On November 1st, the floral tapestry was orange and yellow.
By December 1st, it changed to red and green.
That was the change in color across Mexico as Dia de los Muertos celebrations changed to Christmas festivities. These weren’t just any Christmas festivities, though. This was Christmas in Mexico.
An old folktale told of a poor little girl. She wanted to present a gift to the baby Jesus. She picked flowering weeds and placed them at the altar of a local church. These flowers, known to Mexicans as Nochebuenas, became a symbol of Christmas around the world. Nochebuenas were also known as Poinsettias.
Sra. Vasquez had filled every room in the house with the fragrant red flowers. No mistaking it, the Christmas season was on its way.
At school, festivities were beginning, too. All of the children in Srta. Diaz' class wrote their name on a piece of paper and placed it into a Christmas stocking. Srta. Diaz secretly picked nine names. The first was ‘Miguel Vasquez’.
Srta. Diaz also secretly passed nine envelopes to these children. These were for their parents. When Miguel arrived at home, he gave the envelope to his mother. She waited until dinner to read the contents.
Dear Parents,
The time for Nochebuena and Las Posadas is coming near. Just like every year, all of my students placed their names in a bag. Yours was picked as one of the families to act as this year's Inkeepers. Please let me know as soon as possible if you are unable to host a Posadas party.
Sincerely,
Srta. Diaz
“I guess we have work to do,” announced Sra. Vasquez.
Step one was a trip to the market. They found a silver and gold star-shaped piñata. They found decorations for the house, too.
On December 16th, the first night of Las Posadas, they went to work setting up for their party. Sr. Vasquez hung the piñata in the back yard. Meanwhile, Sra. Vasquez and her children strung up Christmas lights and crepe paper ribbons.
That night, just after sunset, all of the students except Miguel, gathered at Srta. Diaz’ house. There were adults, too.
There were two children dressed as Jose and Maria – Joseph and Mary. Mary held a tiny doll. This represented baby Jesus. There was even a donkey, which Maria got to ride. The rest of the children were ‘pilgrims’, wandering from inn-to-inn, looking for a place for Mary and Joseph to rest.
They lit tiny candles and proceeded to the Vasquez house. The boy who played Jose knocked on the door..
The children began singing in Spanish:
En el nombre del cielo,
yo os pido posada,
pues no puede andar,
mi esposa amada.
It meant:
In the name of the heavens
I request lodging from you,
Because she cannot walk,
My beloved wife.
The Vasquez family sang to them (in Spanish, of course):
This is not an inn,
Go on ahead
We can’t open up for you
In case you are a crook.
The Pilgrims sang:
Don’t be cruel,
Give us charity
That the gods of the heavens
Will give it to you.
The Innkeepers (couple) sang:
You can go now and
Don’t bother us
Because if I get upset
I’m going to beat you.
The Pilgrims replied:
We come tired
From Nazareth
I am a carpenter
Whose name is Joseph.
The Vasquez family replied by refusing the pilgrims time and again, until the last verse, where the Innkeepers recognized the pilgrims, and gave them the last place they had – the stables outside – with the wild beasts.
The Innkeepers sang:
You are Joseph
Your wife is Mary
Come in travelers!
I didn’t know it.
The Pilgrims sang:
May God pay gentlemen,
For our charity
And may the heavens overwhelm you
With Happiness!
Finally, everyone joined together and sang:
Happy is the house
That shelters today
The pure virgin
The beautiful Mary.
Enter holy pilgrims
Receive this haven
That although it’s a poor dwelling
The dwelling…
We offer to you from the heart.
The Vasquez family invited all of their guests into the house. There was punch and cookies for everyone to enjoy while they talked and sang. People had even brought guitars and banjoes to play while they partied.
It was a grand fiesta.
Sr. Vasquez led everyone to the gumbo-limbo tree in the backyard. He presented his son with a small cane. Miguel held it firmly while his father tied the blindfold. He then spun Miguel around nine times (once for each day of Posadas). Miguel swung the cane over his head, trying to hit the piñata. He missed.
Then, Miguel pointed towards the children with his finger. He picked out his friend Juan.
Sr. Vasquez handed him the cane and fastened the blindfold. Juan’s swing hit one leg of the star. The children gasped and cheered. Although Juan hit the piñata, it did not break.
It was another child’s turn. Juan picked Maria.
Maria swung the cane over her head. It was a direct hit. Everyone scrambled for the candies as they poured onto the floor.
After all the candy was gathered, Srta. Diaz led everyone in a prayer. She held the rosary in her hands as she prayed. The rosary was a small beaded necklace. Each bead was a rose, made of carved wood. She recited parts of the Lord’s Prayer, followed by “Hail Mary”.
When she finished, the guests thanked the Vasquez family and returned to their own homes. The Vasquez’ cleaned house and readied for bed.
“Papa?” asked Miguel.
“Yes?”
“Come, look at my adobe. Is it ready?”
Sr. Vasquez investigated the brick. The shell was hardened and strong.
“It’s cured.”
“Do you think you could use it at the Tenochtitlan project?”
“I wouldn’t be allowed.”
“But you said it was a good building block.”
“It is, but there are building standards I have to follow. Architecture has come a long way since the days of the Aztecs and Maya.”
“We saw adobe used in the houses in the Riviera Maya.”
“We did, but those were personal houses. Very few people use Adobe. Instead, factories make lots of bricks at once.”
“Srta. Diaz’ class makes lots of bricks at once.”
“There are only twenty students in your class. Factories make thousands of bricks per day.”
“I don’t know what I’ll do with this brick.”
“Let us sleep and think about it,” said father.
Miguel changed into pajamas and readied for bed.
“Suenos Amables, mi nino.”
“Suenos Amables, papa.”
“Hasta manana.”
Miguel had no idea what to do with one adobe brick. Sr. Vasquez, however, had thousands of ideas.
The next morning, he woke Miguel bright and early.
“Venga! Venga! We’re going to work.”
Miguel rode with his father to the building site. Sr. Vasquez talked to the workers before heading off in his truck again.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
Sr. Vasquez pulled into a factory lot. They checked in at the guard’s post. The guard issued a hard hat to Miguel, just like his fathers. They walked into the factory. It was very hot inside.
“What are they doing?”
“Building bricks.”
Sr. Vasquez took Miguel on a tour of the brick factory. Cold,, wet bricks went into a blast furnace. It was fiery orange inside the blast furnace. The bricks were being cured in a matter of hours instead of several months.
Sr. Vasquez led Miguel outside. Large pallets, stacked with bricks, were lined in rows and aisles. Sr. Vasquez talked to another man in a hard hat. It was one of the sales clerks. Sr. Vasquez placed an order for several pallets of bricks.
“Are we taking them with us?”
“There will be a large truck that delivers them to the site,” replied father, “However, we are taking something back.
A forklift came with two large stone columns. They were wrapped in packing foam. The forklift operator placed the columns into the truck bed. Sr. Vasquez signed a form and away they went.
At the construction site, another forklift unloaded the columns one at a time. Sr. Vasquez cut away the packing foam. The columns were covered with intricate designs.
“These are like the glyphs at Chichen Itza.”
Sr. Vasquez nodded. “It’s a copy of the ancient Nahuatl language used by the Mesoamerican peoples centuries ago.”
“Do we speak Nahuatl?”
“Yes and no,” replied father, “Words like chocolate and tomato and coyote were originally Nahuatl words: xocolātl, xitomatl, and coyōtl. The Spanish brought their own language when the conquistadors came. Modern Mexican is a mix of Spanish and Nahuatl.”
Miguel and his father returned home for lunch. Mother prepared chicken Paella. It was also another mix of Spanish and Mesoamerican. Miguel had always loved the corn he ate, although he didn’t realize it until his trip to the Riviera Maya. In fact, he had never truly known much about where he came from. His eyes were just opening to the past, present, and future.
Las Posadas continued that night. This time, Miguel and his family were pilgrims, wandering to the new innkeeper’s house. They drank punch, enjoyed tasty snacks, danced, played, and swung at piñatas. Most were stars, but Srta. Diaz, who hosted the final party on Christmas Eve, had a donkey. That donkey was a celebration of the donkey that carried Maria and the Nino Jesus.
The Las Posadas celebration was just the same. However, the Vasquez family returned home and celebrated Nochebuena, ‘the Good Night’.
Miguel received one gift. Being the youngest, he was the first to open his gift. It was a shiny brass birdcage, just like Grandpa Juan’s rusted cage in the attic. Miguel wondered what he was going to do with an empty birdcage.
“Meego…” said Junie. She stood in the entryway from the kitchen to the living room. She held a small plastic cage. A tiny quetzal sat inside. He squaked as Miguel pressed his face against the outside.
“What’s his name?”
“He’s your bird,” said father, “You should decide.”
“Can I call him Juan?”
Sr. Vasquez nodded. “I think that’s the perfect name.”
Everyone agreed.
Miguel cupped his hands around the tiny bird as he transported him from his plain plastic crate to his new brass cage. Juan hopped around on the floor, investigating every corner of his huge cage.
On Christmas day, Miguel filled Juan’s new cage. He placed a limb from the gunbo-limbo tree through the wires, creating a perch. He placed water and birdseed pans along one side. He also placed the adobe brick in one corner.
“Perfecto!” he exclaimed.
The adobe brick now had a permanent home. The Vasquez family attended Catholic Mass on Christmas Day. Although Tiilde and Meego had vacation for the rest of the week, Sr. Vasquez had to oversee the final touches at the construction site.
On New Year’s Day, people gathered for fireworks as Sr. Vasquez, the city planner, and other important people of Mexico City dedicated the new site.
Juneta and Miguel hugged their father afterwards.
“Feliz Ano Nuevo,” greeted the children.
“Feliz Ano Nuevo, mis ninos.”
Indeed, it would be a Happy New Year. However, Miguel wondered how there could be a year better than the last.
He would just have to wait until tomorrow to find out.
Hasta Manana.
Dia de los Muertos
One might think that leaving bustling tourist hot spots like Chichen Itza and Riviera Maya might also bring an end to all the excitement in Miguel's life.
However, that was far from true. Miguel was still waiting on his adobe brick to cure. Sr. Vasquez was busy with the Tenochtitlan renovations in downtown Mexico City. Juneta had been doing more grown-up activities. This left Miguel to his studying, but October was nearing its end. That meant the holiday season in Mexico.
It began with All Souls day and the Day of the Dead, also known as 'Dia de los Muertos'. Dia de los Muertos was actually three days – from October 31st to November 2nd.
On Monday the 27th, Sra. Vasquez went to the attic with flashlight in hand. Miguel climbed the stairs and peered into the dark attic.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking for Grandpa Juan’s crate.”
“I know where it is.”
Miguel climbed into the attic. His mother’s flashlight followed him into the far corner. He picked up a large metal milk crate.
“Be careful,” she said.
Miguel set the crate at the top of the stairs before heading down the steps. Sra. Vasquez handed down the crate and came down the stairs, too.
“I forgot all this stuff,” said Miguel.
Sra. Vasquez and Miguel sat at the kitchen table and sorted through the crate. Among the mess of things, there was an old catcher’s mitt, a wrinkled baseball cap, a shoebox full of old photos, a bundle of long, bright green feathers, and several old pairs of huaraches – leather sandals with straps that fit like flip flops with a thick heel strap attached to the back.
Sra. Vasquez carefully dusted everything with her hands as she sorted through the crate. As she did, Aunt Angelina arrived at the front door.
“Venga! Venga!” called Sra. Vasquez. Angelina joined them at the kitchen table.
“Dad’s old stuff,” said Angelina wistfully.
Sra. Vasquez held a pair of huaraches in her hands.
“I remember that old man sitting out in the middle of our backyard in an old wooden chair. Sometimes, he’d sit there all day long. He’d prop his feet on an old block of wood and flip these huaraches around with his toes. They’d clap against the bottoms of his feet. I always thought he was a crazy old bird.”
“Speaking of birds,” said Angelina as she twirled the bundle of long, green feathers in her hand, “The thing I’ll never forget was ‘Perro’.”
Sra. Vasquez would not let her father-in-law have a pet dog when Juneta and Miguel were both little children. Instead, she allowed him to buy a quetzal to keep in a birdcage. In defiance, he named the bird ‘Perro’, the Spanish word for ‘dog’.
They reminisced about Grandpa Juan for quite some time. Late in the afternoon, Sr. Vasquez returned home for lunch. He brought home a bag of boiled peanuts. He found the rest of his family in the living room gathered around the fireplace. They had turned it into an altar – a collection of things to remember Grandpa Juan on Dia de los Muertos.
