Who is the most influential figure in Mexico? President Felipe Calderón? A sports star, maybe footballer Carlos Vela? A singing superstar such as Luís Miguel, or telenovela goddess Maite Perroni? Bazillionaire Carlos Slim?
I don't think so.
I think her name is Guadalupe, and she's a mother.
You see her everywhere, in her various garb, called by different names and endearments, in churches and paintings and sculptures, in homemade altars and on house walls beside cobbled streets.
She holds the heart of most Mexicans I know and is more influential by far in everyday life than the Holy Trinity, the President, and all the superstars combined.
The retablos below are traditional thank you messages to La Virgen for performing her maternal miracles. See her hovering in her many guises above the inflicted, the threatened, the frightened?
You might be under the impression, primarily due to the U.S. press, that Mexico is a male-dominated, macho culture, but it isn't. It's a matriarchy, where women and female energy infuse everything of real import, unless you believe cops and robbers and politics are really important. They're not so much, here.
What matter most are children and family, friends and tradition, decency, gratitude and care.
In a land where the Virgin of Guadalupe is queen mother of all, Mother's Day is more than a Hallmark holiday. This year, I had the opportunity to experience this day that became a week of festivity and honor.
My first small clue was on Sunday, our U.S. Mother's Day. After receiving my lovely cards and calls, I took myself to the beach. My little amigo Javier spotted me immediately and insisted upon knowing what day I would be back: Monday, or Tuesday?
I can come Monday, I told him. "For sure?" he asked. "Absolutely," I replied, and he scampered off. As I was leaving the Malecón that afternoon, his aunt Olga (who is his acting mother) hurried over to me and asked the same question. "I'll be here Monday," I assured her.
Of course, I made a point of being there Monday. Figuring something was up, I strolled casually through the Malecón where Olga and her brother weave their baskets and headed to a table at the middle beach restaurant. As my feet touched the sand, I heard Olga calling, "Javier! Javier!"
I sat, ordered a limonada, and opened my book. Half a page later, I felt the familiar tap-tap on my left shoulder. I turned my head to the left, just in time to feel the tap-tap on my right shoulder. This is a game we play which lasts as long as my patience holds out, ending when I turn real quick and grab Javi and hold him as he dissolves into hysterical giggles. This time, though, he ducked my hug, as he was holding something he did not want squished.
Solemnly, he presented me with the gift he had made me for Día de Mamas.
He made it all by himself, in school. The flowers, tucked into tissue paper in a little basket, began to wilt before I left the beach, but I honored his careful arrangement by not transferring them to water. That pretty piece of pink fringe is actually a flower, known in these parts as clavellina.
Javier accepted my thanks sweetly, and hugged me for an extra-long time. He has adopted me, apparently, as his other abuelita, a pet name for grandma.
The next day, Tuesday the 10th of May, was Mother's Day in Mexico. It's a school holiday, which no doubt was some man's idea. Flower sellers were everywhere, the cemetery decorated with bouquets of lilies.
Esteban and Lidia, my perfect helpers, had insisted I come to the Malecón that night for the celebration. It's all for mamas, they told me, for women only. There will be entertainment, food, drinks, dancing. The men, Esteban pronounced, have to serve!
I went, of course, with a bagful of fresh-picked gardenias from my garden for my Mexican amigas, who I was sure would be there. They were, with their sisters and children and grandchildren.
The beach plaza was packed. I was presented with a chair as soon as I arrived, just in time to watch the performance of a clown who seemed to be more for the youngsters, but whose antics the adults enjoyed just as much.
Just as Esteban promised, men passed around trays with complimentary margaritas and punch and served a meal. Each mama was given a ticket for the carnival games and a token for a plate of food. Then the folklorico dancers entertained us.
I sneaked back into the dressing area to take photos.
I chatted with Lidia and her son Waldo, who told me the dancing would start soon...
...with music to be provided by our Banda. Uh-oh. The next morning, Lidia told me the party had lasted until after 2 a.m., but I wasn't there, having slipped away the moment I saw the tuba arrive.
On Thursday morning, also at Lidia's invitation, I stopped by the Día de Las Madres fiesta at the elementary school. No classes today.
The students were all rehearsed and ready to perform for their mamas.
Again, there was food and punch. No margaritas this time, though.
I stayed for half an hour or so, watching and taking photos.
It was a lovely week of celebration here in San Pancho, with music and parties and get-togethers nearly every night.
Next year, let's make the U.S. Mother's Day last a week, too, shall we?
¿Por qué no?
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Gardenias from your garden!!!! I can almost smell them! Love the little girl with the red heart on her shirt.....a week long celebration sounds good to me!
Posted by: Char | May 27, 2011 at 08:46 AM
I agree with Gretchen 100%. What a wonderful, caring village. I'm so glad you were there not only to witness the celebrations but to participate as well. You're one lucky mother!
Posted by: Allen | May 21, 2011 at 09:21 AM
Could you have picked a better town to live in? Nope! That sweet little Javier and his family could easily melt a person's heart. Mother's day could not be presented more honorably or respectfully.... Go ahead, try entertaining an idea of moving on to try living in another town down the road... !
Posted by: Gretchen | May 20, 2011 at 08:50 AM