Although mothers from other countries living here in Mexico basked in loving phone calls and messages on Mother's Day 2002, there was a void for some. Nothing quite takes the place of hugs and kisses. However, there is an antidote for that void right here in loving Mexico. How do I know? Some of my most memorable and beautiful Mother's Days have been spent here. I would like to share one or two of these delightful days with you.
My first Mother's Day spent in Mexico twenty years ago was in the one-roomed adobe home of Salvador Cardenas in Mismaloya. My son Ron and I scrambled down the rocky, nettle-strewn path to his home. I was amply assisted over the stone wall into their yard by five bright-eyed, excited children. The front wall of their gray adobe casa was decorated with paper flowers tucked into the bricks. Gaily decorated sheets of paper bearing words of love and welcome by the children practically covered the walls. I was welcomed with hugs and kisses. Their mother, Teresa, prepared a very special meal of scrambled eggs in tomato juice and tortillas. As we ate, seated on orange crates, little Theresa discreetly shooed the chickens out from under the table. We had such fun tying balloons on the trees and playing with the children. It was a great day, oft repeated since.
Last year we spent a delightful Mother's Day with another Mexican family, who also deluged me with hugs, kisses, and gifts.
This year Salvador made a special trip from his present home in Tizapan two weeks early to invite us to their home on Sunday with his family, now mushroomed to a total of twenty-one. My Mother's Day began on Friday, (Mexico's date) on the plaza in Jocotepec. The entire plaza was a breathtaking bower of flowers. Ron gave me a gift of two lovely flower arrangements. One was for Paula, the Basketmaker's widow, the other for Salvador's eldest daughter, Theresa Jr., the little girl that chased the chickens out from under the table so long ago. Since she, her husband, and children are no longer included in family celebrations, I have more or less taken on the role of ‘mama.'
Early Sunday morning Ron and I left for Tizapan, stopping en route to visit Paula. As we walked along the grassy path to her crumbling adobe casa, I noticed the front end had collapsed; the place looked abandoned. Since she was in the hospital during our last visit, I feared she may have died. But what joy as she emerged and toddled out to greet us and help me up the rocks into the yard. Her dear, wrinkled face was wreathed in smiles as she hugged and kissed us. The yard where Pedro wove his baskets has been reduced to a narrow passageway between two deep trenches partly filled with boulders. Her son is trying to find time and money to build another room onto the sagging back end of the house. Paula immediately produced three five-gallon drums for us to sit on while we chatted. The 84 year-old lady was glad she had survived a heart attack but didn't think much of hospitals because they kept poking needles into her arms. She was delighted with her flower arrangement and little gift.
Our next stop was at Teresa's little home set back in an alley behind more pretentious dwellings. Once again, I was deluged with those soul-satisfying hugs and kisses by two adorable little girls and their mother. Her husband, Federico was laid up with his foot in a cast from an injury on his first job in months. I was delighted to notice that at long last they had a refrigerator. Federico immediately had Teresa bring him a bowl of delicious pudding and he proudly ladled out a generous helping for each of us and sent the children out for refrescos. We had a delightful visit, viewing the children's school books and just plain loving them. Teresa was pleased with her flower arrangement, the girls liked their dresses and treats. I left a football for the absent 12 year-old boy.
At Salvador's house I was greeted enthusiastically with more hugs and kisses by seven more adopted great grandchildren and their mothers. We had great fun munching popcorn and tossing balloons. The little ones chattered away as they cuddled up to me to share their popcorn and a lick of their suckers. A flower arrangement of red roses proclaimed greetings to all mothers present. Then it was time for ‘comida' (dinner).
Guess what! The menu had not changed in twenty years. More importantly, neither has the love that was sparked off in that little adobe casa so long ago. It was shining in the loving faces around me, and I thanked God for the privilege of being a ‘gringa mama.'
You, too, can be a ‘gringa mama' and be assured of lots of hugs and kisses next Mother's Day. The most loving Son of all times summed it up thus:
"Whosoever doeth the will of my Father in Heaven,the same is my mother, my sister and my brother." Matt. 12: 48-50.