“Are those for Grandpa?”
“Some are, some aren’t. He filled Miguel and Juneta’s cupped hands with boiled peanuts. Miguel peeled off the soggy shell and popped the peanuts into his mouth.
Boiled peanuts always reminded Miguel of two things: pinto beans and Grandpa Juan. Personally, Miguel never liked boiled peanuts or pinto beans. However, he always loved his Grandpa.
“Ah, the Diablos Rojos,” said Sr. Vasquez.
Father was talking about Grandpa Juan’s favorite baseball team – the Mexico City Red Devils. They were part of the Mexican league. Grandpa Juan walked, in his old sandals, faded gray Diablos Rojos jersey, and thread-bare red baseball cap, to the old stadium - Parque del Seguro Social.
Bleachers curled from 1st to 3rd base around the catcher’s side of the field. A long, sweeping metal awning hung over the seats. Grandpa Juan sat in the back row on the third base side, far from the crowds.
“He’d plop his long legs over the seat in front of him and eat boiled peanuts from the first inning to the last,” said Angelina.
“I’ve never seen a person eat anything like Grandpa Juan ate boiled peanuts,” added mother.
A mound of wet peanut shells grew on the otherwise clean altar.
“Oh, those shells,” exclaimed mother.
She shoveled them into the wastebasket. Sr. Vasquez placed the catcher mitt and ball cap where the peanut shells once sat.
“That’s a good start for now.”
As the week progressed, so, too, did the items on the altar. Juneta put a framed picture of her Grandparents in the center of the altar. A young couple, dressed in black and white, stood in front of the old firehouse. Grandpa Juan’s firefighting buddies served as groomsmen. Grandma Yolanda’s friends from school served as bridesmaids. Juneta polished the tarnished gold frame.
“Good as new.”
On Wednesday, Uncle Tony brought bottles of banana peppers and popcorn. It was another of Grandpa Juan’s curious traits – he always mixed banana peppers into his movie popcorn.
On Thursday, Aunt Angelina showed up with bundles of yellow and orange marigolds. She tied them into a daisy chain and arranged them around the picture frame.
Friday finally came. It was the first day of the three-day celebration.
Sra. Vasquez stood in front of the stove. Black beans, red onions, hearty tomato sauce, ground beef, and banana peppers simmered in a large frying pan. After they thickened to a hearty chili, ra. Vasquez added dried hominy to the chili, making a hominy-chili stew.
Hominy was the popular large-kernel white corn of central Mexico. It was less sweet than regular maize; the kernels often absorbing the taste of whatever ingredients they were cooked with. In this case, the hominy tasted like a mild, sweet chili.
Sra. Vasquez dumped the mixture into a baking pan. She added a thick layer of Queso fresco to the top before putting it into the oven. Now, the chili had become a chili-hominy casserole.
"What are you making that for?"
"For your grandfather."
"But he's gone."
"Tonight is Dia de los Muertos."
"I know,” said Miguel sadly.
“It’s a time for celebration, not remorse.”
“But I miss him.”
“We all miss him, Miguel. We take this time to remember how he brought joy to our lives.”
While mother and son discussed Grandpa Juan, Juneta was busily primping in front of the bathroom mirror. She started by washing her face with antibacterial soap and rinsing it with water. She used a towel and then the hair dryer to dry her face. Next, a coat of primer and a base layer of clown white makeup. That is when Miguel knocked on the door.
“Junie! Hurry up! I need to use the restroom.”
“Use the other one. I’m busy.”
“What is taking so long?”
“I’m putting on make-up.”
Miguel opened the door.
“Meego! Give me privacy.”
Miguel closed the toilet lid and sat across the bathroom from his sister. She returned to her make-up. She applied and reapplied black makeup until two black spots circled her eyes. She drew the mouth, teeth and all, over her lips. Her face was beginning to look like a skull.
“You want to be made up like this?”
Miguel shook his head.
“It’s yucky.”
“Not if you do it right,” she said.
Juneta continued applying make-up. She painted flowers on each side of her face, painting them like yellow and orange marigolds. The used black eyeliner to fill in the blackness of her eyebrows and to shape the contours of her cheekbones.
“Maybe a little,” said Miguel.
“Maybe a little what?”
“Maybe a little face paint.”
Juneta eagerly dropped her work. Now, she had her own personal “Frankenstein” with which she could play dress-up.
“Close your eyes and hold still.”
She squirted a dollop of white paint onto her hands and massaged it into Miguel’s face. As she began drawing lines with the eyeliner pencil, Miguel grimaced.
“That’s enough.”
“You cannot stop now.”
“I sure can.”
Miguel looked at his face.
“Maybe some eyebrows.”
She painted in the eyebrows. Miguel checked her work.
“Maybe some teeth.”
She sketched teeth over his closed lips. He looked at his reflection.
“Pefect.”
“There’s still more to do.”
“I think I look perfect.”
Miguel darted out of the bathroom. He forgot he still had to use the other bathroom. After he finished, he went to his bedroom to study books. Juneta finished her makeup. She tried on her baby blue ballgown and Easter hat. It was wide-brimmed and trimmed with lace.
She went downstairs.
“Mi Calavera Catrina!” exclaimed Sr. Vasquez.
Indeed, she did look like “the elegant skull” made famous by printer Jose Posada. “The Elegant Skull” was just that – a thin skeleton draped in a rich Victorian dress and bonnet. It had become what most female parade-goers copied.
Everyone, including the Aunts and Uncles, joined Miguel and Juneta for dinner. They enjoyed many of Grandpa Juan’s favorite foods, including hominy chili, boiled peanuts, and rice pudding. The adults drank beer while the children drank bitter raspberry tea. It was Grandma’s favorite. They even drank it out of old glass milk bottles, just like Grandma did a long, long time ago.
“I almost forgot!” exclaimed Uncle Juan.
He grabbed old plastic skulls from his knapsack and placed them in the center of the table. He followed that immediately with a bag of candy skulls.
They came in a few different shapes and styles. Some were bubble gum and some were white chocolate over dark chocolate. The majority of them were crystallized sugar.
The children ate a few. The adults ate some, too. Sra. Vasquez quickly put them away, saving them for later.
“Let’s go to the parade,” urged mother.
Skeletons and Catrinas filled the streets as drums beat out rhythms. Some were slow and plodding, like a sad elephant. Most others were loud and rambunctious. People danced salsas and tangos and even disco bumps. Many people were handing out candy while they danced and sang.
Although the parade lasted well past midnight, the Vasquez family returned home early.
Aunt Angelina and Sr. Vasquez lit candles around the altar. Light breezes blew through the open windows as the candles flickered.
“Maybe that’s Grandpa,” said Aunt Angelina.
“It’s just the wind,” said Miguel.
“You never know,” added Uncle Juan.
Uncle Juan told a story of his first trip to see the Diablos Rojos. It was on a chilly night just like this. He reminisced about his father.
“It’s funny how he loved watching baseball. He’d sit at the top of the bleachers and watch the crowd and watch the players. I’d never ask him the score or who the batter was at home plate. He’d never seem to know. On the other hand, he did know what the old lady and her husband were arguing about ten rows away.”
And that was Grandpa Juan. He always seemed to be ignoring the big picture but noticing the smallest of details. Maybe he was just more interested in a cold bottle of beer and his boiled peanuts.
Both Miguel and Juneta drifted off to sleep with stories of Grandma and Grandpa. Sr. and Sra. Vasquez tucked a blanket around the children and blew out each of the candles on the altar.
Soft breezes blew over the children, kissing their faces gently.
“Suenos Amables, mis ninos.”
Sweet dreams.
However, that was far from true. Miguel was still waiting on his adobe brick to cure. Sr. Vasquez was busy with the Tenochtitlan renovations in downtown Mexico City. Juneta had been doing more grown-up activities. This left Miguel to his studying, but October was nearing its end. That meant the holiday season in Mexico.
It began with All Souls day and the Day of the Dead, also known as 'Dia de los Muertos'. Dia de los Muertos was actually three days – from October 31st to November 2nd.
On Monday the 27th, Sra. Vasquez went to the attic with flashlight in hand. Miguel climbed the stairs and peered into the dark attic.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking for Grandpa Juan’s crate.”
“I know where it is.”
Miguel climbed into the attic. His mother’s flashlight followed him into the far corner. He picked up a large metal milk crate.
“Be careful,” she said.
Miguel set the crate at the top of the stairs before heading down the steps. Sra. Vasquez handed down the crate and came down the stairs, too.
“I forgot all this stuff,” said Miguel.
Sra. Vasquez and Miguel sat at the kitchen table and sorted through the crate. Among the mess of things, there was an old catcher’s mitt, a wrinkled baseball cap, a shoebox full of old photos, a bundle of long, bright green feathers, and several old pairs of huaraches – leather sandals with straps that fit like flip flops with a thick heel strap attached to the back.
Sra. Vasquez carefully dusted everything with her hands as she sorted through the crate. As she did, Aunt Angelina arrived at the front door.
“Venga! Venga!” called Sra. Vasquez. Angelina joined them at the kitchen table.
“Dad’s old stuff,” said Angelina wistfully.
Sra. Vasquez held a pair of huaraches in her hands.
“I remember that old man sitting out in the middle of our backyard in an old wooden chair. Sometimes, he’d sit there all day long. He’d prop his feet on an old block of wood and flip these huaraches around with his toes. They’d clap against the bottoms of his feet. I always thought he was a crazy old bird.”
“Speaking of birds,” said Angelina as she twirled the bundle of long, green feathers in her hand, “The thing I’ll never forget was ‘Perro’.”
Sra. Vasquez would not let her father-in-law have a pet dog when Juneta and Miguel were both little children. Instead, she allowed him to buy a quetzal to keep in a birdcage. In defiance, he named the bird ‘Perro’, the Spanish word for ‘dog’.
They reminisced about Grandpa Juan for quite some time. Late in the afternoon, Sr. Vasquez returned home for lunch. He brought home a bag of boiled peanuts. He found the rest of his family in the living room gathered around the fireplace. They had turned it into an altar – a collection of things to remember Grandpa Juan on Dia de los Muertos.
“Are those for Grandpa?”
“Some are, some aren’t. He filled Miguel and Juneta’s cupped hands with boiled peanuts. Miguel peeled off the soggy shell and popped the peanuts into his mouth.
Boiled peanuts always reminded Miguel of two things: pinto beans and Grandpa Juan. Personally, Miguel never liked boiled peanuts or pinto beans. However, he always loved his Grandpa.
“Ah, the Diablos Rojos,” said Sr. Vasquez.
Father was talking about Grandpa Juan’s favorite baseball team – the Mexico City Red Devils. They were part of the Mexican league. Grandpa Juan walked, in his old sandals, faded gray Diablos Rojos jersey, and thread-bare red baseball cap, to the old stadium - Parque del Seguro Social.
Bleachers curled from 1st to 3rd base around the catcher’s side of the field. A long, sweeping metal awning hung over the seats. Grandpa Juan sat in the back row on the third base side, far from the crowds.
“He’d plop his long legs over the seat in front of him and eat boiled peanuts from the first inning to the last,” said Angelina.
“I’ve never seen a person eat anything like Grandpa Juan ate boiled peanuts,” added mother.
A mound of wet peanut shells grew on the otherwise clean altar.
“Oh, those shells,” exclaimed mother.
She shoveled them into the wastebasket. Sr. Vasquez placed the catcher mitt and ball cap where the peanut shells once sat.
“That’s a good start for now.”
As the week progressed, so, too, did the items on the altar. Juneta put a framed picture of her Grandparents in the center of the altar. A young couple, dressed in black and white, stood in front of the old firehouse. Grandpa Juan’s firefighting buddies served as groomsmen. Grandma Yolanda’s friends from school served as bridesmaids. Juneta polished the tarnished gold frame.
“Good as new.”
On Wednesday, Uncle Tony brought bottles of banana peppers and popcorn. It was another of Grandpa Juan’s curious traits – he always mixed banana peppers into his movie popcorn.
On Thursday, Aunt Angelina showed up with bundles of yellow and orange marigolds. She tied them into a daisy chain and arranged them around the picture frame.
Friday finally came. It was the first day of the three-day celebration.
Sra. Vasquez stood in front of the stove. Black beans, red onions, hearty tomato sauce, ground beef, and banana peppers simmered in a large frying pan. After they thickened to a hearty chili, ra. Vasquez added dried hominy to the chili, making a hominy-chili stew.
