Holiday Weekend in Mexico City
National holiday weekends in Mexico City gather crowds of people to the city square where they’re an abundance of loud music, costumed dancers and street vendors hawking their wares. What a treat for pale Minnesotans to smell spicy foods cooking and sniff fresh flowers in the balmy March air. We were visiting our daughter and her husband this past holiday weekend. Congested lanes of cars, common to the city, are not allowed on the square. People gather to enjoy street performers, music, and food as they celebrate their Mexican independence.
The Zocolo, the city’s historic downtown square, is surrounded by an historic church, ancient museums, shopping stalls, and government buildings. Fresh flowers are sold on street corners and pungent herbs permeate the air as shamans swing smoldering balls of incense and brush herb bunches across bodies wanting to be cleansed of evil spirits. Costumed Aztec dancers dip and twirl to resounding drum beats, showing off muscular, bronzed torsos above their lion cloths of metallic fringe and shiny silver medallions. Colorful headdresses of multiple bird feathers at least 4’ high decorate their heads. Dancing feet have seed bells strapped on their ankles which jingle with the dancers’ stomps and whirls. Bodies circle and conjure good spirits to fill the square.
As we walk through the Zocolo teeming with people selling their wares, we spy a crowd clapping and cheering, circling a tag team of break dancers. They’re performing awe-inspiring feats to a steady beat of hip-hop music, spinning on their heads, flipping, and twisting their limber bodies into unimaginable gyrations to the delight of a fast growing crowd. One young man crossed his feet behind his head, flipped upside down and walked on his hands. It almost hurts to watch their contortions.
Music blares from pirated CD’s for sale, and vendors hawk wares spread on blankets on the sidewalk. Vendors hurriedly scoop up the blanket if the police appear. Next to knock-off Coach and Louis Vitton purses are batteries, nylon stockings, bath towels, Dora the Explorer backpacks, sequined headbands, even guitars and baby clothing for sale. Mexicans are very industrious, constantly finding imaginative ways to make money.
In a city museum just off the square we see calla lilies and revolutionary patriots with bullets in a leather strap across their bodies, favorite images on the many murals painted on museum walls. Works of favorite Mexican artists Diego Rivera and Frieda Kahlo, with her dark, distinctive unibrow, are featured everywhere.
Locals eat lunch around 2PM in the city, dinner about 8PM. Sunday, we were guests of our Mexican in-laws at a lovely restaurant in the jeweler section of the city. Oil paintings and stained glass windows lined the walls; a violinist and pianist entertained diners as black and white uniformed waiters served. Everyone seems to be smiling in this country of sunshine and flowers.
We visited a newly opened art museum donated by telecommunications mogul Carlos Slim. He is the world’s wealthiest man with a net worth of $53.5 billion. The seventy year old dynamo dedicated this $34 million Soumaya Art Museum in honor of his deceased wife. Admission to the six halls of art is free, a gift to the city. The building, designed by the donor’s son-in-law Fernando Romero, reminds me of Frank Gehry’s architecture in Minneapolis. This aluminum structure resembles the twisted silver corset of a woman. It’s definitely an eye popper.
The building is arranged with ascending galleries curling up to 5 halls of magnificent art displays, much like New York City’s MOMA Art Museum. We were able to view an entire gallery of Rodin’s sculptures: we saw “The Thinker” eye to eye. Salvador Dali’s sagging clocks were evident in many of Dali’s painting and sculptures, bizarre but so eye-catching. The curling mustachioed artist had a fine classical art education, which morphed into rather bizarre art, prompting much discussion. The museum’s massive art collection included paintings and sculptures by Degas, Renoir, Van Gogh, Picasso, Monet, Matisse and Manet in addition to a multitude of Mexican artists’ works.
At Mexico City’s American School, our daughter Kate assigned a written art project for her first graders. They were to write about a favorite artist. Miguel chose the Mexican painter Segurro. Kate asked why he chose this artist. “Well, Miss Kate,” Miguel replied, “my family has a painting by Segurro on a wall at our home.” Pausing a bit, he went on to explain, “Actually, Miss Kate, we have 4 of his paintings, but my mother said to tell you we only have one. I’m not supposed to brag.” Kate has an unusual group of students. Several children have body guards, and one little boy arrives in a helicopter each morning. The school is surrounded by tall cement walls and armed guards. Kate’s teaching experience is much different than any I’ve had, but it sure is fun to hear about her students.
