Following our hearts to home, family
- Melissa Herrera: Not Waiting for Friday
- December 12, 2021
- 820
My mother-in-law, clad in a bright pink vest, long trensa (braid) hanging down her back, is sweeping the hard concrete of her patio. She is 77 years old. This visit I can see her aging, albeit gracefully, but still able to outpace me on any walk we take. Her hearing is fading fast, and we talk loudly and animatedly for her to hear us. Here, ailments are spoken of in management, not cures.
The sun shines brightly in an azure sky, and the rays of the sun are particularly hot on this Sunday in the volcanic arch of South Central Mexico.
We’ve been here in Maquixco with his parents, just outside the municipality of Teotihuacán, home to the famed Pirámides del Sol y Luna (pyramid of the sun and moon), for six days. George’s parents moved here from Apoala, Oaxaca in the late ‘70s to seek better job opportunities.
They were born Mixtec in that tiny village. The Mixtecs, or Mixtecos, are indigenous Mesoamerican peoples of Mexico that live in Oaxaca and Puebla. His parents speak another language together, mostly late at night when everyone is readying for bed, reverting back to their first familiar tongue. I smile when I hear it.
Mexico is home to me. I awaken gently each morning to different horns tooting and bells ringing, bringing different things for sale in la calle (the street): tortillas, tamales, brooms, shampoo, oranges.
There is nothing soft about life here. In this small slice of Mexico, their water arrives Tuesday and Friday. When they hear it running into their various hoses, they drop everything and fill the large tubs and tanks that sit sentinel, awaiting their turn to be filled. This water will be used for washing, cooking and cleaning.
We’ve sat most mornings of the past week drinking coffee together at a small table covered in bright oilcloth. If I miss anything from home while in Mexico, it’s my coffee. Here Nescafé reigns: one large spoon in hot boiling water, add sugar to taste. Pan dulce (sweet pastries) await a dunking in the hot brew, and we catch up on our lives, kids and the minutiae that has filled each day since we’ve been apart. It’s a gentle start to the day that I’ll remind myself of when I arrive back home and jump into the rat race.
Last evening we had all of George’s nieces and nephews over, who are grown with families of their own. The house was loud and filled with laughter as we drank cold beer and pulque, an indigenous drink made from the maguey plant — the same plant tequila and mezcal are made from. One of my nieces is a baker, and after a meal of barbacoa (roasted sheep), salsa verde and hot homemade tortillas, we enjoyed several desserts we had ordered from her for the occasion.
George and I have gone into town several times since we arrived. Having lived here for eight months from August 1989 to March 1990, I have my favorites I need to eat with each visit, the most anticipated being the tostadas sold at a stand just outside the mercado. We’ve missed her setting up each time we go to town, and as of this writing, I’ve yet to devour the savory disks.
Town is adorned for Navidad (Christmas), and twinkling lights have been going up since we got here. The jardín (garden) in the center of town boasts a walk-through manger scene, a small town and large Christmas tree made of lights only. We walked through during the day but hope to come back when it’s dark, the night market and lights a dazzling display to walk through.
Tomorrow we head for a week to a town on the southern Pacific coast of Mexico called Huatulco. We plan to lay on the beach for a bit and savor seafood until we burst. I’m looking forward to a margarita on the sand in a secluded place we have no itinerary for, save for what we can find in each day.
We will come back to his parents’ house for one last week before we head for home. For now I am content inside the hours we have together.
Melissa Herrera is a columnist, published author and drinker of too many coffees. You can find her book, “TOÑO LIVES,” at www.tinyurl.com/Tonolives or buy one from her in person (because all authors have boxes of their own novel). For inquiries or to purchase, email her at junkbabe68@gmail.com.