Christmas

An Extraordinary Holiday Celebration

~ adriennecohen221 ~ 1 Comment

We had invited an assortment of neighbors and friends to join us for a potluck get-together at our home last Sunday — Easter Sunday — and they all arrived promptly at the appointed time.

Look out from the deck, the afternoon seemed calm.
The sky was grey, but it did not seem threatening at that moment.

 Darkening gray clouds had not dampened spirits in the slightest as our group of 12 assembled. However, dinner was destined to be delayed as the existing tornado watch was upgraded to multiple tornado warnings for our area, including the Hot Springs, Arkansas, area and the Village we call home.

At that time, Hot Springs Village was not included in the “take cover” area. But that changed before long.

With celebratory glasses of champagne or wine in hand, and a buffet well-stocked with hors d’oeuvres, we resolved to delay serving dinner until the severe threat had passed. Conversation was lively, and the appetizers alone could have served as our meal. We kept a watch on outdoor conditions and listened to the continuing weather updates, while sampling Argentine empanadas, deviled eggs, salmon-topped cucumber slices, toast points topped with savory olive tapenade, and an assortment of pickles, olives, and peppers.

No one has to work too hard when it's a potluck dinner celebration.
Great appetizers kept us company during the storm watch.
We could have made a dinner of the hors d'oeuveres.
Our friends and neighbors are creative chefs.

We all knew there was more food to come, but somehow the worsening weather spiked our appetites.

The screen was ablaze with red and yellow blobs of color in our viewing area. Place names seemed eerily close and familiar, but the sky was still light, the air was calm, and no rain was falling. However, the weather forecaster repeatedly recommended that area residents take shelter.

Nonstop television storm coverage kept us informed.
The warnings kept us all informed of the storm’s progression through our area.

The 12 adults gathered in my living room and screened porch looked questioningly at me and my husband as the wind picked up and raindrops began to fall. Together, we explained to our guests that getting to our “safe place,”  a room we use strictly for storage, involved going outside and walking down an incline that becomes treacherous in the rain. It is definitely not a place of comfort. It has no television, and it has a large window.

We had no intention to gathering in our designated “safe room” with plates filled with game hens, wild rice, peas and carrots, and fresh-from-the-oven homemade rolls. Instead, we gathered loosely around the television, and continued to catch up on one another’s lives and activities since we had last been together.

The consensus was to remain where we were, closely watching the TV coverage, monitoring our phones for the latest information, and enjoying our holiday get-together. We agreed that, should a confirmed tornado veer in our direction, we would all gather in the single interior room in our home, the guest bathroom.

It’s adjacent to a concrete block fireplace wall and chimney, has no windows, is fortified by plumbing pipes and drain lines, and boasts at least two walls in every direction between the interior and the outdoors.

Two tables for six were dressed for Easter
The settings, complete with bunnies and chicks, invited conversation.
Easter bunnies joined us for dinner!
Our Easter tables were upscale, but also playful.

Once or twice, 12 cell phones served up a cacophony of high-pitched weather alerts along and the concerned faces of our local news station weather forecasters filled the television screen. Weather alerts continued to preempt the scheduled golf coverage on television.

As the minutes ticked by, we all remained comfortable, albeit watchful; some surveying the clouds and breathing in the fresh odor of falling rain. The assortment of appetizers continued to disappear, wine glasses were refilled, and interesting conversation flowed non-stop.

When the tornado threat was deemed to be beyond our geographic area, we drank another toast to friendship and fine food, moving to take our places at tables adorned with ceramic bunnies and white linen napkins, a casually elegant setting combined with a playful sense of humor.

When the tornado threat was lifted, so were our spirits.
We enjoyed our dinner, with a sense of camaraderie and thankfulness.

We could, at last, give thanks for the holiday celebration — and for the friendships — that are anything but ordinary. This year has already brought our state, and the entire nation, repeated weather events that have been far from ordinary. We will hope that as spring moves into summer, weather patterns calm and we can enjoy the beauty of the seasons to come.

A dose of good cheer . . .

~ adriennecohen221 ~ Leave a comment

There’s something about Americans.