Hominy was the popular large-kernel white corn of central Mexico. It was less sweet than regular maize; the kernels often absorbing the taste of whatever ingredients they were cooked with. In this case, the hominy tasted like a mild, sweet chili.
Sra. Vasquez dumped the mixture into a baking pan. She added a thick layer of Queso fresco to the top before putting it into the oven. Now, the chili had become a chili-hominy casserole.
"What are you making that for?"
"For your grandfather."
"But he's gone."
"Tonight is Dia de los Muertos."
"I know,” said Miguel sadly.
“It’s a time for celebration, not remorse.”
“But I miss him.”
“We all miss him, Miguel. We take this time to remember how he brought joy to our lives.”
While mother and son discussed Grandpa Juan, Juneta was busily primping in front of the bathroom mirror. She started by washing her face with antibacterial soap and rinsing it with water. She used a towel and then the hair dryer to dry her face. Next, a coat of primer and a base layer of clown white makeup. That is when Miguel knocked on the door.
“Junie! Hurry up! I need to use the restroom.”
“Use the other one. I’m busy.”
“What is taking so long?”
“I’m putting on make-up.”
Miguel opened the door.
“Meego! Give me privacy.”
Miguel closed the toilet lid and sat across the bathroom from his sister. She returned to her make-up. She applied and reapplied black makeup until two black spots circled her eyes. She drew the mouth, teeth and all, over her lips. Her face was beginning to look like a skull.
“You want to be made up like this?”
Miguel shook his head.
“It’s yucky.”
“Not if you do it right,” she said.
Juneta continued applying make-up. She painted flowers on each side of her face, painting them like yellow and orange marigolds. The used black eyeliner to fill in the blackness of her eyebrows and to shape the contours of her cheekbones.
“Maybe a little,” said Miguel.
“Maybe a little what?”
“Maybe a little face paint.”
Juneta eagerly dropped her work. Now, she had her own personal “Frankenstein” with which she could play dress-up.
“Close your eyes and hold still.”
She squirted a dollop of white paint onto her hands and massaged it into Miguel’s face. As she began drawing lines with the eyeliner pencil, Miguel grimaced.
“That’s enough.”
“You cannot stop now.”
“I sure can.”
Miguel looked at his face.
“Maybe some eyebrows.”
She painted in the eyebrows. Miguel checked her work.
“Maybe some teeth.”
She sketched teeth over his closed lips. He looked at his reflection.
“Pefect.”
“There’s still more to do.”
“I think I look perfect.”
Miguel darted out of the bathroom. He forgot he still had to use the other bathroom. After he finished, he went to his bedroom to study books. Juneta finished her makeup. She tried on her baby blue ballgown and Easter hat. It was wide-brimmed and trimmed with lace.
She went downstairs.
“Mi Calavera Catrina!” exclaimed Sr. Vasquez.
Indeed, she did look like “the elegant skull” made famous by printer Jose Posada. “The Elegant Skull” was just that – a thin skeleton draped in a rich Victorian dress and bonnet. It had become what most female parade-goers copied.
Everyone, including the Aunts and Uncles, joined Miguel and Juneta for dinner. They enjoyed many of Grandpa Juan’s favorite foods, including hominy chili, boiled peanuts, and rice pudding. The adults drank beer while the children drank bitter raspberry tea. It was Grandma’s favorite. They even drank it out of old glass milk bottles, just like Grandma did a long, long time ago.
“I almost forgot!” exclaimed Uncle Juan.
He grabbed old plastic skulls from his knapsack and placed them in the center of the table. He followed that immediately with a bag of candy skulls.
They came in a few different shapes and styles. Some were bubble gum and some were white chocolate over dark chocolate. The majority of them were crystallized sugar.
The children ate a few. The adults ate some, too. Sra. Vasquez quickly put them away, saving them for later.
“Let’s go to the parade,” urged mother.
Skeletons and Catrinas filled the streets as drums beat out rhythms. Some were slow and plodding, like a sad elephant. Most others were loud and rambunctious. People danced salsas and tangos and even disco bumps. Many people were handing out candy while they danced and sang.
Although the parade lasted well past midnight, the Vasquez family returned home early.
Aunt Angelina and Sr. Vasquez lit candles around the altar. Light breezes blew through the open windows as the candles flickered.
“Maybe that’s Grandpa,” said Aunt Angelina.
“It’s just the wind,” said Miguel.
“You never know,” added Uncle Juan.
Uncle Juan told a story of his first trip to see the Diablos Rojos. It was on a chilly night just like this. He reminisced about his father.
“It’s funny how he loved watching baseball. He’d sit at the top of the bleachers and watch the crowd and watch the players. I’d never ask him the score or who the batter was at home plate. He’d never seem to know. On the other hand, he did know what the old lady and her husband were arguing about ten rows away.”
And that was Grandpa Juan. He always seemed to be ignoring the big picture but noticing the smallest of details. Maybe he was just more interested in a cold bottle of beer and his boiled peanuts.
Both Miguel and Juneta drifted off to sleep with stories of Grandma and Grandpa. Sr. and Sra. Vasquez tucked a blanket around the children and blew out each of the candles on the altar.
Soft breezes blew over the children, kissing their faces gently.
“Suenos Amables, mis ninos.”
Sweet dreams.
Warriors of the Night Sky
Tomorrow, of course, came just as expected. The bright yellow sun returned as if it was prepared to enjoy the Vasquez family’s last day in the Riviera Maya. Sr. Vasquez was finished with his work in Tres Rios and the children were ready for one last side trip.
Unfortunately, they did not get to see the Domingo family again. Fortunately, they did get a chance to visit one of the places they had all wanted to see.
They eagerly packed their bags and checked out of the hotel. Next, they headed out to the highway, in search of the Temple of the Winged Serpent.
That temple, of course, was better known as ‘El Castillo’. It was the most famous structure in all of Mexico, part of Chichen Itza. In fact, most people identify El Castillo as Chichen Itza itself.
When the Vasquez family arrived at the site, everyone was surprised to see tour busses and cars filling the gigantic parking lot. After they passed through the visitor’s gate, they walked the long path to the open field.
The stepped pyramid stood in the distance. It was just like the pictures of Tenochtitlan that the city planner had in his office in downtown Mexico City.
But it was different.
“Look how huge!” exclaimed Miguel.
It was as tall as many buildings in crowded, modern, metropolitan Mexico City. As they neared it, Miguel was eager to climb. He raced up the steps as Junie followed along.
“I bet I beat you to the top!”
“There’s no rush, Meego!”
It wasn’t very long at all until Miguel was out of breath. He slowed his pace to a steady climb, followed by a long rest about halfway up. That is where the rest of the family joined him a few minutes later.
“I thought you were going to beat me to the top.”
“It’s a very long way.”
“I agree,” said mother, “I am going back down.”
“Me, too,” agreed father, “maybe some other day.”
“You can’t stop now.”
“Alright, but this isn’t a race.”
Hand-in-hand-in-hand-in-hand, up they went. Together, they made it to the top. Even mother was glad she finished her climb. A small temple stood at the top of the pyramid. The Vasquez family stood on the rectangular platform surrounding the temple.
They looked outward, over the entire village. Stone temples, buildings, and columns dotted the open fields. Thick groves of trees crowded around every open, green pasture.
Miguel held his hands over his head, reaching toward the sky.
“Meego, what are you doing?”
“Imagining what it would like to be a Mayan high priest.”
“Imagine a crowd bigger than any crowd at a stadium gathered in the field,” said father.
“That would be something.”
“It was one of the world’s greatest civilizations.”
They circled through the barren square structure of the temple before heading back down the steps. A group of tourists stood in the middle of the field, clapping in rhythm. Miguel joined them.
“What are you doing?”
“We’re finding the quetzal.”
As they clapped, the sound bounced off the solid walls of the temple. It echoed in a high-pitched click, like the call of the Quetzal, Mexico’s most famous bird.
“Ancient Mayans believed in many gods,” said the tour guide, “chief among them was Quetzalcoatl. He was part man, part serpent, part quetzal bird. The name Quetzalcoatl means winged serpent.”
The tour guide led the group away from the middle of the parade grounds, leading towards another temple. This one was built differtly than all the rest. It was round, like a cylinder, with a dome on top.
“This is the Ossario,” said the guide, “many historians believe it was an ancient observatory. The Mayan were known to be great astronomers and time keepers.”
“Aren’t they the ones who predicted the end of the world?”
“Not really,” chucked the tour guide, “what they predicted was the end of a cycle. There is a Maya creation fable that the current earth is the ‘Fourth World’. Previous to that, the Third World lasted 13 cycles. On the According to this myth, the current world is entering its 14th cycle. There is no evidence to say that this world will end. In fact, there is no evidence of a so-called third world ending, let alone existing. When the next cycle ends in December 2012, it is like any other calendar. If you look at your desk calendar, what is the last day?”
Miguel rose his hand.
“December 31st.”
“Exactly. On the next day, it starts over again, just like the Mayan Long Count.”
The tour guide led the group to a lobby. It was empty except for two things. First, a small platform, approximately three meters across, stood in the center of the room. Additionally, there were four cylindrical gears of varying sizes, nestled inside each other.
The tour guide placed a small gear inside the smallest cylinder.
“This gear represents one single day. This is the first, and most important measurement in the Mayan Long Count Calendar. The Mayan month is 20 days long. The Mayans based this on the lunar month.”
“Does the moon appear every 20 days?”
“No,” replied the guide, “Mayans used a base twenty number system, which means they counted to 20 before repeating. Nowadays, everyone in the world uses base ten. You count to ten and then the numbers repeat. They divided their solar year into 18 months. They did that, because 18x20 equals 360 days, the approximate amount of time”
“I thought the year was 365 days.”
“Almost,” said the guide, “the solar year is actually 365 and one-fourth days. That’s why we have leap-years. Once every four years, the calendar falls out of line. That’s why we have leap years.”
“How did the Mayans fix leap years?”
“The Ha’ab calendar was actually 365 days, too. At the end of each year, there were five leap days. The Ancient Maya feared cataclysms and disasters on these five days, and often stayed inside to avoid being hurt.”
Sr. Vasquez, who was leaning against the wall in the back of the lobby, raised his hand.
“Yes, sir?”
“I thought the Mayan calendar was only 260 days long.”
“Ah, good point,” said the guide, “You’re talking about the Tzolk’in. It is thought to have existed long before the Mayan Long Count. It was not based on the sun or the moon or any of the stars, but the number of fingers and toes multiplied by the number 13.”
“Why the number 13?”
“There are several theories, but nobody really knows. The Maya used both these calendars after the Long Count was created. The Maya also had a calendar based on the planetary phases of Venus.”
“Why so many calendars?” asked Miguel.
“The Mayans were not only time keepers, but astronomers, too. They used the phases for astrology, farming, and meteorology, too. They needed to study everything about their world to survive. That included studying the stars above. Like all mankind, Mayans wanted to know where they came from and where they’re going next.”
The tour guide led them through the remainder of the temples, including the Temple of the Jaguar, the Temple of the Iguana, and the Temple of 1000 Warriors.
They did not have as much of an impact on Miguel as the old Ossario. This was even though the other temples were tall and majestic, or carved with ancient glyphs or designs of Jaguars, Iguanas, Serpents, and Quetzals. There were columns (also known as Stelae) adorned with fancy designs and intricate glyphs. It was all almost-too-much for the Vasquez family to absorb.
Still, they had a plane to catch.
Sr. Vasquez returned the car to the airport. Then, they returned to the Mexicana Airlines counter where they had just arrived 3 days earlier.
They boarded the plane and headed home.
As the plane lifted off into the darkness, Miguel stared down at Mexico’s southeastern coast below him. A constellation of street lights glowed beneath him. He looked up. There, in the sky, was a blanket of midnight blue, polka-dotted with bright white and yellow dots – stars in the sky. Each one keeping time for some astronomer down below.
Miguel wondered if he would be an astronomer one day. Maybe he would be an archeologist. Maybe he would become a high priest. Maybe he would be an architect, just like his father.
He leaned his head against his father’s shoulder and thought about his trip to Chichen Itza. His daydreams would have to wait while his eyelids grew heavy and he fell into a deep sleep.
Unfortunately, they did not get to see the Domingo family again. Fortunately, they did get a chance to visit one of the places they had all wanted to see.
They eagerly packed their bags and checked out of the hotel. Next, they headed out to the highway, in search of the Temple of the Winged Serpent.
