It looks like Christmas

At night,
a shy girl comes to the cove with her father.
Although there isn’t music, they glide
arm in arm onto the blurred surface together,
braced like dancers. She thinks she’ll never
be so happy, for who else will find her graceful,
find her perfect, skate with her
in circles outside the emptied rink forever?

Gail Mazur, from Ice

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On my walk to town to take care of errands on Christmas Eve day I passed a young Mexican woman carrying what appeared to be a baby in a basket, but it was a replica of the Baby Jesus on its way to a natividad.  In Mexico the baby is customarily placed into the crèche on Christmas Eve.  I also passed a norteamericana with her yoga mat safely in its carrier, slung across her back.

As I cut through Parque Juárez I overheard two norteamericanos practicing the cardinal numbers in Spanish.  They made it to “deez” before I lost sight of them.

Then I cut through the Jardin where there was hardly anyone.  I stopped at the Natividad that had been surrounded by people the previous night, but in the morning there was no one near it.

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Everywhere else, Centro was busy.  Men taking flowers home. Families (mostly women and children) shopping.  People carrying piñatas that shopkeepers just moments earlier had put on display. I saw no one carrying what might have been a gift, except the gift of food and the piñatas.  Food markets and vendors were extremely busy.  You can tell there’s a holiday by the reeds of cane sugar at the markets.

I did a few errands, then went to a cafe, El Buen Día, for a latte and breakfast where I overheard an American man talking on a cell phone to a friend in the U.S.  The man had been reading The Intelligent Enneagram, but now was deep in conversation about the second house he had purchased in San Miguel with inheritance money:  he felt the investment here would provide a better return than in the U.S. He went on to talk about his mother who had converted from Judaism to Roman Catholicism in the last year of her life as she felt she never got what she needed from Judaism.  Then he said to his friend that he knew of no Buddhist temples in Mexico and they drifted into talk of spirituality and I lost interest.

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Interior, El Buen Dia

Again (L’Hymne des Fraternisés)

I like this melody so much, it’s here for the second consecutive post.  And I like the accomplishments of this Spanish organization [Voces para la Paz (Voices for Peace)].  And I like the passion its leader expresses for their cause during the first two minutes.


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