great tour guides. Happiness was all around.
Everything changed on the afternoon of Dec. 24. Don Thompson was trying to jump-start his old pickup truck. The battery exploded in his face. Tiny Tina came running with the terrifying news. All the Wests rushed to the rescue.
We were too slow. The doctor had already treated acid burns and had decided Don's eyes had been spared. But the truck was dead and that, too, was a tragedy. It was the critical link between his fish nets and the market.
We pondered what to do. Donna suggested we give our Christmas gifts to the Thompsons. Gary suggested we buy a new battery. Sarah seconded his motion. But where do we get one? The only gas station was already closed for Christmas.
We found the owner. He reopened the store and guessed which of three batteries might fit. The price was $29. Children chipped in. It was a great gift. The old truck started. Don Thompson was stunned and almost dropped his Budweiser. Barbara Thompson cried and hugged Sarah.
This is our best Christmas story. Until last year, it was buried in decades of dust.
There are similarities between our chosen Mexican village of Jocotepec and Cedar Key. There are more people here but life remains relatively simple. The seafood falls short and there is no blinking traffic light. From time to time, there are Thompson-type problems. One got our attention.
Someone swiped our neighbor's German shepherd. She thought she knew the villains and retaliated by capturing a bicycle from their frontyard and sending it away. The bike belonged to six-year-old Magdelina Ramos, a wee bit noisy at times but totally innocent of dognapping.
When a Mexican sweetheart loses her wheels, even Scrooge would feel the tears. We bought her a new blue bicycle and delivered it, still in a box, to the front door on Christmas Eve. Unlike the Thompsons, nobody cried but the smiles were priceless and the message unforgettable.
If it doesn't cost too awful much, it really is better to give than to receive.
I like Christmas in Mexico. It is mostly a mixture of religious and family celebration. That happens to fit my simple way of thinking. There is no logical excuse for the millions racked up on credit cards in the name of jolly old Santa Claus.
Our Mexican friends warm up for Christmas with the posadas, nine days of religious tradition representing Mary and Joseph's journey from Nazareth to Bethlehem and their search for shelter before Jesus was born. We see the believers, led by children carrying candles, going door to door. Our Spanish is too slow to keep pace but we know they are looking for open arms. We see them kneel in prayer and hear their happy songs when they find the welcome mat.
Mexicans revere the Nativity scene and some take part in reenactments. They attend theatrical representations of the angel visiting the shepherds on their way to honor the baby Jesus. There is some fun in following the star and jumping stumbling blocks scattered by the devil.
On the night before Christmas, at midnight central standard time, the birth of Christ is announced with bells, whistles and fireworks. The devout come home from church to a late dinner. Of course children receive gifts and break a few piñatas.
The holiday season is slow to go. Wise men show up on Jan. 6 with gifts, another happy hour for children. This is also the day for the King's ring of bread or cake with the plastic or ceramic figurine of the Christ child inside. Whoever finds it in their slice or chunk gets to host a party.
Best I can tell, that happens in February, the end (more or less) of Christmas celebration. Nativity scenes are put away, schools reopen and our friends go back to work.
I enjoy Christmas in Mexico. Upon further review, I recall there was less noise in Cedar Key.
Contact