That temple, of course, was better known as ‘El Castillo’. It was the most famous structure in all of Mexico, part of Chichen Itza. In fact, most people identify El Castillo as Chichen Itza itself.
When the Vasquez family arrived at the site, everyone was surprised to see tour busses and cars filling the gigantic parking lot. After they passed through the visitor’s gate, they walked the long path to the open field.
The stepped pyramid stood in the distance. It was just like the pictures of Tenochtitlan that the city planner had in his office in downtown Mexico City.
But it was different.
“Look how huge!” exclaimed Miguel.
It was as tall as many buildings in crowded, modern, metropolitan Mexico City. As they neared it, Miguel was eager to climb. He raced up the steps as Junie followed along.
“I bet I beat you to the top!”
“There’s no rush, Meego!”
It wasn’t very long at all until Miguel was out of breath. He slowed his pace to a steady climb, followed by a long rest about halfway up. That is where the rest of the family joined him a few minutes later.
“I thought you were going to beat me to the top.”
“It’s a very long way.”
“I agree,” said mother, “I am going back down.”
“Me, too,” agreed father, “maybe some other day.”
“You can’t stop now.”
“Alright, but this isn’t a race.”
Hand-in-hand-in-hand-in-hand, up they went. Together, they made it to the top. Even mother was glad she finished her climb. A small temple stood at the top of the pyramid. The Vasquez family stood on the rectangular platform surrounding the temple.
They looked outward, over the entire village. Stone temples, buildings, and columns dotted the open fields. Thick groves of trees crowded around every open, green pasture.
Miguel held his hands over his head, reaching toward the sky.
“Meego, what are you doing?”
“Imagining what it would like to be a Mayan high priest.”
“Imagine a crowd bigger than any crowd at a stadium gathered in the field,” said father.
“That would be something.”
“It was one of the world’s greatest civilizations.”
They circled through the barren square structure of the temple before heading back down the steps. A group of tourists stood in the middle of the field, clapping in rhythm. Miguel joined them.
“What are you doing?”
“We’re finding the quetzal.”
As they clapped, the sound bounced off the solid walls of the temple. It echoed in a high-pitched click, like the call of the Quetzal, Mexico’s most famous bird.
“Ancient Mayans believed in many gods,” said the tour guide, “chief among them was Quetzalcoatl. He was part man, part serpent, part quetzal bird. The name Quetzalcoatl means winged serpent.”
The tour guide led the group away from the middle of the parade grounds, leading towards another temple. This one was built differtly than all the rest. It was round, like a cylinder, with a dome on top.
“This is the Ossario,” said the guide, “many historians believe it was an ancient observatory. The Mayan were known to be great astronomers and time keepers.”
“Aren’t they the ones who predicted the end of the world?”
“Not really,” chucked the tour guide, “what they predicted was the end of a cycle. There is a Maya creation fable that the current earth is the ‘Fourth World’. Previous to that, the Third World lasted 13 cycles. On the According to this myth, the current world is entering its 14th cycle. There is no evidence to say that this world will end. In fact, there is no evidence of a so-called third world ending, let alone existing. When the next cycle ends in December 2012, it is like any other calendar. If you look at your desk calendar, what is the last day?”
Miguel rose his hand.
“December 31st.”
“Exactly. On the next day, it starts over again, just like the Mayan Long Count.”
The tour guide led the group to a lobby. It was empty except for two things. First, a small platform, approximately three meters across, stood in the center of the room. Additionally, there were four cylindrical gears of varying sizes, nestled inside each other.
The tour guide placed a small gear inside the smallest cylinder.
“This gear represents one single day. This is the first, and most important measurement in the Mayan Long Count Calendar. The Mayan month is 20 days long. The Mayans based this on the lunar month.”
“Does the moon appear every 20 days?”
“No,” replied the guide, “Mayans used a base twenty number system, which means they counted to 20 before repeating. Nowadays, everyone in the world uses base ten. You count to ten and then the numbers repeat. They divided their solar year into 18 months. They did that, because 18x20 equals 360 days, the approximate amount of time”
“I thought the year was 365 days.”
“Almost,” said the guide, “the solar year is actually 365 and one-fourth days. That’s why we have leap-years. Once every four years, the calendar falls out of line. That’s why we have leap years.”
“How did the Mayans fix leap years?”
“The Ha’ab calendar was actually 365 days, too. At the end of each year, there were five leap days. The Ancient Maya feared cataclysms and disasters on these five days, and often stayed inside to avoid being hurt.”
Sr. Vasquez, who was leaning against the wall in the back of the lobby, raised his hand.
“Yes, sir?”
“I thought the Mayan calendar was only 260 days long.”
“Ah, good point,” said the guide, “You’re talking about the Tzolk’in. It is thought to have existed long before the Mayan Long Count. It was not based on the sun or the moon or any of the stars, but the number of fingers and toes multiplied by the number 13.”
“Why the number 13?”
“There are several theories, but nobody really knows. The Maya used both these calendars after the Long Count was created. The Maya also had a calendar based on the planetary phases of Venus.”
“Why so many calendars?” asked Miguel.
“The Mayans were not only time keepers, but astronomers, too. They used the phases for astrology, farming, and meteorology, too. They needed to study everything about their world to survive. That included studying the stars above. Like all mankind, Mayans wanted to know where they came from and where they’re going next.”
The tour guide led them through the remainder of the temples, including the Temple of the Jaguar, the Temple of the Iguana, and the Temple of 1000 Warriors.
They did not have as much of an impact on Miguel as the old Ossario. This was even though the other temples were tall and majestic, or carved with ancient glyphs or designs of Jaguars, Iguanas, Serpents, and Quetzals. There were columns (also known as Stelae) adorned with fancy designs and intricate glyphs. It was all almost-too-much for the Vasquez family to absorb.
Still, they had a plane to catch.
Sr. Vasquez returned the car to the airport. Then, they returned to the Mexicana Airlines counter where they had just arrived 3 days earlier.
They boarded the plane and headed home.
As the plane lifted off into the darkness, Miguel stared down at Mexico’s southeastern coast below him. A constellation of street lights glowed beneath him. He looked up. There, in the sky, was a blanket of midnight blue, polka-dotted with bright white and yellow dots – stars in the sky. Each one keeping time for some astronomer down below.
Miguel wondered if he would be an astronomer one day. Maybe he would be an archeologist. Maybe he would become a high priest. Maybe he would be an architect, just like his father.
He leaned his head against his father’s shoulder and thought about his trip to Chichen Itza. His daydreams would have to wait while his eyelids grew heavy and he fell into a deep sleep.
An Amazing Maze of Maize
For Miguel, it was a timeless gap between the time he went to sleep and the time he woke up. For others, though, there was quite a bit of activity.
Sr. and Sra. Vasquez both rose before the dawn. Sr. Vasquez still had to go to the work site for more surveying and planning. Sra. Vasquez prepared cornmeal pancakes. First, she made pancakes for Sr. Vasquez, then for herself, and finally, when Junie and Miguel rose, for her children.
"Where's papa?" asked Juneta.
"He still has a little more work in Tres Rios. He'll be back sometime this afternoon."
"I thought we were going to Chichen Itza."
"We're going tomorrow."
"I guess I'll sunbathe today, too."
"I don't know about that," replied mother. She pointed out the window.
The sky was cloudy and gray. It had rained most of the night. Heavy winds blew across the surf, tossing seaweed and deadfall from trees onto the beach. The leafy tops of the banana trees swayed from one side to the other. It would not be a good day for sunbathing.
"What will we do?" asked Junie.
"I'll think of something while we eat breakfast."
Sra. Vasquez made a large mound of cornmeal pancakes. She even crushed sunflower seeds and mixed them into the batter. They added a little bit of snap to the pancakes.
Miguel took the first bite. He wrinkled his nose.
"What's the matter?"
"Are there bugs in it?"
"Heavens no!" exclaimed mother, "it's crushed sunflower seeds."
“Do we have any sunbutter left?”
Sra. Vasquez nodded.
“May I have some?”
Sra. Vasquez nodded again. Miguel spread sunbutter between each layer of pancakes. He took it a bite. It was delicious.
“Let me try,” said Juneta.
Sra. Vasquez tried Miguel’s invention, too.
“These are yummy,” said mother.
“I know.”
Not long after breakfast, Juneta and Miguel decided to go to the beach anyway. Weeds, branches, and broken shells littered the shore..
“I guess mom was right. What will we do?”
Just then, Andres came over the sand dune.
“Hola, mis amigos!” he called to Junie and Miguel.
“Hola! Como esta?”
“Bien! Y tu?”
“Bien.”
Andres invited the Vasquez’s back to the Cenote. They went along, mostly out of curiosity. Even when they arrived, neither Juneta nor Miguel dove into the water. Instead, they just watched the other kids playing.
“You’re not swimming?” asked Andres.
“It’s too cold,” said Miguel.
“I know something we could do,” said Andres, “Do you want to play hide-and-seek?”
“Sure.”
They asked permission from Sra. Vasquez.
“Where are you going?”
“There’s a corn field near my home,” said Andres.
“Who will be watching over you?”
“My mother works nearby. She will be finished soon.”
“I will go, too,” said Sra. Vasquez.
So, they walked down the road to where Andres’ mother worked. She sold corn at a roadside stall.
“Hola, me llamo Litzie Vasquez. Esta mis ninos, Miguel y Juneta Vasquez.”
“Si, esta amigos de Andre, correcto?”
Sra. Vasquez nodded.
After the last of the introductions were complete, it was time for Andres’ mother to close shop.
“Is this your stall?” asked Sra. Vasquez.
“It is,” replied Andres’ mother, “would you like some?”
“We just ate.”
“It’s okay. I’ll make a package for you to take with you.”
She chopped the stems off the bottom of each stalk and carefully peeled the husks. She then rubbed her hands over each ear of corn, removing the little yellow fibers called corn silk. She wrapped the cobs and sealed it with tape.
“Muchas Gracias,” replied Sra. Vasquez.
“De nada.”
The entire group helped close shop for Andres’ mother. Afterwards, they all returned to the place where Andres’ family lived.
It sat at the top of a hill ridge, just a short walk from the cenote. The hill was ridged, cut into terraces. The flat terraces were able to hold farming crops, including the rows of corn surrounding Andres’ house.
“It’s amazing that you plant corn on these terraces,” noticed Sra. Vasquez, “usually, it’s just rice.”
“We rotate our crops, farming different plants each year.”
A small ranch house stood at the top of the highest terrace, just behind the rows of tall green corn stalks. Wide, rounded arches made of orange-colored brick, surrounded the house. They passed through the arch, crossing a courtyard patio in front of the house. The roof, made of dark red curved tiles, was long and narrow.
A large sign next to the door said, “Domingo”.
Domingo was Spanish for ‘Sunday’
Miguel pointed to the sign.
“Que es esto?”
“Esta me llamo ultimo,” replied Andres. Domingo was his last name.
“It looks like an old church,” Miguel whispered to his mother, “Do you think Andres’ family is Spanish?”
Andres’ mother, Sra. Domingo, overheard Miguel talking to his mother.
“All Mexicans are Spanish,” she replied, “ever since Conquistadors like Pizarro and Cortes landed in Mexico. They came from Spain in large ships called galleons. They were searching for the ‘Lost City of Gold’.”
“You mean El Dorado?”
Sra. Domingo nodded, “Explorers from Spain and Portugal searched all of the Americas, looking for this golden palace. Of course, they never found it. During this time, many of these explorers settled in cities all along the Caribbean.”
“That’s how we became Spanish?”
“That’s only part of it. The Conquistadores found very little gold here in the Riviera Maya. That is why Cortes traveled to Mexico City. That is where he found the Aztecs and their gold.”
“If there was no gold, I would’ve just turned back home.”
“There were other kinds of gold…like maize.”
“Maize isn’t gold,” said Andres.
“It is to us, just as it was to them,” replied Sra. Domingo, “Mexicans have grown maize for many generations. We depend on it not only for food, but also for trade. Explorers took maize back to Europe. In exchange, they gave us fine fabrics and foods from all around the world.”
“In fact,” added Sra. Vasquez, “as much as Mexico depends on Maize, Maize depends on Mexico.”
“What do you mean?”
Maize is the only food where the seeds need man’s help to travel.”
She reached down and picked a dandelion from the ground. She lifted it to her lips and blew gently. The tiny white seed puffs floated away on the wind.
“Dandelion seeds float from one place to another. Bees carry flower pollen on their legs. Apples fall to the ground and roll down the hill. Man had to remove kernels of corn from the cob and plant them into the earth.”
