crismas

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Well bloggers how was your holiday?

Eight tamales later, Crismas is gone! Over and done with. The holiday pressure is subsiding. I was trying to eat healthy over the holiday, but I was a goner when the plate of tamales was placed in front of me. How could I say no to a woman who spent hours making these tasty tamales? I sat in her cluttered kitchen and she motions me to pour some wine in her glass. Clink. Her green eyes danced like flames. She begins recounting her childhood crismas in San Jose, MX. The journalist in me came out and I began to probe her.

She told me she had nine brothers and sisters and that her father was the barber of their little town. She described her mother as unusually tall and morenita. During the holiday season she would make a crismas punch and invite the whole town for a cup. Her husband was the opposite of her. He was fair skinned and shorter than her and had huge muscular arms. We speculated on where he had gotten a harp from. She couldn't remember whether he actually knew how to play it or if he pretended to know how to play it. Tuned or untuned they still danced to the sound of him strumming it.

Peering into the living room to see if anyone is watching she motions her glass towards me. I pause and also peer into the living room. Quickly the cork comes out and a splash of red gets comfortable in the glass. Clink again softly. This is how I spent yesterday. Listening to her stories of other times, people and places that have taken up residence in her mind. Describing her childhood gave her much joy and nostalgia. She has a very contagious and jovial spirit. We sat in her little kitchen wondering and hoping that the new year would be kind to us.