Mexico City is a city of 23 million people and honking cars on multi traffic lanes. It’s very noisy; I don’t hear birds and am constantly short of breath in this 7000’ elevation. But each visit I make here, the ever-blooming trees and flowers, castles, pink and turquoise adobe buildings, sculptures, parks, and fascinating history continue to charm me. Though my daughter Kate tells me she misses family and friends back in Minnesota, I know my blonde daughter continues to thrive in this exciting city of sunshine and smiling people.
Saturday, April 7, 2012
Easter Bonnets
Easter Bonnets March 4, 2008
When I was a little girl, I was so excited about Easter dresses and bonnets shown in store windows and newspaper ads. Other little girls wore frilly, brand-new party dresses in pink, yellow and blue to Easter church services every year. Though they usually shivered in their lacey white socks and spring flower dresses, I couldn’t help but admire their patent leather Mary Jane shoes and Easter bonnets with flowers and ribbons. Though I was warm in my old winter jacket, wool pleated skirt and white blouse, truth be told, I wished I could be them. I was jealous!
Easter dresses were my yearly dream, but there wasn’t any extra money for frivolities at my house. Mom did spend a few pennies at the dime store downtown on yellow, chenille baby chicks to decorate our Easter dining table along with the dyed Easter eggs.
I remember one year Aunt Sadie sewed dresses for my baby sister Barbie and me on her treadle Singer sewing machine. My Easter dress was an ice blue, puckered, nylon fabric with puffy short sleeves and a Peter Pan collar, with a big bow tied in back. Proudly I wore a rhinestone locket with my sapphire birthstone, a gift from Elmer, my favorite prisoner at the jail.
Posing Barbie and me on the front step of our house, Mom took several photos of us with her Brownie camera. I had a fresh haircut and Barbie’s straight hair was curled for the holiday guests my parents had invited for ham dinner and scalloped potatoes after Easter church services.
Years later, things were different. I’ll never forget shopping with Mom for a “marked down” dress hanging forlornly on the rack at the back of a local department store. By this time I was in junior high, waiting for my body to develop like the other girls I’d peek at in gym showers. Why was I one of the last to develop, to get a garter belt, to be chosen on a softball team, to have a boy look at me? That mauve dress with stitched down pleats on the bodice and a navy polka dot bow at the peter pan collar was my Easter dress. No stiff, starched crinolines were required. It was too big for me. Back then, parents thought kids could “grow into those clothes” and save a few dollars.
One item my parents didn’t skimp on with money was good shoes. We had to have Buster Brown shoes so our arches would have support, and our feet wouldn’t develop corns or hammer toes. We went to Iverson’s Shoe Store in Alexandria where a cardboard, stand-up Buster Brown and his dog looked down at me with their big brown eyes.
Today I wonder who would come up with such an ugly dress for a self-conscious, budding teenager? It wasn’t pretty in pastels with lace or ribbons; it was bland. But it was somewhat new. The discount rack hadn’t frayed the polka dot bow or faded the dress. No one trying on the dress had torn the hem or dirtied the neckline. For some reason, that not quite-right dress remains registered in my mind.. Maybe what remains is the uncomfortable feeling I had when I wore that dress. That year I also wore my first pair of silky nylons with seams running crookedly up the back of my leg with stiff ballet flats.
Bunnies are building nests for their babies-to-be as they hop their way to our house through crunchy snow. Colorfully dyed eggs have to be hidden for the annual Easter egg hunt. a tradition at our house, from the time our kids were little people, when I dressed Andy in short pants with a matching jacket, shirt and knee socks. Kate wore an Easter dress with bunnies eating carrots appliquéd on her white collar. A straw hat with ribbons tied around her chubby chin kept flipping off her head as she ran.
I'll never forget Dave filming the kids and their cousins running around our yard looking for hidden eggs to drop into their straw baskets. Kate and Andy spied the same blue egg, hidden under a tree covered in leaves. Rushing to grab it first, they collided! Noticing that Andy had a few more yellow and green eggs than she, Kate dove for the blue egg, getting grass stains on her new dress. Her hat fell off, crushed under Andy’s kicking foot. He wasn’t about to let big sister grab that egg without a tussle! Andy wrestled the egg from big sister’s scratching fingernails, only to have Kate smash his blonde head with her straw basket!