Sra. Domingo led everyone into the house, where they gathered around a large round table. A large basket, full of fresh corn husks, sat in the corner. She grabbed several husks and tied them together, using twine. She formed a tiny corn husk doll.
“This is for you,” she said as she presented the doll to Juneta.
“Junie is too old for dolls.”
“I am not, Meego. Can you teach me how to make them?”
“It is very easy.”
Sra. Domingo tied a half-dozen husks together at one end. Then, she folded the long tails over the tied end. This formed the dolls head.
She tied it near the top, forming the neck and body.
She took another husk and twisted it into a thin cigarette shape. She tied both ends and tucked it between the body husks. This formed the arms.
“Then, I’ll give her a dress,” said Sra. Domingo.
She split a husk in half and draped it over the doll’s shoulders. She tied it into place around the waist.
“We can’t have her going around without her dress.”
Sra. Domingo tied a bunch of husks around the waist. She trimmed the bottom edge, forming a dress. She placed eye, nose, and lips on the head before adding black-yarn-hair to the top of her doll.
Now, she was complete. Sra. Domingo carefully placed her in a basket full of cornhusk dolls.
“There are so many!”
“Like I said, as Maize depends on us, we depend on Maize. I often sell these to the children who go to school with Andres and Alexandra.”
The women continued making dolls.
“Come on,” said Andres, “Let’s play hide-and-seek.”
“With two people?”
“That’s the best way. I always play this with my sister.”
Andres took Miguel to the edge of the corn patch.
“Go hide in the corn while I count it off.”
Miguel sprinted through the tall stalks of corn.
“Uno! Dos! Tres!” he counted. He continued to ‘Diez’. That was ten.
“Prepararde o no, aqui Vengo!”
Andres weaved through the corn rows, knocking the stalks about. Powdeery corn silk puffed from the golden tops of each stalk.
Miguel moved through the stalks, careful to be as quiet as possible. Thick husks bristled as they rubbed against one another.
Andres and Miguel dodged through the stalks until Andres finally caught Miguel.
“You’re it!” he exclaimed.
They traded turns being it while the girls continued making corn husk dolls. They joined the boys when they filled an entire basket.
Meanwhile, Sras. Domingo and Vasquez prepared Seafood Paella for dinner. Both fathers were alerted to the night’s coming activities – both by simple texts: “We’re having company for dinner.” and “We’re joining friends for dinner.”
Both men arrived at the Domingo house at roughly the same time. That was followed by yet another round of introductions and a large dinner.
The women had boiled fish and clams in a large wok, called a ‘paellera’. It was more than a meter wide, enough to feed the entire army of children and adults, too.
The ‘three sisters’ of Mexican tradition: corn, rice, and beans, were added to the seafood stew. They added onions and peppers and spices, too. The food slowly cooked until everything was golden brown.
Sra. Domingo led everyone in a traditional Catholic prayer before everyone feasted on the paella.
At meal’s end, everyone’s belly was full. The Domingos and the Vasquezes said their good-byes and parted ways.
“Hasta manana,” said Andres.
“Hasta manana,” replied Miguel.
Until tomorrow.
Sr. and Sra. Vasquez both rose before the dawn. Sr. Vasquez still had to go to the work site for more surveying and planning. Sra. Vasquez prepared cornmeal pancakes. First, she made pancakes for Sr. Vasquez, then for herself, and finally, when Junie and Miguel rose, for her children.
"Where's papa?" asked Juneta.
"He still has a little more work in Tres Rios. He'll be back sometime this afternoon."
"I thought we were going to Chichen Itza."
"We're going tomorrow."
"I guess I'll sunbathe today, too."
"I don't know about that," replied mother. She pointed out the window.
The sky was cloudy and gray. It had rained most of the night. Heavy winds blew across the surf, tossing seaweed and deadfall from trees onto the beach. The leafy tops of the banana trees swayed from one side to the other. It would not be a good day for sunbathing.
"What will we do?" asked Junie.
"I'll think of something while we eat breakfast."
Sra. Vasquez made a large mound of cornmeal pancakes. She even crushed sunflower seeds and mixed them into the batter. They added a little bit of snap to the pancakes.
Miguel took the first bite. He wrinkled his nose.
"What's the matter?"
"Are there bugs in it?"
"Heavens no!" exclaimed mother, "it's crushed sunflower seeds."
“Do we have any sunbutter left?”
Sra. Vasquez nodded.
“May I have some?”
Sra. Vasquez nodded again. Miguel spread sunbutter between each layer of pancakes. He took it a bite. It was delicious.
“Let me try,” said Juneta.
Sra. Vasquez tried Miguel’s invention, too.
“These are yummy,” said mother.
“I know.”
Not long after breakfast, Juneta and Miguel decided to go to the beach anyway. Weeds, branches, and broken shells littered the shore..
“I guess mom was right. What will we do?”
Just then, Andres came over the sand dune.
“Hola, mis amigos!” he called to Junie and Miguel.
“Hola! Como esta?”
“Bien! Y tu?”
“Bien.”
Andres invited the Vasquez’s back to the Cenote. They went along, mostly out of curiosity. Even when they arrived, neither Juneta nor Miguel dove into the water. Instead, they just watched the other kids playing.
“You’re not swimming?” asked Andres.
“It’s too cold,” said Miguel.
“I know something we could do,” said Andres, “Do you want to play hide-and-seek?”
“Sure.”
They asked permission from Sra. Vasquez.
“Where are you going?”
“There’s a corn field near my home,” said Andres.
“Who will be watching over you?”
“My mother works nearby. She will be finished soon.”
“I will go, too,” said Sra. Vasquez.
So, they walked down the road to where Andres’ mother worked. She sold corn at a roadside stall.
“Hola, me llamo Litzie Vasquez. Esta mis ninos, Miguel y Juneta Vasquez.”
“Si, esta amigos de Andre, correcto?”
Sra. Vasquez nodded.
After the last of the introductions were complete, it was time for Andres’ mother to close shop.
“Is this your stall?” asked Sra. Vasquez.
“It is,” replied Andres’ mother, “would you like some?”
“We just ate.”
“It’s okay. I’ll make a package for you to take with you.”
She chopped the stems off the bottom of each stalk and carefully peeled the husks. She then rubbed her hands over each ear of corn, removing the little yellow fibers called corn silk. She wrapped the cobs and sealed it with tape.
“Muchas Gracias,” replied Sra. Vasquez.
“De nada.”
The entire group helped close shop for Andres’ mother. Afterwards, they all returned to the place where Andres’ family lived.
It sat at the top of a hill ridge, just a short walk from the cenote. The hill was ridged, cut into terraces. The flat terraces were able to hold farming crops, including the rows of corn surrounding Andres’ house.
“It’s amazing that you plant corn on these terraces,” noticed Sra. Vasquez, “usually, it’s just rice.”
“We rotate our crops, farming different plants each year.”
A small ranch house stood at the top of the highest terrace, just behind the rows of tall green corn stalks. Wide, rounded arches made of orange-colored brick, surrounded the house. They passed through the arch, crossing a courtyard patio in front of the house. The roof, made of dark red curved tiles, was long and narrow.
A large sign next to the door said, “Domingo”.
Domingo was Spanish for ‘Sunday’
Miguel pointed to the sign.
“Que es esto?”
“Esta me llamo ultimo,” replied Andres. Domingo was his last name.
“It looks like an old church,” Miguel whispered to his mother, “Do you think Andres’ family is Spanish?”
Andres’ mother, Sra. Domingo, overheard Miguel talking to his mother.
“All Mexicans are Spanish,” she replied, “ever since Conquistadors like Pizarro and Cortes landed in Mexico. They came from Spain in large ships called galleons. They were searching for the ‘Lost City of Gold’.”
“You mean El Dorado?”
Sra. Domingo nodded, “Explorers from Spain and Portugal searched all of the Americas, looking for this golden palace. Of course, they never found it. During this time, many of these explorers settled in cities all along the Caribbean.”
“That’s how we became Spanish?”
“That’s only part of it. The Conquistadores found very little gold here in the Riviera Maya. That is why Cortes traveled to Mexico City. That is where he found the Aztecs and their gold.”
“If there was no gold, I would’ve just turned back home.”
“There were other kinds of gold…like maize.”
“Maize isn’t gold,” said Andres.
“It is to us, just as it was to them,” replied Sra. Domingo, “Mexicans have grown maize for many generations. We depend on it not only for food, but also for trade. Explorers took maize back to Europe. In exchange, they gave us fine fabrics and foods from all around the world.”
“In fact,” added Sra. Vasquez, “as much as Mexico depends on Maize, Maize depends on Mexico.”
“What do you mean?”
Maize is the only food where the seeds need man’s help to travel.”
She reached down and picked a dandelion from the ground. She lifted it to her lips and blew gently. The tiny white seed puffs floated away on the wind.
“Dandelion seeds float from one place to another. Bees carry flower pollen on their legs. Apples fall to the ground and roll down the hill. Man had to remove kernels of corn from the cob and plant them into the earth.”
Sra. Domingo led everyone into the house, where they gathered around a large round table. A large basket, full of fresh corn husks, sat in the corner. She grabbed several husks and tied them together, using twine. She formed a tiny corn husk doll.
“This is for you,” she said as she presented the doll to Juneta.
“Junie is too old for dolls.”
“I am not, Meego. Can you teach me how to make them?”
“It is very easy.”
Sra. Domingo tied a half-dozen husks together at one end. Then, she folded the long tails over the tied end. This formed the dolls head.
She tied it near the top, forming the neck and body.
She took another husk and twisted it into a thin cigarette shape. She tied both ends and tucked it between the body husks. This formed the arms.
“Then, I’ll give her a dress,” said Sra. Domingo.
She split a husk in half and draped it over the doll’s shoulders. She tied it into place around the waist.
“We can’t have her going around without her dress.”
Sra. Domingo tied a bunch of husks around the waist. She trimmed the bottom edge, forming a dress. She placed eye, nose, and lips on the head before adding black-yarn-hair to the top of her doll.
Now, she was complete. Sra. Domingo carefully placed her in a basket full of cornhusk dolls.
“There are so many!”
“Like I said, as Maize depends on us, we depend on Maize. I often sell these to the children who go to school with Andres and Alexandra.”
The women continued making dolls.
“Come on,” said Andres, “Let’s play hide-and-seek.”
“With two people?”
“That’s the best way. I always play this with my sister.”
Andres took Miguel to the edge of the corn patch.
“Go hide in the corn while I count it off.”
Miguel sprinted through the tall stalks of corn.
“Uno! Dos! Tres!” he counted. He continued to ‘Diez’. That was ten.
“Prepararde o no, aqui Vengo!”
Andres weaved through the corn rows, knocking the stalks about. Powdeery corn silk puffed from the golden tops of each stalk.
Miguel moved through the stalks, careful to be as quiet as possible. Thick husks bristled as they rubbed against one another.
Andres and Miguel dodged through the stalks until Andres finally caught Miguel.
“You’re it!” he exclaimed.
They traded turns being it while the girls continued making corn husk dolls. They joined the boys when they filled an entire basket.
Meanwhile, Sras. Domingo and Vasquez prepared Seafood Paella for dinner. Both fathers were alerted to the night’s coming activities – both by simple texts: “We’re having company for dinner.” and “We’re joining friends for dinner.”
Both men arrived at the Domingo house at roughly the same time. That was followed by yet another round of introductions and a large dinner.
The women had boiled fish and clams in a large wok, called a ‘paellera’. It was more than a meter wide, enough to feed the entire army of children and adults, too.
The ‘three sisters’ of Mexican tradition: corn, rice, and beans, were added to the seafood stew. They added onions and peppers and spices, too. The food slowly cooked until everything was golden brown.
Sra. Domingo led everyone in a traditional Catholic prayer before everyone feasted on the paella.
At meal’s end, everyone’s belly was full. The Domingos and the Vasquezes said their good-byes and parted ways.
“Hasta manana,” said Andres.
“Hasta manana,” replied Miguel.
Until tomorrow.
The Heliotropes
Miguel spent the next few weeks inside studying archeology. In fact, the only time he got out into the sunlight was to check his adobe brick. All of that was about to change.
“Miguel,” interrupted his father.
“Yes?”
“I think it’s time you got out in the sun for a bit.”
“But I’m studying.”
“What would you say to studying in the sun?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m going to the Tres Rios for business next weekend. I was thinking of taking the entire family. Would you like to go?”
“You mean Riviera Maya?”
Sr. Vasquez nodded.