They are everywhere, it seems. Sometimes by choice; sometimes by happenstance, often on orders and sometimes unwillingly. Americans travel the globe. Occasionally, they’re “ugly.” Almost always, when Americans “discover” a place, it is changed. And many would argue that change, though inevitable, is less than desirable.

There are other nationalities that also travel the globe; many of them English-speaking — Brits, Canadians, Australians. But there are French-speakers, Spanish-speakers, Scandinavians, Asians, and Africans. In fact, today, all nationalities travel extensively. Most travel rather inconspicuously.  Americans tend to stand out and are occasionally the brunt of jokes and the subject of pervasive and less-than-flattering stereotypes. 

But, there’s something about Americans.

On Christmas Day morning, on a beach in Puerto Vallarta, Jalisco, Mexico, a group of Americans gathers to hang stuffed animals, matchbox cars, soccer balls, footballs, Barbie dolls, and an assortment of other toys from the palapas and beach umbrellas of a local hotel. They wear Santa hats, blinking reindeer noses and silly, floppy reindeer antlers, candy cane shirts, and an assortment of other red and green attire with their swimsuits and shorts.

The beach chairs and lounges are circled to keep the public at a distance. No one really seems to be in charge. At 8:30 am on Christmas Day, it is quiet on the beach. And then more people arrive, some with armloads of stuffed animals, some with plastic bags from the Walmart on the other side of the Mexican city. Some come with one or two toys. Many dropped off their “goodies” earlier in the week. Word spread about the event, and the crowd steadily grew larger.

Volunteers bring ribbons and scissors. There is a festive spirit. Onlookers gather.

Soon, a group of children begin to form a line, off to one side. Quiet, and well-behaved, they stand with their parents and older siblings. They watch. They wait.

This ritual began more than 20 years ago. On Christmas Day 2004, I was on that beach that Christmas Day. A woman named Marge from Nashville, TN, one of the original group of Santa’s helpers, asked volunteers to walk down the beach to find more children. “This is the best year ever,” she said, “and I’m not sure we have enough children for all the gifts.”

There is no publicity. This is not an organized effort. There is no tax deduction attached to these gifts. There were lots of pictures taken. There are big smiles on the faces of the adults. The children look on with wide-eyed wonder. There are tears. There are hugs. There is a sense of excitement. There are cookies and soft drinks and music on a beach in Puerto Vallarta on Christmas Day. And there is a sense of community.

Even though most of the children speak no English, and most of the adults speak little Spanish, there is no language barrier.

One man with a distinctively British accent and a camera pauses to ask what is happening. When it is explained, he makes no comment. But he remains to take pictures, staying on the fringes but joining in the palpable spirit of goodwill.

At precisely 11 am, four Mexican children are allowed to enter the “garden” of hanging toys, each one accompanied by an adult American volunteer with a small pair of scissors. As each child walks through, he is allowed to take his time to look, and then his selection is snipped from its ribbon hanger and handed to him. It is almost silent. There is no screaming, no running. There is a sense of reverence as the child clutches his selection to his chest and then is escorted to the other edge of the toy-filled enclosure.

Children of hotel employees, youngsters whose parents are beach vendors, and children who have come to the beach for a day near the water and the sun with their extended families are the honored guests. They are all Mexican children. That is the only requirement.

It is not their tradition. Christmas, in Mexico, is a deeply religious holiday, with a family-oriented emphasis. Santa Claus does not visit most Mexican children.

But where there are Americans, there are some traditions that are hard to break. In the United States, there are toys for children. So, where Americans gather at Christmas, there will invariably be toys.

There is something about Americans.

Note: I first wrote this nearly two decades ago for an online publication that no longer exists. I was thinking today about that long ago Christmas on the beach, and it seemed appropriate to repost this piece this year, at a time when the world seems to need a large dose of goodness and cheer. I don’t know if the tradition continues in Puerto Vallarta. I hope it does. But, whether the beach party is still held or not, it is a wonderful memory. I wish Happy Holidays to all, no matter what holidays you celebrate or where you celebrate them. And may 2023 be a good year for us all!