It wasn’t a pretty sight. Dave kept filming the riotous fray; I ran to break up the fighting twosome as the relatives laughed uproariously! It was an Easter to remember for years. We play the same video each holiday. Some things don’t change.
When I was a little girl, I was so excited about Easter dresses and bonnets shown in store windows and newspaper ads. Other little girls wore frilly, brand-new party dresses in pink, yellow and blue to Easter church services every year. Though they usually shivered in their lacey white socks and spring flower dresses, I couldn’t help but admire their patent leather Mary Jane shoes and Easter bonnets with flowers and ribbons. Though I was warm in my old winter jacket, wool pleated skirt and white blouse, truth be told, I wished I could be them. I was jealous!
Easter dresses were my yearly dream, but there wasn’t any extra money for frivolities at my house. Mom did spend a few pennies at the dime store downtown on yellow, chenille baby chicks to decorate our Easter dining table along with the dyed Easter eggs.
I remember one year Aunt Sadie sewed dresses for my baby sister Barbie and me on her treadle Singer sewing machine. My Easter dress was an ice blue, puckered, nylon fabric with puffy short sleeves and a Peter Pan collar, with a big bow tied in back. Proudly I wore a rhinestone locket with my sapphire birthstone, a gift from Elmer, my favorite prisoner at the jail.
Posing Barbie and me on the front step of our house, Mom took several photos of us with her Brownie camera. I had a fresh haircut and Barbie’s straight hair was curled for the holiday guests my parents had invited for ham dinner and scalloped potatoes after Easter church services.
Years later, things were different. I’ll never forget shopping with Mom for a “marked down” dress hanging forlornly on the rack at the back of a local department store. By this time I was in junior high, waiting for my body to develop like the other girls I’d peek at in gym showers. Why was I one of the last to develop, to get a garter belt, to be chosen on a softball team, to have a boy look at me? That mauve dress with stitched down pleats on the bodice and a navy polka dot bow at the peter pan collar was my Easter dress. No stiff, starched crinolines were required. It was too big for me. Back then, parents thought kids could “grow into those clothes” and save a few dollars.
One item my parents didn’t skimp on with money was good shoes. We had to have Buster Brown shoes so our arches would have support, and our feet wouldn’t develop corns or hammer toes. We went to Iverson’s Shoe Store in Alexandria where a cardboard, stand-up Buster Brown and his dog looked down at me with their big brown eyes.
Today I wonder who would come up with such an ugly dress for a self-conscious, budding teenager? It wasn’t pretty in pastels with lace or ribbons; it was bland. But it was somewhat new. The discount rack hadn’t frayed the polka dot bow or faded the dress. No one trying on the dress had torn the hem or dirtied the neckline. For some reason, that not quite-right dress remains registered in my mind.. Maybe what remains is the uncomfortable feeling I had when I wore that dress. That year I also wore my first pair of silky nylons with seams running crookedly up the back of my leg with stiff ballet flats.
Bunnies are building nests for their babies-to-be as they hop their way to our house through crunchy snow. Colorfully dyed eggs have to be hidden for the annual Easter egg hunt. a tradition at our house, from the time our kids were little people, when I dressed Andy in short pants with a matching jacket, shirt and knee socks. Kate wore an Easter dress with bunnies eating carrots appliquéd on her white collar. A straw hat with ribbons tied around her chubby chin kept flipping off her head as she ran.
I'll never forget Dave filming the kids and their cousins running around our yard looking for hidden eggs to drop into their straw baskets. Kate and Andy spied the same blue egg, hidden under a tree covered in leaves. Rushing to grab it first, they collided! Noticing that Andy had a few more yellow and green eggs than she, Kate dove for the blue egg, getting grass stains on her new dress. Her hat fell off, crushed under Andy’s kicking foot. He wasn’t about to let big sister grab that egg without a tussle! Andy wrestled the egg from big sister’s scratching fingernails, only to have Kate smash his blonde head with her straw basket!
It wasn’t a pretty sight. Dave kept filming the riotous fray; I ran to break up the fighting twosome as the relatives laughed uproariously! It was an Easter to remember for years. We play the same video each holiday. Some things don’t change.
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