Miguel hopped to his feet and ran into the living room. The first thing Sr. Vasquez heard was his children’s joyful shouts.
“We’re going to the Riviera Maya! We’re going to the Riviera Maya!”
Sr. Vasquez arrived in the living room to see his children dancing and singing.
“I guess that’s a yes?”
“Absolutely!”
The week could not go by fast enough as Miguel and Juñeta counted the days. Before the next weekend arrived, their bags were already packed. Early that Thursday morning, they were on their way. At the airport, they boarded a propeller jet airplane that said ‘Mexicana Airlines’ on the side. It took them out of Mexico City and over the Caribbean Sea to the Riviera Maya.
The Riviera Maya, located on the southeastern tip of Mexico, was famous for two things: great beaches and Mayan culture.
All four of them would get plenty of that.
At the airport, they caught a taxi. It took them directly to their hotel.
Along the way, there were many things to see. Hotels towered alongside the highway on one side. The beach ran along the other side of the coastal highway.
Sunflowers gathered in a large field just next to their hotel. Every sunflower, with their bright yellow petals and dark brown faces, faced the highway. In turn, that also meant they faced the sea.
“Why are the sunflowers doing that?” asked Miguel.
“Doing what?” asked mother.
“Facing the same direction.”
“They’re trying to absorb as much sunlight as possible.”
“They’re called ‘Heliotropes’,” added father, “which means ‘to turn towards the sun. There are many heliotropic flowers.”
“So they follow the sun all day long?”
“Some flowers do, but Sunflowers don’t. It would take too much energy to turn that giant flower head. They just turn their leaves instead.”
“You’re making this up,” said Junie.”
“I promise I am not.”
“How do you know so much about flowers?”
“I don’t really know much about flowers, I just know heliotropes.”
Sr. Vasquez showed them exactly what he meant when they arrived at the hotel.
“Tilde, may I borrow your new make-up compact?”
Tilde handed it to her father. He opened it and turned it towards the sun.
“Litzie, I need your help, too. Will you take the surveying stick to the other end of the parking lot?”
Sra. Vasquez nodded.
Sr. Vasquez took a tripod out of the trunk and opened it. He attached a small viewing scope. He positioned the compact atop the scope. He pivoted the mirror back and forth. Finally, the reflected light shone in Sra. Vasquez’s eyes.
“In the old days, surveyors used reflected sunlight to draw a straight line between two objects. This was the original heliotrope, turning towards the sun to direct light to a distant marker.”
“Are you finished?” asked mother.
Sr. Vasquez nodded.
She brought the stick back to her husband. He loaded it into the car.
“Does anyone want to go with me to the construction site?”
Nobody volunteered.
“Miguel? Juneta?”
“I want to sunbathe,” said Juneta.
“I want to go swimming in one of the cenotes,” said Miguel.
“I think I’d like to go into town,” said mother.
“Alright then.”
Sr. Vasquez took his luggage to the hotel room and said his good-byes. After that, everyone parted ways.
Miguel changed into his swim trunks and sandals. He wrapped a towel around his neck and headed uphill from the hotel.
A narrow path cut through a thicket of palm trees, broadleaf ferns, and the jagged limbs of gumbo-limbo trees. The path was muddy and slick. Stones and branches were set into place as steps, giving Miguel’s sandals a steady foothold.
When he reached the top of the hill, he heard shouting and splashing. A group of teenagers circled a large pit.
“Ay! Venga! Venga!” called a boy.
Miguel jogged down the slippery rocks to the edge of the pit. He peered into the pit. Moss-covered rock walls encircled the pit. A pool of green-blue water, ten meters across, frothed as kids swam and played.
“Esta frio?” asked Miguel.
“Nada mucho,” replied one of the swimmers.”
Miguel kicked off his sandals and threw his towel to the ground. He dove in head-first.
Just like any other cenote, this sinkhole was filled with groundwater, It was brisk and cold. Miguel immediately swam to the edge of the pit and climbed out.
“Brrr.”
“I think it’s cold, too. You jumped in before I could warn you.”
“That’s okay. My name is Miguel. What’s yours?”
“I am Andres. That’s my brother and sister in the water.”
“Do you live nearby?”
“Yes, my family lives up the road. How about you?”
“I’m staying at the hotel down there.”
Miguel shivered.
“Maybe we should go to the beach,” said Andres.
“I think that’s a good idea.”
Andres invited his siblings, but they wanted to play in the cenote. Miguel and Andres headed toward the beach.
The bright sunlight quickly warmed Miguel’s body as he exited the woods. He jogged a little before breaking into a full sprint. Andres quickly gave chase. They ran the whole way to the beach, stopping only when they hit the surf.
The sand was sun-bleached white. The water was the lightest blue, just like the sky above. The beach was crowded with tourists and locals just like Miguel and Andres.
Miguel and Andres bodysurfed on the incoming waves. Miguel liked the warm surf much better than the water inside the cenote.
Windsurfers and jet skis zoomed along the coastline, just beyond the green shallows. Miguel and Andres played for a bit longer, then ran back to shore, where they collapsed on the beach next to Juneta.
Miguel introduced Juneta to his new friend.
“Mom’s not back yet?”
“She should be back any time now.”
The three laid side-by-side on the beach for most of the afternoon, soaking up the sun. When Sra. Vasquez returned, she placed a small brown grocery bag in the sand next to Miguel. There was a loaf of bread, plastic utensils, a jar of jelly and a jar of sunbutter inside.
“Quien es?” asked mother.
“Es mi amigo, Andres.”
“Hola Andres.”
“Hola Sra. Vasquez.”
With introductions out of the way, Miguel began making sunbutter sandwiches for everyone. Although it looked like peanut butter, sunbutter was made from ground sunflower seeds. It tasted very similar to peanut butter, with a nuttier, roasted taste. It also tasted natural, without the sugary taste of peanut butter.
“Why didn’t you get peanut butter?”
“I found this on sale. I like it better.”
“Me, too,” agreed Andres, “my mother sometimes makes it from scratch, but it turns out green, just like ripe sunflower seeds.”
“Green?” frowned Juneta.
“It tastes just as good. Sunflowers are plentiful here, anyway.”
“We noticed,” said Sra. Vasquez.
“Sunflowers are one of the most useful crops in the Maya Riviera.”
“We have corn in Mexico City,” said Miguel.
“Of course we have corn here, too. We just use sunflowers for everything – even our tortillas.”
“Aren’t they green?”
“Sometimes,” laughed Andres.
Everyone enjoyed sunbutter sandwiches as they lay on the beach. When the sun began to set, Andres excused himself. He had to pick up his brother and sister and take them home.
“Hasta manana,” he said to the Vasquez family.
“Hasta manana.”
It meant until tomorrow.
Miguel and his family gathered up their things. They returned to the hotel room, waiting for father to return from his work. When he did, Sra. Vasquez grilled stuffed corn tortillas on the stove for dinner.
After dinner, they sat on beach chairs and listened to the waves lapping at the shore until the ocean winds grew too cold. Then, they went inside.
Mother and Junie watched a telenovella. Meanwhile, Miguel studied his archeology books while his father studied his blueprints.
Miguel laid his head next to his book at the end of each page. Finally, he fell asleep. His father carefully pulled the book out from under his head and replaced it with a pillow.
Miguel stirred, half-awake.
“Suenos Amables,” said his father.
“Hasta manana,” replied Miguel.
Until tomorrow...
“Miguel,” interrupted his father.
“Yes?”
“I think it’s time you got out in the sun for a bit.”
“But I’m studying.”
“What would you say to studying in the sun?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m going to the Tres Rios for business next weekend. I was thinking of taking the entire family. Would you like to go?”
“You mean Riviera Maya?”
Sr. Vasquez nodded.
Miguel hopped to his feet and ran into the living room. The first thing Sr. Vasquez heard was his children’s joyful shouts.
“We’re going to the Riviera Maya! We’re going to the Riviera Maya!”
Sr. Vasquez arrived in the living room to see his children dancing and singing.
“I guess that’s a yes?”
“Absolutely!”
The week could not go by fast enough as Miguel and Juñeta counted the days. Before the next weekend arrived, their bags were already packed. Early that Thursday morning, they were on their way. At the airport, they boarded a propeller jet airplane that said ‘Mexicana Airlines’ on the side. It took them out of Mexico City and over the Caribbean Sea to the Riviera Maya.
The Riviera Maya, located on the southeastern tip of Mexico, was famous for two things: great beaches and Mayan culture.
All four of them would get plenty of that.
At the airport, they caught a taxi. It took them directly to their hotel.
Along the way, there were many things to see. Hotels towered alongside the highway on one side. The beach ran along the other side of the coastal highway.
Sunflowers gathered in a large field just next to their hotel. Every sunflower, with their bright yellow petals and dark brown faces, faced the highway. In turn, that also meant they faced the sea.
“Why are the sunflowers doing that?” asked Miguel.
“Doing what?” asked mother.
“Facing the same direction.”
“They’re trying to absorb as much sunlight as possible.”
“They’re called ‘Heliotropes’,” added father, “which means ‘to turn towards the sun. There are many heliotropic flowers.”
“So they follow the sun all day long?”
“Some flowers do, but Sunflowers don’t. It would take too much energy to turn that giant flower head. They just turn their leaves instead.”
“You’re making this up,” said Junie.”
“I promise I am not.”
“How do you know so much about flowers?”
“I don’t really know much about flowers, I just know heliotropes.”
Sr. Vasquez showed them exactly what he meant when they arrived at the hotel.
“Tilde, may I borrow your new make-up compact?”
Tilde handed it to her father. He opened it and turned it towards the sun.
“Litzie, I need your help, too. Will you take the surveying stick to the other end of the parking lot?”
Sra. Vasquez nodded.
Sr. Vasquez took a tripod out of the trunk and opened it. He attached a small viewing scope. He positioned the compact atop the scope. He pivoted the mirror back and forth. Finally, the reflected light shone in Sra. Vasquez’s eyes.
“In the old days, surveyors used reflected sunlight to draw a straight line between two objects. This was the original heliotrope, turning towards the sun to direct light to a distant marker.”
“Are you finished?” asked mother.
Sr. Vasquez nodded.
She brought the stick back to her husband. He loaded it into the car.
“Does anyone want to go with me to the construction site?”
Nobody volunteered.
“Miguel? Juneta?”
“I want to sunbathe,” said Juneta.
“I want to go swimming in one of the cenotes,” said Miguel.
“I think I’d like to go into town,” said mother.
“Alright then.”
Sr. Vasquez took his luggage to the hotel room and said his good-byes. After that, everyone parted ways.
Miguel changed into his swim trunks and sandals. He wrapped a towel around his neck and headed uphill from the hotel.
A narrow path cut through a thicket of palm trees, broadleaf ferns, and the jagged limbs of gumbo-limbo trees. The path was muddy and slick. Stones and branches were set into place as steps, giving Miguel’s sandals a steady foothold.
When he reached the top of the hill, he heard shouting and splashing. A group of teenagers circled a large pit.
“Ay! Venga! Venga!” called a boy.
Miguel jogged down the slippery rocks to the edge of the pit. He peered into the pit. Moss-covered rock walls encircled the pit. A pool of green-blue water, ten meters across, frothed as kids swam and played.
“Esta frio?” asked Miguel.
“Nada mucho,” replied one of the swimmers.”
Miguel kicked off his sandals and threw his towel to the ground. He dove in head-first.
Just like any other cenote, this sinkhole was filled with groundwater, It was brisk and cold. Miguel immediately swam to the edge of the pit and climbed out.
“Brrr.”
“I think it’s cold, too. You jumped in before I could warn you.”
“That’s okay. My name is Miguel. What’s yours?”
“I am Andres. That’s my brother and sister in the water.”
“Do you live nearby?”
“Yes, my family lives up the road. How about you?”
“I’m staying at the hotel down there.”
Miguel shivered.
“Maybe we should go to the beach,” said Andres.
“I think that’s a good idea.”
Andres invited his siblings, but they wanted to play in the cenote. Miguel and Andres headed toward the beach.
The bright sunlight quickly warmed Miguel’s body as he exited the woods. He jogged a little before breaking into a full sprint. Andres quickly gave chase. They ran the whole way to the beach, stopping only when they hit the surf.
The sand was sun-bleached white. The water was the lightest blue, just like the sky above. The beach was crowded with tourists and locals just like Miguel and Andres.
Miguel and Andres bodysurfed on the incoming waves. Miguel liked the warm surf much better than the water inside the cenote.
