The parts that didn’t make the Christmas newsletter:
The Virgin of Guadalupe Festival, which rolled a street carnival, religious celebration and Christmas event all into one over-the-top happening. You could sing karaoke with Michael Jackson, get your picture taken with the Virgin and a donkey – but it was the Shrek Donkey (or with Santa Claus AND the Virgin), and eat a million kinds of fried junk food, ladled from huge vats of boiling oil that the throngs threatened to upend.
It’s a funny thing that Americans don’t invite people to their houses much any more. I’m not sure Martha Stewart did anyone any favors — she made us all feel inadequate to entertain if we didn’t grow the frigging corn before making the tortillas for a theme-based dinner party. (Of course, she’s done her time, but I hear she’s out entertaining again.)
The great thing about Mexico is that people DO invite people over, but the chickens might be tied up outside the kitchen, the floor is dirt so mopping won’t help, and guess what? The food is still usually great.
Brunie was already in his twilight years when my friend Stephie brought him down to live with her in Oaxaca. A gentle Jack Russell terrier with a grayed muzzle and stiff joints, he didn’t stray much further than the courtyard Stephie shared with the Mexican family she rented from.
. . . Pantalones Cuadrados, de Puebla
(that would be Sponge Bob Square Pants saying Happy Easter from Puebla), where José and I went for a mini-vacation this huge holiday Easter weekend.
As soon as I got the wedding invitation, I was worried about what to wear. Could I go with my all-purpose black dress — can you wear black to a wedding in Mexico? My only dress shoes with heels are brown; should I go get new black ones?