Mexico celebration luncheon
© Marvin West, 2011
Our favorite Mexico neighbors, parents of a young father, celebrated the christening of their granddaughter, five months old, with a Sunday luncheon.
They strung up white balloons and rented a big grill, a large ice box, tables, chairs, even white tablecloths and a giant jukebox. Mariachis are expensive.
Some of this party stuff overflowed into the street. Motorists drove around it without honking.
At 10 minutes after noon on this chosen day, we got a surprise. A delegation came across to invite us over for a 2 p.m. meal. No gifts, they said. Just come be honored guests or maybe it was ornamentos.
Sarah thought a few additional minutes to do her hair would have been nice. Take your time, said I. The ticking clock is no problem. This is Mexico.
It is a tradition that Mexicans never start anything on time. Work. Funerals. Certainly not a fiesta. No rush.
We didn't think of it as peeping but we observed preparations from our third-floor window. At 2 o'clock, grandmother Magdalena was roasting green onions on the rented grill. All the rented chairs were empty.
© Marvin West, 2011
At 2:32, Magdalena brought out the thin strips of beef she had been marinating. That got my attention. Maybe we should stroll across and see what else is on the menu.
To go with charcoal smoke and other good smells, old-fashioned white beans filled a big clay pot. Chopped cactus leaves and tomato salad was chilling. Avocado slices were mixed with lots of something I didn't recognize. Tortillas were in medium stacks, wrapped to keep warm.
There were bundles of napkins but no forks or spoons. I notice such things.
Eventually, we analyzed the delay. Little Wendy, in a beautiful white gown, her young dad Gustavo and young mommy Mariana and her dear family — one or more relatively new grandmothers, a grandfather, brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts, cousins, etc. — arrived from church in the middle of the afternoon. Some priests talk entirely too much.
It appeared some in the gathering might have been unhappy, as if they had been roped and dragged and were missing a soccer match on TV. Some didn't look real comfortable in this strange setting. I don't think the families know each other very well. It could be somebody didn't applaud the marriage.
You should have seen the wide eyes when newcomers spotted the gringos. Nobody said anything unkind but the expressions asked where in the world did that pretty blond come from and who the heck is that old-timer with the white whiskers? Springtime Santa incognito?
Our neighbor Salvador made no introductions. We were his side of the family secret.
© Marvin West, 2011
It helped some that the young mother and father think the dear Mrs. West hung the moon. Mariana was very comfortable handing baby Wendy to Sarah to hold while she helped serve the food. That wiped off some of the grimness. When I became the official photographer, there was more marginal mellowing. I made lots of pictures. Two or three people actually smiled.
We ate as if we were hungry. The cactus salad was different. The meat was tough. Roasted onions were excellent. Beans were tasty but hard to manage with pinches of tortilla and clumsy fingers.
We used many napkins, thanked the hosts profusely, hugged the young couple, nodded to the in-laws and departed early — so they could all talk about us after we were gone.
That was not the end of Sunday socializing. We went up the street to Petra's house for a few minutes. It was her 70th birthday. More hugs. Two sons were fixing an even later lunch. We turned down the bonus feeding.
Others tell us not all that many foreigners get invited into Mexican homes, into family functions. That may or may not be true. Maybe these are unusual neighbors. For years, we have gone to their events, never missing tamales and Christmas Eve bonfires. They always come to our house on Christmas morning for their official family photo.
A few years ago, we attended a wedding in this same extended family. They had reserved two seats on the front row. We didn't know then what we were doing and we aren't much smarter now. Our poor command of their language remains a disappointing barrier. Fortunately, smiles and gestures are a halfway solution.
We do know we are not and have never been treated as outsiders. These people have wrapped us in kindness. We are so pleased to call them friends.
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