Windsurfers and jet skis zoomed along the coastline, just beyond the green shallows. Miguel and Andres played for a bit longer, then ran back to shore, where they collapsed on the beach next to Juneta.
Miguel introduced Juneta to his new friend.
“Mom’s not back yet?”
“She should be back any time now.”
The three laid side-by-side on the beach for most of the afternoon, soaking up the sun. When Sra. Vasquez returned, she placed a small brown grocery bag in the sand next to Miguel. There was a loaf of bread, plastic utensils, a jar of jelly and a jar of sunbutter inside.
“Quien es?” asked mother.
“Es mi amigo, Andres.”
“Hola Andres.”
“Hola Sra. Vasquez.”
With introductions out of the way, Miguel began making sunbutter sandwiches for everyone. Although it looked like peanut butter, sunbutter was made from ground sunflower seeds. It tasted very similar to peanut butter, with a nuttier, roasted taste. It also tasted natural, without the sugary taste of peanut butter.
“Why didn’t you get peanut butter?”
“I found this on sale. I like it better.”
“Me, too,” agreed Andres, “my mother sometimes makes it from scratch, but it turns out green, just like ripe sunflower seeds.”
“Green?” frowned Juneta.
“It tastes just as good. Sunflowers are plentiful here, anyway.”
“We noticed,” said Sra. Vasquez.
“Sunflowers are one of the most useful crops in the Maya Riviera.”
“We have corn in Mexico City,” said Miguel.
“Of course we have corn here, too. We just use sunflowers for everything – even our tortillas.”
“Aren’t they green?”
“Sometimes,” laughed Andres.
Everyone enjoyed sunbutter sandwiches as they lay on the beach. When the sun began to set, Andres excused himself. He had to pick up his brother and sister and take them home.
“Hasta manana,” he said to the Vasquez family.
“Hasta manana.”
It meant until tomorrow.
Miguel and his family gathered up their things. They returned to the hotel room, waiting for father to return from his work. When he did, Sra. Vasquez grilled stuffed corn tortillas on the stove for dinner.
After dinner, they sat on beach chairs and listened to the waves lapping at the shore until the ocean winds grew too cold. Then, they went inside.
Mother and Junie watched a telenovella. Meanwhile, Miguel studied his archeology books while his father studied his blueprints.
Miguel laid his head next to his book at the end of each page. Finally, he fell asleep. His father carefully pulled the book out from under his head and replaced it with a pillow.
Miguel stirred, half-awake.
“Suenos Amables,” said his father.
“Hasta manana,” replied Miguel.
Until tomorrow...
Aztec Shadows
Late on Sunday, just as the sun began to sit on the horizon, Miguel and his father went to the backyard to investigate Miguel’s adobe brick project.
“It looks like it’s almost done,” said Miguel.
“Maybe from the outside,” said father.
Sr. Vasquez cut the cardboard from the milk container away from the brick. The outer surface was still wet and slick. Sr. Vasquez’s thumb smudged and dented the brick slightly as he pressed against the clay.
“It’s been out here for three days.”
“Adobe houses weren’t built in a day,” said father.
He turned the brick on its end. It cast a long shadow across the ground.
“How much longer do you think it will take?”
“It could take several weeks. It depends on the sun.”
Miguel turned his face toward the sun.
“It won’t bake much more today. We might as well go inside and let nature take its course.”
Miguel followed his father to the family room. They watched television together. Periodically, Miguel checked the adobe. After sunset, he checked on the brick less and less, until he forgot about it altogether.
The next morning, he headed to school. Srta. Diaz sat in front of class. A small adobe brick sat next to her on the desk.
“Do any of my students want to give a report on their adobe brick project?”
Several hands went up, including Miguel’s.
“Miguel, how did it go?”
“Not very well.”
“What do you mean?”
“It didn’t dry very much.”
“It won’t dry very much. Think about how thick your bricks are. Also ask yourselves, ‘How hot is sunlight?’ If you compare this to an ordinary oven, you can understand why it would take such a long time. “
“How long do you think it will take?”
“It could take several weeks or even a few months. That is why I am speeing up the sun.”
“How?”
Srta. Diaz handed a new set of directions to the class.
“We’re going to ask our parents’ to help us use our ovens to help bake the bricks. Now, it’ll only take a few days instead of a few months.”
“Why didn’t you just tell us this with the first directions?”
“Then you wouldn’t understand the work involved in making adobe.”
Srta. Diaz wrote five words on the chalkboard.
Olmec – Zapotec – Toltec – Mixtec – Aztec
“Does anyone know what these words have in common?”
Everyone raised a hand.
“They’re all Mexican?”
“I guess that’s one way you could put it; they’re all Mesoamericans, which is the term for any of the ancient tribes that settled Central America before the time of Christopher Columbus. Historians call them pre-Columbian times.”
“What were the differences between the different groups?” asked Miguel.
“Everyone seems to know the Aztec Empire, because of its importance to Mexico City. The other cultures were distinguished by their location – the Zapotecs were from the Pacific Coast, near Oaxaca. The Toltecs came from Tula, directly south of here. The Olmecs lived east of the Toltecs. The Mixtecs thrived throughout Mexico.”
She outlined their various regions with colored chalk on pre-drawn map of Mexico.
“Does anyone know what else these groups also have in common?”
Nobody raised their hands.
“They were all stone cutters. Making adobe was a time-consuming task.”
“Wouldn’t stone cutting be time-consuming, too?” asked a student.
“It is still much quicker than making bricks. At first, stonecutters gathered large stones to build. They would cut the stones until they fit together perfectly. Soon, they refined their art, and were able to shape boulders with their stone cutting tools.”
Srta. Diaz turned off the overhead lights and turned on the slide projector.
“These different groups of Mesoamericans made a major shift in their way of living. Before their stone-cutting age, they were hunters and gatherers. They lived a nomad’s life, moving from place to place, following herds of wild pigs, buffalo, and cattle. Once they domesticated these animals, they became settlers.”
“What do you mean by domesticated animals?”
“Just like animals on a farm, these animals were no longer roaming through the wild. Mesoamericans fed and cared for the animals. In return, the animals provided milk to drink, meat to eat, and even their hides for clothing and leather goods.”
She then showed a slide much like the one in the city planner’s office.
“Does anyone know what this is?”
Every child raised a hand.
“Tenochtitlan,” they replied.
“Exactly. Tenochtitlan was one of the greatest ancient cities of the world. It included temples and a central market, surrounded by a series of farms. The farms were actually built on top of a lake.”
“How did they do that?” asked a student.
“The Aztecs started by planting long rows of trees. They placed sod between some of the trees, creating a grid of farms. Each farm was long and rectangular, surrounded by square moats. The Aztecs floated their canoes through the moats like cars on a street.”
She flipped through a series of slides. Each one depicted pottery, statues, and ornamental shapes, carved from stone, jade, and greenstone. She finally stopped at a slide of a large round face.
“If you look at the palm leaves behind the statue, you can see that this statue is very big. It is actually 3 meters tall, which means any one of you could stand on a friend’s shoulders but still you could not reach the top of his head.”
The class gasped in amazement.
“Like I stated earlier, the Olmec lived in the lowlands along the Caribbean coast, nearly 3000 years ago. Archaeologists uncovered 10 stone heads just like this one. I would suppose there are still more to find. I would even suppose there were many more we will never find.”
She flipped through more slides, including a step pyramid and the neighboring city. She also showed several slides of glyphs. The glyphs were designs cut into stone.
“Each of these designs represents a syllable in the ancient Zapotec language. It is thought to be the root for all other Mesoamerican languages that followed.”
She flipped through slides of modern views – a coastal city located between mountains and shore.
“The Zapotecs lived along the Pacific Coast in Oaxaca. They believed in many gods. They also believed that all humans evolved from trees and jaguars.”
There were slides of stone-cut art, depicting were-jaguars and were-trees, beasts that were half-man and half-nature.
The next series of slides featured pottery and jewelry with intricate designs. There was also a slide showing her standing next to a set of five gigantic statues. Each one was approximately 10 meters high – five times taller than Srta. Diaz.
“Does anyone know what this is?”
“I’ve seen it before,” answered a student, “Isn’t it in Hidalgo?”
“That’s right. It’s in the city of Tula, a few hours drive south of here. The Toltec only thrived a short time, but were known as “The Artisans” because of their precious crafts.”
She flipped on the lights and returned to the front of class.
“This brings us to the Mixtecs. Many of you have both Mixtec and Aztec ancestors. The word ‘Mixteca’ means place of the cloud people’. The Mixtecs lived throughout Mexico, but their capital was in Oaxaca.”
“I thought the Zapotecs lived there.”
“They did, but the Mixtecs conquered the Zapotecs. The Zapotecs and Mixtecs eventually became one tribe. It wasn’t until Montezuma and the Aztec Empire fought with the Mixtecs and Zapotecs that they truly became one tribe. Still, they could not defeat the might Aztecs. Like all the lesser tribes in Mexico, the Mixtecs paid tribute to the Aztecs. That meant they would work for the Aztecs, supplying them with goods and services. In return, the Aztecs did not attack the other tribes.”
Just then, the bell rang. It was time for lunch. Stra. Diaz spent the rest of the day teaching Spanish and Mathematics. She saved more history lessons for a later time.
At the end of the day, Miguel waited for his sister, as usual.
“Hurry!”
“Why?” asked Juneta.
“I have a project.”
As soon as he got home, he retrieved a rake and shovel from the barn. He began digging a hole in the backyard.
“Meego! What are you doing?”
“I’m looking for ancient ruins.”
“You’ll be in such trouble when our parents get home.”
Miguel continued digging anyway. At least he did until mother came home and saw him destroying her backyard.
“Miguel Andres Vasquez! Quit digging up my yard!” she shouted.
Miguel stopped mid-scoop and dropped both his shoulders and head. He skulked through the backyard to the rear door and opened it.
“Just what do you think you’re doing?”
“I was looking for Colossal heads.”
“Colossal what?”
“You know, the ancient stone carved heads they found in southeastern Mexico.”
“Miguel, there will not be any artifacts in our backyard.”
“How do you know?”
“I just know,” she said as she kissed him softly on the forehead, “Now put the dirt back in the hole and clean up afterwards. I’m sure your father or I can find something else for you to explore.”
Miguel repaired the hole and showered, just as his mother had ordered. Afterwards, he joined his sister and mother in the living room, who were watching a boring telenovella. Telenovellas were Mexican Soap Operas. Miguel did not like them in the least.
He fetched his history book and read about the ancient Mesoamericans.
Now that he had begun his search for ancient artifacts, he knew more than anything he wanted to be an archeologist. However, just like everything else, it seemed he would just have to wait.
“It looks like it’s almost done,” said Miguel.
“Maybe from the outside,” said father.
Sr. Vasquez cut the cardboard from the milk container away from the brick. The outer surface was still wet and slick. Sr. Vasquez’s thumb smudged and dented the brick slightly as he pressed against the clay.
“It’s been out here for three days.”
“Adobe houses weren’t built in a day,” said father.
He turned the brick on its end. It cast a long shadow across the ground.
“How much longer do you think it will take?”
“It could take several weeks. It depends on the sun.”
Miguel turned his face toward the sun.
“It won’t bake much more today. We might as well go inside and let nature take its course.”
Miguel followed his father to the family room. They watched television together. Periodically, Miguel checked the adobe. After sunset, he checked on the brick less and less, until he forgot about it altogether.
The next morning, he headed to school. Srta. Diaz sat in front of class. A small adobe brick sat next to her on the desk.
“Do any of my students want to give a report on their adobe brick project?”
Several hands went up, including Miguel’s.
“Miguel, how did it go?”
“Not very well.”
“What do you mean?”
“It didn’t dry very much.”
“It won’t dry very much. Think about how thick your bricks are. Also ask yourselves, ‘How hot is sunlight?’ If you compare this to an ordinary oven, you can understand why it would take such a long time. “
“How long do you think it will take?”
“It could take several weeks or even a few months. That is why I am speeing up the sun.”
“How?”
Srta. Diaz handed a new set of directions to the class.
“We’re going to ask our parents’ to help us use our ovens to help bake the bricks. Now, it’ll only take a few days instead of a few months.”
“Why didn’t you just tell us this with the first directions?”
“Then you wouldn’t understand the work involved in making adobe.”
Srta. Diaz wrote five words on the chalkboard.
Olmec – Zapotec – Toltec – Mixtec – Aztec
“Does anyone know what these words have in common?”
Everyone raised a hand.
“They’re all Mexican?”
