Semana Santa and The Giveaway

The sweet capirotada became the most preferred version during Lent. It symbolizes the Passion of Christ: the bread represents the body of Christ, the syrup is his blood, the cloves are the nails of the cross and the cinnamon sticks are the wood of the cross. 

So I return to our favorite panaderia just down the street. Usually I get hot cinnamon buns, but I have heard so much about capirotada. And I believe in our local baker. She’s full of heart and soul. Everything she bakes is total joy! There are two types of capirotada. One with agua and the other tres leche. You can’t go wrong either way. But when I return to NC I will be baking the Capirotado con leche. Serving with coffee. I hope you will join me for a taste sometime!

Semana Santa. Holy Week. Our village streets are crowded. People come from who knows where and everywhere. Many more Mexicans than ex-pats. The malecon is alive with families enjoying slow strolls, playgrounds and ice-cream cones. The lake waters even seem to shimmer with new vibrancy. For fun we just walk the streets never sure of what might happen. Music, passion plays, sweet breads and fruit stands abound. And the colors. Oh my, the colors!

In a previous lifetime I lived and worked in, Old Salem, a historic neighborhood with cobblestone streets and church bells. Not completely unlike the village of Ajijic with the obvious difference being that Old Salem was established by Germanic peoples in Colonial America. And Ajijic is Mexican with Spanish influences. One is Moravian. The other Catholic. Both go all out to celebrate Holy Week. Semana Santa

I have such sweet memories of Easter in our Old Salem home. My children were around 6, 9, and 12 years old. Our dear friend Wendy would spend Saturday night at the house so we could scrub every square inch of the house squeaky clean. The whole city conspires to a high level of cleanliness, order and beauty for Easter! Then we would prepare large urns of coffee, ham biscuits, sausage and egg casserole and sugarcake. While we were making preparations at my house volunteers at the church were scrambling hundreds of eggs for the band members to eat in the wee hours of Easter morning. People come from all over the world to gather in Old Salem for the Easter Sunrise Service.

Small groups of band members are assigned locations throughout the city and play liturgical music in a call and response manner. This goes on all night. Even in the often cold and damp spring weather. Slowly the small bands work their way closer to one another and eventually converge at the Home Church. Just before dawn the minister appears on the balcony of the belfry and declares “The Lord Is Risen”. And the gathered congregation responds in unison “THE LORD IS RISEN INDEED!!!” Everyone; the minister, the band, the congregation make the final procession to the graveyard to conclude the service as the sun rises over the gleaming white headstones. All of which had been scrubbed clean on Saturday and each decorated with a voluptuous array of Spring flowers. Nothing short of spectacular! This is an amazing tradition. Only possible because of hours and hours of volunteer efforts. Generations of families have shared these preparations.

Because our children were young and our house was located right beside the cemetery we would have sleepovers on Saturday night so the parents could go about their various duties. While the kids slept Wendy and I would clean. Then we would bundle up and scurry over the stone wall to participate. And following the service we would scurry back over the wall into our yard where hot coffee and food awaited. Thete’s a certain kind of satisfaction associated with the tiredness of an all-night volunteering. The first year we did the post-service gathering we had about 25-30 guests. By the third year, by then a tradition, there were 75 or more guests. Surprisingly, some of the guests had followed band members over the wall to what they thought was an extension of the Sunrise Service! All were welcome!!!

Once again, as I wander these cobblestone streets during Semana Santa and enjoy memories of Easter along the streets of Old Salem I am reminded….there is so much the people of this world have in common and it is our differences that serve to enrich us.

Peace and Blessings to you friends 🌸

And from Steve, The Giveaway

A Story of wealth and poverty in Mexico.

The historical background is the feudal system in Europe, which was brought to Mexico by the Spaniards. It meshed perfectly with the Aztec feudal system where wealth was concentrated in the hands of a few powerful families. 

In this system. It was the “patron“ the wealthy owner who was the caretaker of his workers. If a worker was sick, or hospitalized, if a family member needed help to pay for an expense ,the patron was expected to step in.

While the patron reaps the benefits of the workers, he was also responsible for the family of the workers.

In this way, the Canadians and Americans who live in and visit Mexico, especially in this area, feel responsible for the workers we encounter. We leave extra tips for the maids, when someone approaches us at a restaurant selling something we give them a coin or two. The gardeners, maids, berry sellers, musicians who board the busy buses to play, are partially our responsibility. We leave more generous tips for the waiters who might be making a dollar an hour. Our favorite roadside taco stand host is baking us a cake on Wednesday. It’s Francisco who works his day job as a construction worker and at night greets us with delicious tacos.

For old-timer permanent residents giving is more complex. They are wiser and have sometimes made mistakes around giving.

The right amount at the right time for the right reason. How do you know you’re really helping? Material gifts can also disempower!

One Mexican gardener told his boss.  We don’t  envy you. We feel sorry for you guys.  Where are your families?

Cultures are complex. How do we bring understanding and peace to our hearts and the world? Hmmm 🤔