Is December the happiest of months? Ask our CANOA kids who have been invited to 4 Christmas parties (posadas). On Friday the10th, Ana Sofia will turn 7 and will celebrate her birthday at CANOA. Our friends who organize equestrian therapy have invited us for a party on the 15th. The dentist who works in our dental clinic, Dr. Rosa Guzman has organized an event for the 18th. She has hired a clown thinking that David and your humble servant were not enough. They had everyone write a letter asking for some small gift. (David can now write on the computer. He wants two blondes). On the 22nd, Norma Bustamante has invited us and all of the children from the orphanage to a party at El Grand Hotel Tijuana. She is also the miracle worker who organized a campaign to collect goods for the flood victims of Mexico's eastern coast. She convinced the government to provide a plane for 40 tons of material and the crews for distribution. We humbly contributed wheelchairs and walkers. On the 28th a crew from a local maquiladora (twin factory) is coming to be with the children and is bringing lunch.
But we have already begun the festivities: we start with a retreat for the parents of the children of the chapel who are going to make their first communion and confirmation. Then on the eight, the fiesta of the Immaculate Conception, we begin at 5:30 am with a ¾ mile long procession from the local bakery to the chapel accompanied by almost 50 youngsters who perform the traditional Aztecan dance. When we arrive at the chapel, we sing the mananitas, followed by the mass, and free menudo for everyone except me (that is plate I could never quite appreciate). On Dec. 11th we have 3 first communion masses which is often the happiest day of the children's lives. On the 12th the dance groups split up in order to have two two mile processions, then mananitas, mass, and a kermes (carnival).
Perhaps it would be easy to write off the Marian devotion as infantile or excessive. But opportunities are rare in today's world to help young people form stable alliances based on integration, respect, patience, confidence-trust, and reverence for the other. We promote Mary as a model for young women who need support in difficult circumstances. We need women who are willing to knock off from their thrones the macho abusers and raise up the lowly, the poor (my translation of the magnificat in Luke's gospel story). One lady asked a small group meeting in our chapel, how come there are so many girls in the junior high school who are pregnant? Perhaps our traditions become more important as we try to get the youth to reflect on virtue and righteousness in a post modern culture that promotes casual and neutral relationships. Albert Camus made the observation that young women find out that what they thought was their sexual liberation turns into exploitation. In a border society, signs of exploitation are everywhere. We also need signs of honesty, reciprocity, devoted and committed endearment.
I am saddened to report the loss of my closest friend, Ruth Stone, who died this week at the age of ninety. She was stricken with polio in 1927 which limited her physical abilities all of her life. She compensated by reading books, thousands of books. I have visited her every Thursday for the past couple of years in the convalescent hospital. Never have I experienced a person so brilliant, insightful, considerate, progressive, and compassionate. Unable to walk, she moved from her costal home south of Tijuana to a care facility in National City. It hurt me to hear the staff of barely literate workers belittle her. She knew history, literature, politics, philosophy, and didactic and/or pedagogical systems. She always amazed me with observations as keen the day I last talked to her two weeks ago, as ever.
The reason that I say two weeks ago is because I told her then that I would not visit the following Thursday as I was going to a funeral. Today I went and helped her sister pick up her meager belongings. I will miss her counsel, wit, depth of understanding, and promotion of learning.
The funeral was for Raquel Garcia who died at 86, my friend of almost 50 years, the first person I met at St. Peter's Parish in San Francisco. I learned my practical Spanish over tacos, chile rellenos, tamales, and wonderful conversation with her and her late husband, Jose Trinidad. She possessed a superior memory and inquiring mind, recalling instances from her youth, schooling in Guadalajara, and subsequently living in San Francisco and the bay area. She lived with us in Tijuana for a time. When told of her death, Candelaria, a young adult with cerebral palsy who lives with David and me, cried for an hour. Raquel was always kind and considerate of her.
David has been sick. At night, I am alone with them. Most often they sleep until the morning sun illumines the house. When they are sick I don't mind staying up with them. My anguish is not knowing what or how to help them. When David's cough got worse and didn't let him sleep at night, I took him to the local doctor. When the prescribed medicine didn't work, I took him to the Social Security Clinic. They gave him more medicine which hopefully has cleared up the cough. While there, they advised us to apply for a pension for him. So I asked David what he would do with all the money. He lifted up his hand a waved goodbye to me and then started to laugh. I laughed as well. From my hours of waiting at the clinic I have never seen anyone else laughing. They gave us an appointment to return the following day. So I wheeled David into the doctor's cubicle and told him that this was an important examination as David wanted to get his pension and go to the Isla de las Mujeres, or Cancun. David responded with a blissful “ si', si', si'! He then proceeded to laugh and cough. The nurse came in and told David that the government would not pay for two pensions from a deceased insured. David's mother receives the benefits now. As soon as she left, I told David, “no Isla de las Mujeres, no Cancun, but I might take you to the local park.” He laughed, I laughed, and even the doctor smiled.
Last Saturday I went to the cemetery of the village to bury Arturo Sandoval (no relative to the San Francisco Sandovals). He had been killed the day before, gangland style, along with two companions not far from the chapel. I checked out the crowd for any showing weapons but only saw various men with cans of beer. I made the service short and sweet in order to facilitate burial before dark and get out before any revenge shooting. The engulfing violence rages on unrelentedly. Three seems to be a popular number. Three triple slayings have enlivened the neighborhood in the past couple of months. No one in the area changes the common course of his or her activities. Isaiah says in Chap. 30, “a thousand shall tremble at the threat of one; if five threaten you, you shall flee, until you are left like a flagstaff on the mountaintop, like a flag on the hill. Yet the Lord is waiting to show you favor, and he rises to pity you; for the God is a God of justice; blessed are all who wait for him.” Isaiah sees a time of eminent justice and worth, of deliverance from violence and exploitation, a time of Christmas, an opportunity to paint the flag staff red and green.
