peskypippi.comBecause I have a lot to say…

I know a sweet family that traveled to Cancun, Mexico: a woman, her husband, and their two-year-old son. A perfect little trip to paradise where they encountered white sand, aqua water, and palapas (thatched umbrellas). Like a Corona commercial.

The family brought sand buckets, shovels, and plastic sharks to spend an afternoon under the palapa. Their son was busily enjoying an ice cream, as it quickly melted down his chin. The woman massaged her feet in the flour-like sand. Talking, smiling, laughing, relaxing. It was the perfect day.

The boy grew sleepy in the warm breeze and the couple made him a bed out of beach towels. Siesta time.

The aqua waters beckoned the woman. She looked at her sleeping toddler and made a bee-line for the waves. No problem, her husband would stay with the child while she played.

Ah. Warm water. She dunked her whole body in and jumped the waves. Like a child. Happy. Carefree.

Body surfing. It was blissful.

When she peeked at her husband and little boy, she realized she was further from the shore then she was comfortable with. So, she started to swim back in. Without warning, the waves increased their volume and force.

The magnet of a rip tide pulled her out.

She could no longer touch the bottom. The reassuring sandy bottom of the ocean floor.

She panicked.

Her head submerged, with the waves three feet over her head. The timing of her breathing was off. She inhaled salt water. Choking. Losing her breath. Sputtering. She wailed her arms frantically.

She was going under. Only 200 meters from the shore, she was drowning.

She could still see the palapa in the distance, but it was shrinking. She could barely make out the outline of her husband. Couldn’t he see her? She tried to signal him, but her head kept going under. He was watching their sleeping child.

Choking on salt water. Helpless. Trying to tread water, but powerless. She tried to yell for help, but her voice was a salt-filled whisper. She tried to swim, but she ran out of energy and the current was holding her back. Her worst fear: she was going to drown and never see her family again.

Then it happened. The parasailing crew spotted her and signaled the lifeguard. At that same moment, her husband looked up and saw her struggling. He sprinted–with sleeping toddler, rubber-like, in his arms–yelling frantically for help.

The lifeguard swam with intensity. The waves were still crashing over the helpless woman. He draped her arms around his shoulders and pulled her in, diagonally, to shore.

Her body was shaking. Her lungs were filled with salt water. She was bawling. But she was, oh, so grateful.

To the lifeguard, she was just another woman. But for the woman, he was an angel, who saved her paradise.

When I reflect on that near-drowning experience in Cancun more than a decade ago, I can still taste the salt water in my throat.

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We have family, local, global, and even extra-terrestrial holiday celebrations in our American home.

• Aliens and Legos visiting our Nativity scene? All are welcome.
• Hannukah Harry? We love him.
• Tree ornaments from Mexico and India? Passport not required.
• Mr. Hanky? He is a sure-fire hit in our home. We cackle with laughter over this Christmas poo.
• American classic movies: Christmas Vacation? Elf? A Christmas Story? Check. Check. Check.
• Mexican wedding cookies? Yep, I make ‘em.
• Tchaikovsky’s The Nutcracker? Going.
• Visiting Santa Claus at the mall? On our list.
• Mormon Tabernacle Choir TV special? Celtic Christmas TV special? Two of my favorites.
• Paper dreidels brought home from school? Game on.
• Gingerbread house toppling over with too many gumdrops? Every year.
• Winter solstice? We celebrate that too.
• Advent calendar counting down the days of Christmas? It’s 11 days until Christmas, y’all.

In a previous post I wrote about Why Can’t We All Get Along (for the Holidays). It’s your choice. Mix it up. Or not.

We choose to mix it up and the result is a fun-filled, chock-full celebratory December quilt.

When my oldest son came home from school last week announcing, “MOM! I need to bring peanut butter to school to give to the Mexicans who live in dumps!” My jaw kinda dropped. My immediate reaction was wow, those are not kind words. How not politically correct. I need to teach this young man about world culture. Pronto.

Lost in translation? Sadly, no. Turns out, he was right. At school, my son is learning about these young children in Mexico, who have nothing. No family, no food, no hope. His teacher says many of these kids live in real garbage dumps in Mexico where they salvage food and clothing, whatever they can find.

The teacher began his pilgrimage to Mexico several years ago and returns annually. He rallies his students to collect peanut butter every year. Why peanut butter or manteca de cacahuete? Protein. Peanut butter is the cheapest source of protein and doesn’t have to be refrigerated. Every January, the teacher drives to this poverty-stricken area to Hogar para Ninos to take the load of peanut butter down to these kids. Here is the website of the organizing group:

http://www.ffhm.org/

As we are looking ahead to the holiday season. We are entering the season of sharing and abundance. It’s time to share and spread the abundance around. Chunky or creamy?

And I know there are poopy naysayers who are like, “Why do I need to help them thar Mexicans? We’ve got our own problems. Let’s take care of our kids first. Forget about them. They don’t speak even English. They speak Mexican, don’t they?” [sic]

Well, you see, in my eyes, it IS our job to help nourish every child. Whether here or there. It IS our job to teach our children to be kind, to do the right thing, and to think of others.

And that, my friend, means stocking up on some peanut butter. Pronto.

Because if there’s a truck driving down to Mexico, I want to make sure it’s filled to the brim with manteca de cacahuete and love.

Gracias.

November 1 marks el Día de los Muertos, or Day of the Dead, a holiday celebrated in Mexico and beyond. It’s a time to remember, honor, and celebrate friends and family members who have died. The skeleton is likely the most recognized symbol for death. And in Mexican traditional culture, people make skulls out of white sugar. These are considered thoughtful offerings to the returning spirits.

But around my house, sugar skulls might get dissolved into the morning tea.

A safer–and more permanent–way for me to honor el Día de los Muertos, is to display my Mexican folk art paintings. These portray the joy and the sadness associated with the dead. I purchased these paintings in Oaxaca, Mexico…  Nah, psych, I bought these paintings on canvas on eBay. They are still hand-painted, one-of-a-kind pieces that celebrate the richness and color of traditional Mexican culture and artwork.

I, for one, have an appreciation for skeletons and their symbolism. Do you?