No White Christmas

Must there be snow to make a “real” Christmas?

I use Christmas because I’m living in a strongly Catholic country. But, I prefer Holiday or Festive Season. Devout Christians, who fill the internet with indignity, because they believe there’s been an injustice done when everyone was included, are simply wrong. Jesus wasn’t born in December. The Romans moved his date of birth to accommodate the pagans. I’ll get off my soap box now.

Do Oaqueñas believe they are

cheated because there’s no Christmas snow?

It would seem so. Take a look at the snowman sitting high upon a church windowsill. A news flash arrived from friends in my old town -- Winnipeg -- sometimes the world’s coldest city, December 25 and no snow. I believe it’s been record breaking warm up there.

I bought what I thought was an ugly tree to put on my coffee table. Fake table top trees were sold at the Soriana, and seemed to

be getting uglier and uglier as new shipments arrived. I thought I bought the ugliest one available. It was a sort of humbug to the season, but once it was out of its box and sitting in front of the sofa

, it didn’t look so ugly .

Does anyone know the lyrics to the song “Christine the Christmas Tree”? I believe she was ugly until she was decorated. Anyway, after likely more than fifty years that song suddenly entered my head as I was writing this blog. My sort of ugly fake, tree that I didn’t need to decorate sat for two days and is now back in its box.

The Zocalo nativity scene was back again. I think Governor Gabino ought to invest in some new figurines because the ones that are up look rather shabby.

Santa Claus comes to visit some of the children here, but the real big

day is January 6, which is Three Kings Day. The kings, as the legend goes, arrived on this day, to give gifts to Jesus. Christmas Eve is when a large family dinner is served. Here, as in other parts of the world, married children are torn as to which parents they should eat with.

I’ve had no snow, no gifts but a lot of food and festivities.

Pointsettias in Oaxaca's Zocalo

The weather in Oaxaca is still very warm, about 30C at mid-day.

The calla lillies and other plants have all been dug up in the Zocalo and replaced with poinsettias.

It's quite a sight, and there was no way I can take a photo of all the poinsettias.

I've purchased most of the gifts for my children. They aren't really my children, but I've bonded pretty well with the children I teach. They are so respectful and wanting to please. Thanks to them, and thanks to their Spanish teacher who consistently reminds them to pay attention to "maestra de ingles." And, thanks to my Canadian teacher training which I'm able to apply here in Mexico.

My family in British Columbia is as turmbulent as ever. I can't wrap the gifts I've sent to them and so my eldest granddaughter will do so when they arrive at her end.

The people of Oaxaca seem to love marching in the street. I've seen parties of celebration, complete with a band and a flat bed truck from which to get more booze to fill plastic cups, I've seen protests for various and assorted reasons, and I've seen religous marches that are going on for some reason I know nothing about. There's always something happening.

I've formed a writer's circle. We gather once a week. Some members are published authors, and some are not. Oaxaca is a community of artists.

Sunday Protests in Oaxaca

Every time I leave my bungalow to explore the places and happenings around town I wrestle with the idea of bringing my camera, or leaving it behind. Leave - bring. Leave - bring. Leave - bring.

If I bring my camera, I'll focus on the visuals. If I don't bring my camera, I'll observe what's going on from a different point of view. I'll be asking, "What's happening here? What's the story? Is it interesting? Is it worth telling?"

There's always something happening in Oaxaca. Sunday was no exception. I didn't bring my camera.

Academics working at Benito Juarez University were on strike. The university campus is situated near the city center, sometimes the center of a Mexican city is called the Zocalo, as is the case here in Oaxaca. I passed the university on my way to the Zocalo. The university is housed in a very old building of historic significance. Normally the large doors in front of the building are open to showcase the courtyard inside with its statue of Benito Juarez. As I past the university, from the side street, I heard the sound of a woman's voice projected with the assistance of a microphone. She was giving a speech. I couldn't catch the words. I think students were gathered to protest the closure of the university. But, I'm only taking a guess. There was a large red and black flag draped across the normally open large doors in front of the building. The flag is likely symbolic of something. I don't know what.

When I reached the Zocalo I could see people beginning to seat themselves on the chairs set up on one side of the large plaza. On this, the west side of the Zocalo, there is a concert every Sunday afternoon. Many of the people waiting for the concert to begin were holding programs. I looked around, but I couldn't see any place where I could get a program,

I had come to the Zocalo primarily because I wanted a traditional Mexican lunch. There are several restaurants surrounding the Zocalo; I randomly chose one and seated myself. I was sitting on the east side of the Zocalo, far away from the concert that was about to begin. My plan was to go back to the west side and catch the band after lunch.

Labour is cheap in Mexico, and as a result, there are always more waiters and waitress then need be, which results in excellent service, within a minute or two I placed my order for Chille Relleno con queso.

Any foreigner sitting in a restaurant in the Zocalo must be prepared for the vendors. The vendors are primarily women and children. A different vendor comes along, and I'm not exaggerating, approximately every thirty seconds. Oaxaca is the second poorest state in Mexico. I have no interest in the bookmarks, place mats, shawls and various other things the vendors sell, but I carry extra pesos in my pocket to give to the children and the elderly women. My heart has softened, not hardened, over the year I've been living in Mexico.

As I eat my rather spicy Chile Relleno I hear the sound of music coming closer and closer. At first I think the university students have made their way into the Zocalo and I'm happy because I'd like to listen to what they have to say.

On the east side of the Zocalo there is frequently a podium set-up, which makes for a second event, which can take place while another event is happening on the west side. The Zocalo is an immense plaza and a fine gathering place for the people of Oaxaca, as well as the tourists.

After lunch I chose to investigate the happenings on the east side of the Zocalo, rather than the concert to the west. "Aborto Legal Seguro" the sign read. I listened to the speakers, and I caught the idea. They are in favor of choice and want the constitution changed so that women can obtain legal, safe abortions.

Purple is their colour. Women and men are dressed in purple. They combined, as frequently happens, politics and entertainment.

Eventually I grew weary of the seemingly endless line of participants all saying pretty much the same thing, the women of Oaxaca, in fact all of Latin America need a way to access safe and legal abortions.

I drift to the west side of the Zocalo. The people are leaving. One man has just arrived and he says, "What, the concert is over?"

I've spent two or three hours in the Zocalo. I've been listening to Spanish. The more I listen the more I understand.

I return home. Music from the street drifts into my bungalow. I'm curious. I leave the compound and go into the street. There is a band and people are marching. There are no signs to let me know why they are doing this. They just are.