Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.
JOHN LENNON – "Beautiful Boy"
One
of the many things I admire about Mexican culture (at least in parts of
the country I’ve visited) is the way people savor life—not life shaped to their ends, but simply life as it is.
For
generations Mexicans have gotten a bad rap for being slow, unreliable
and lazy. While I know from much experience that this is far from an
accurate characterization, I can see how an ignorant person might get
that impression.
It’s a responsibility to things on which a norteamericano or an europeo might not
place as high a value.
Mexicans
don’t let plans, schedules or clocks run their lives. This isn’t
because they’re inconsiderate or irresponsible; they aren’t. In fact,
it’s often because they
are so responsible that Mexicans refuse to be bridled by time. But it’s a responsibility to things on which a
norteamericano or an
europeo might not place as high a value—especially their commitment to family and community, and their unfailing graciousness.
SIMPLE PLEASURES
Mexicans know how to appreciate the simple little wonders that life presents while others might be busy making other plans.
One
telling—and typical—experience with this occurred several years ago
when I, two of my fellow Spanish students and my
compadre Silverio were
visiting the home of Silverio’s old friends, Ignacio (Nacho), Marta and
their three daughters in Tlalnepantla, a northern suburb of Mexico City.
Mexicans know how to appreciate the simple little wonders that life presents while others might be busy making other plans.
They
were going to join us for dinner and a sampling of the scores of
mariachi bands strutting their stuff in the big city’s famous Garibaldi Square. We arrived at their house at about 8:00 PM. I
thought we were in a bit of a hurry, since we’d planned to leave for
the restaurant by about 9:00.
After hugs all around, I presented our hosts with the customary
regalito—little
gift—a bottle of maple syrup I’d brought from home. (On a previous trip
I’d given them another taste of Minnesota exotica, a ceramic moose.)
ONE KERNEL AT A TIME
We
sat around the dining room table. Nacho offered us the obligatory
tequila, poured from the fanciest of four or five bottles prominently
arrayed on the overwrought bar—obviously his pride and joy. When Marta
asked if anyone wanted popcorn, the hands of Brenda, Andrea and Abril,
shot up in the air, making it unanimous.
A few minutes
later Marta emerged from the kitchen carrying nine paper napkins and
one small, steaming bag of microwave popcorn. We all helped ourselves to
our share, just about a handful each, which we piled on our napkins.
One precious kernel at a time, they’d hold it up, inspect it and finally place it in their mouths.
As we chatted, I
watched the little girls quietly savor that popcorn. It was
as if it were the last popcorn they’d ever see. One precious kernel at a
time, they’d hold it up, inspect it and finally place it in their
mouths. They made those few buttery morsels last for about ten minutes.
PRECIOUS MEMORIES
I
got up to stretch my legs, taking a closer look at some of their prints
and knick-knacks. Nestled in the corner of the living room was a small glass étagère with three or four shelves. On each were five or six little souvenir items from places the family had been to or dreamt
of going to: a baby spoon engraved with the name of some amusement
park; a shot glass from a resort area near Guanajuato; a plastic replica
of the Statue of Liberty. And there, front and center on the top shelf,
was my moose.
By
this time, everyone else had joined me around the curios. For the next
half hour, we all stood there admiring those three- or four-dollar
items, listening to the girls recalling each trip, hearing all about the
people who’d sent them this keepsake or that. At times, I felt a bit
uncomfortable with the lengthy silences, no one uttering a word except
for a few contemplative “Hm-m-ms.”
Many of us north of the border strive too much,
brag too much and admire too little.
SILENCE IS GOLDEN
Do you think that here in the United States this scene would have played out the same way? First, wouldn't the mementos would have been more expensive
by a factor of a hundred? But that’s not the point. Even if they're
Faberges and Hummels, we’re not exactly famous for our
attention spans. Don't you think that, the first time there was a lull of more
than a few seconds, someone would have jumped at the chance to go do something more exciting?
Many of us north
of the border strive too much, brag too much and admire too little.
Silences make us nervous. I’ve tried to adopt a bit of the Mexicans’
appreciation of little things, their comfort with quiet, thoughtful
interludes in conversation, and their knack for being in the moment.
All
these gifts, it seems to me, lend themselves very well to our
relationships, not just with other human beings, but with ourselves,
with Nature and with whatever it is we find sacred.
Posts
Spring's such an amazing time to explore smell, that most underrated of our basic senses. Starting with the demure crocus, followed by voluptuous hyacinth, intoxicating lilac and enchanting lily of the valley, it seems the olfactory banquet serves up a new course or two every week—and so it goes, through most of the summer.
So get out there. Keep using all your beautiful senses. But don't let smell always get elbowed out by its more assertive cousins. Stop and close your eyes if necessary, plug your ears. Better yet, just set aside an hour or two and let Nature lead you around by the nose.
Step by step, a glow starts in my feet and spreads up my calves and through my thighs. Like engine oil, it wicks in between moving parts, salving the friction, cooling the pain. 
I picture muscle and sinew grasping and pulling, tensing and pushing, sliding freely against one another in easy synchrony.
Mexicans
don’t let plans, schedules or clocks run their lives. This isn’t
because they’re inconsiderate or irresponsible; they aren’t. In fact,
it’s often because they are so responsible that Mexicans refuse to be bridled by time. But it’s a responsibility to things on which a norteamericano or an europeo might not place as high a value—especially their commitment to family and community, and their unfailing graciousness. 
By
this time, everyone else had joined me around the curios. For the next
half hour, we all stood there admiring those three- or four-dollar
items, listening to the girls recalling each trip, hearing all about the
people who’d sent them this keepsake or that. At times, I felt a bit
uncomfortable with the lengthy silences, no one uttering a word except
for a few contemplative “Hm-m-ms.” 
