The Mexico I write about may be familiar to some, and strange to many. Familiar because they will instantly recognize the landscapes and culture I describe in “Dust Unto Shadow,” and know exactly what I mean when I say that “the future always looks a sun-drenched sun, because no one remembers the past.”
When I was seven, the first time I boarded a plane I was in route to San Francisco with my mother. It was during Easter break. In those days food was not accessible everywhere as it is today. People ate at meal times, it’s probably why obesity was such a rarity. Consequently, we arrived at our destination famished. Once at my Uncles’ my mother vocalized our hunger. We were served cold Lenten bread pudding and I was instantly smitten. Capirotada is made of toasted bread slices drenched in a sweet and spicy syrup. It was soft and sticky, and there were crunchy nuts, chewy raisins and a creamy tang…I was in love!
But Winter is my Mother’s season. She symbolizes home and hearth, family, singing, gift giving, Christ consciousness (love) cozy blankets, luxurious sweaters and savoring hot Mexican chocolate.
On Sunday at The San Gabriel Mission Playhouse I saw a silent film that had an organ accompanist. Your probably wondering why I’m writing about it now? Because the humor hasn’t left me. Every time I tell someone about it the words don’t come out because I’m full of snorts, cackles and tears. So I’ll…
The summer when I was eight, I danced and sang for my Grandmother, flinging a camellia with its leaves, at the end of my performance. That summer would be the last one we would spend together and it seemed cloaked in romance,
Perhaps it’s the way she was looking at the packaging. She was confused. There were so many choices. She held up a box and asked me, “have you tried these?” Caught off-guard, I hardly qualify to be a spokesperson. My response was; “when I was a kid, I wouldn’t eat one now.”