“I guess that’s one way you could put it; they’re all Mesoamericans, which is the term for any of the ancient tribes that settled Central America before the time of Christopher Columbus. Historians call them pre-Columbian times.”
“What were the differences between the different groups?” asked Miguel.
“Everyone seems to know the Aztec Empire, because of its importance to Mexico City. The other cultures were distinguished by their location – the Zapotecs were from the Pacific Coast, near Oaxaca. The Toltecs came from Tula, directly south of here. The Olmecs lived east of the Toltecs. The Mixtecs thrived throughout Mexico.”
She outlined their various regions with colored chalk on pre-drawn map of Mexico.
“Does anyone know what else these groups also have in common?”
Nobody raised their hands.
“They were all stone cutters. Making adobe was a time-consuming task.”
“Wouldn’t stone cutting be time-consuming, too?” asked a student.
“It is still much quicker than making bricks. At first, stonecutters gathered large stones to build. They would cut the stones until they fit together perfectly. Soon, they refined their art, and were able to shape boulders with their stone cutting tools.”
Srta. Diaz turned off the overhead lights and turned on the slide projector.
“These different groups of Mesoamericans made a major shift in their way of living. Before their stone-cutting age, they were hunters and gatherers. They lived a nomad’s life, moving from place to place, following herds of wild pigs, buffalo, and cattle. Once they domesticated these animals, they became settlers.”
“What do you mean by domesticated animals?”
“Just like animals on a farm, these animals were no longer roaming through the wild. Mesoamericans fed and cared for the animals. In return, the animals provided milk to drink, meat to eat, and even their hides for clothing and leather goods.”
She then showed a slide much like the one in the city planner’s office.
“Does anyone know what this is?”
Every child raised a hand.
“Tenochtitlan,” they replied.
“Exactly. Tenochtitlan was one of the greatest ancient cities of the world. It included temples and a central market, surrounded by a series of farms. The farms were actually built on top of a lake.”
“How did they do that?” asked a student.
“The Aztecs started by planting long rows of trees. They placed sod between some of the trees, creating a grid of farms. Each farm was long and rectangular, surrounded by square moats. The Aztecs floated their canoes through the moats like cars on a street.”
She flipped through a series of slides. Each one depicted pottery, statues, and ornamental shapes, carved from stone, jade, and greenstone. She finally stopped at a slide of a large round face.
“If you look at the palm leaves behind the statue, you can see that this statue is very big. It is actually 3 meters tall, which means any one of you could stand on a friend’s shoulders but still you could not reach the top of his head.”
The class gasped in amazement.
“Like I stated earlier, the Olmec lived in the lowlands along the Caribbean coast, nearly 3000 years ago. Archaeologists uncovered 10 stone heads just like this one. I would suppose there are still more to find. I would even suppose there were many more we will never find.”
She flipped through more slides, including a step pyramid and the neighboring city. She also showed several slides of glyphs. The glyphs were designs cut into stone.
“Each of these designs represents a syllable in the ancient Zapotec language. It is thought to be the root for all other Mesoamerican languages that followed.”
She flipped through slides of modern views – a coastal city located between mountains and shore.
“The Zapotecs lived along the Pacific Coast in Oaxaca. They believed in many gods. They also believed that all humans evolved from trees and jaguars.”
There were slides of stone-cut art, depicting were-jaguars and were-trees, beasts that were half-man and half-nature.
The next series of slides featured pottery and jewelry with intricate designs. There was also a slide showing her standing next to a set of five gigantic statues. Each one was approximately 10 meters high – five times taller than Srta. Diaz.
“Does anyone know what this is?”
“I’ve seen it before,” answered a student, “Isn’t it in Hidalgo?”
“That’s right. It’s in the city of Tula, a few hours drive south of here. The Toltec only thrived a short time, but were known as “The Artisans” because of their precious crafts.”
She flipped on the lights and returned to the front of class.
“This brings us to the Mixtecs. Many of you have both Mixtec and Aztec ancestors. The word ‘Mixteca’ means place of the cloud people’. The Mixtecs lived throughout Mexico, but their capital was in Oaxaca.”
“I thought the Zapotecs lived there.”
“They did, but the Mixtecs conquered the Zapotecs. The Zapotecs and Mixtecs eventually became one tribe. It wasn’t until Montezuma and the Aztec Empire fought with the Mixtecs and Zapotecs that they truly became one tribe. Still, they could not defeat the might Aztecs. Like all the lesser tribes in Mexico, the Mixtecs paid tribute to the Aztecs. That meant they would work for the Aztecs, supplying them with goods and services. In return, the Aztecs did not attack the other tribes.”
Just then, the bell rang. It was time for lunch. Stra. Diaz spent the rest of the day teaching Spanish and Mathematics. She saved more history lessons for a later time.
At the end of the day, Miguel waited for his sister, as usual.
“Hurry!”
“Why?” asked Juneta.
“I have a project.”
As soon as he got home, he retrieved a rake and shovel from the barn. He began digging a hole in the backyard.
“Meego! What are you doing?”
“I’m looking for ancient ruins.”
“You’ll be in such trouble when our parents get home.”
Miguel continued digging anyway. At least he did until mother came home and saw him destroying her backyard.
“Miguel Andres Vasquez! Quit digging up my yard!” she shouted.
Miguel stopped mid-scoop and dropped both his shoulders and head. He skulked through the backyard to the rear door and opened it.
“Just what do you think you’re doing?”
“I was looking for Colossal heads.”
“Colossal what?”
“You know, the ancient stone carved heads they found in southeastern Mexico.”
“Miguel, there will not be any artifacts in our backyard.”
“How do you know?”
“I just know,” she said as she kissed him softly on the forehead, “Now put the dirt back in the hole and clean up afterwards. I’m sure your father or I can find something else for you to explore.”
Miguel repaired the hole and showered, just as his mother had ordered. Afterwards, he joined his sister and mother in the living room, who were watching a boring telenovella. Telenovellas were Mexican Soap Operas. Miguel did not like them in the least.
He fetched his history book and read about the ancient Mesoamericans.
Now that he had begun his search for ancient artifacts, he knew more than anything he wanted to be an archeologist. However, just like everything else, it seemed he would just have to wait.
Building Blocks
Juneta’s father nicknamed her ‘Tilde’. On the other hand, Juñeta was the one who gave Miguel his nickname. When he was born, Juñeta was only six years old. She could not pronounce Miguel, so she called him ‘Meego’, just like her ‘little amigo’, her brother, and friend.
Late in the afternoon, Juneta left her school to pick up Miguel. When he came out of the school, his backpack was empty.
“Meego! Where are your school books?”
“I don’t need them.”
“That can’t be.”
“This is all the homework Senorita Matilla gave me.”
He handed her a single piece of paper. It was a list of directions.
“One half-gallon milk carton, a large bucket, grass clippings, clay, dirt, sand, and hay.”
“That sounds easy, right?”
Juneta nodded.
“Mix the clay, dirt, sand, grass, and hay in the bucket (A wheelbarrow will also work, too).”
“That sounds easy, too.”
Juneta folded the paper and placed it in her pocket. As soon as they got home, Junie and Miguel prepared to make an adobe brick. Miguel went to his room and changed. By the time he came out, Junie was in the kitchen. She’d made a snack of bean burritos and milk.
“Help me drink the rest of the milk so we can have an empty carton.”
Miguel chugged his milk, only to have his sister pour another glass.
“I’m full.”
“There’s no time to be full. Drink your milk.”
So Miguel did as told. Afterwards, she cut the top and one side off the carton, forming a brick mold. Miguel followed her to the barn beside the house. She grabbed an old wash pail and a shovel.
“I’ll dig up the mud while you get some grass and hay.”
“How do I do that?”
“Just pick it out of the soil.”
Miguel knelt down and tore clumps of grass out of the ground. Just then, their father pulled up in his truck.
“Dios Mio! What are my little ones doing to my yard?”
“We’re making adobe,” said Miguel.
“I don’t know if this is quite how you do it.”
“What do you mean? My teacher gave me directions.”
Sr. Vasquez examined the directions.
“She didn’t tell you how to mix the ingredients.”
“We’re using a bucket.”
“Yes, but how much clay and sand are you going to use?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Every ingredient matters. If you use too much sand, the bricks will fall apart. If you don’t use enough, the clay will crack. You also need to consider the fillers, like grass and hay. They act like glue for the bricks, keeping them from falling apart.”
Sr. Vasquez carefully mixed the mud, adding just a bit of sand and grass. He squirted the mix with water from the garden hose before mixing it again. He alternated between adding sand, clay, and grass until it formed a thick red mud.
“Where’s your form?”
Juneta handed the milk carton to her father. He filled it with the mud mix.
“The directions say to set it outside for a couple of days.”
“I don’t think your teacher has ever made adobe before.”
“What do you mean?”
“Real bricks are placed in a kiln, which heats to over one-thousand degrees celcius.”
“That’s hot!” exclaimed Miguel.
“If it wasn’t that hot, it would take days or weeks just to create one brick. There are thousands of bricks in a small house.”
“But the Aztecs didn’t have kilns,” said Juneta.
“It wasn’t until much later that they discovered kilns, so they made bricks like these and dried them in the sun.”
“Can you imagine how many bricks they made for Tenochitlan?” said Juneta.
“They didn’t use adobe.”
“How did they build the temples?”
“Most of the ancient Mesoamerican civilizations, like the Aztecs, Toltecs, and Maya were stone cutters. They used manpower and ingenuity to cut giant building blocks from stone. Then, they moved them, sometimes great distances, to their temples. They stacked them in a way similar to a child stacking wooden blocks, although each stone was as heavy as a car.”
“Why do you think Srta. Matilla wants to make adobe bricks?”
“Many cultures still made use of adobe bricks for small buildings, like houses and storage rooms.”
Sr. Vasquez set the wet adobe brick out on a bench, in direct sunlight. Then, he went inside. The children followed.
“I thought we were going to put it in a kiln.”
“Not until it hardens enough to remove it from the milk carton.”
Sra. Vasquez, who was in the kitchen, overheard the tail end of the conversation.
“Is that what happened to my milk?”
Juneta nodded.
“I needed it for dinner.”
“We can go to the grocery store,” said Juneta.
“Here’s a couple of pesos. I also need some coffee.”
Juneta and Miguel went to the store to buy milk and coffee. Junie picked up the items and paid for them in quick order. They could not begin eating until mother got her milk.
“We’re home!” announced Junie.
“Just in time, dinner’s almost ready.”
“Here’s your milk,” said Junie, “and your coffee beans.”
“Grind the beans for me and I’ll do the rest.”
Juneta placed a handful of coffee beans into the grinder. With a flick of the switch, the grinder’s blades chopped the beans into tiny grounds. Juneta lifted the lid and pressed her face into the chopping bin. The strong aroma of fresh coffee beans smelled very fresh.
“Do you want me to make you a cup of coffee?”
“That would be fantastic.”
Juneta made two cups. One for her mother and a second for herself. She added a splash of milk to both cups.
“You can put the milk and coffee beans away now, dear.”
“I thought you needed milk to cook.”
“I never said that. I wanted café con leche and needed milk for my coffee.”
Juneta sighed.
“Don’t worry about it now. Besides, we’ve got fresh coffee and dinner’s ready.”
Sra. Vasquez pulled a hot dish from the oven. As soon as Juneta saw the corn tortillas wrapped in husks of corn, she knew her mother had prepared tamales.
“Please take these to the table for me.”
Juneta obeyed her mother, careful to use protective oven gloves.
“Tamales!” exclaimed Miguel.
Just as usual, everyone waited for Sr. Vasquez’s prayer before digging into their tamales.
“Ay! Caliente!” said Miguel as he peeled the cornhusk off the tamale. It was used to keep the tamale burning. Inside, a a thick tortilla made of corn flour wrapped the ingredients of the tamale. Miguel carefully nibbled on a corner.
“What kind of meat is inside?”
“I mde some with chicken and some with beef.”
“How do we tell which is which?”
“Check the inside.”
Miguel took a bite, revealing shredded beef.
“What if I want chicken?”
“Do you?”
Miguel shook his head. Except for Miguel’s distaste for anything spicy, her whole family was not that picky. Whatever she cooked, they liked.
Both of the men, however, did not like café con leche. Instead, they had what Sr. Vasquez jokingly called ‘leche sin café’ – milk without coffee. However, Sr. Vasquez sometimes sucked on un-ground coffee beans, mostly for their caffeine. He did not particularly like or dislike coffee – he just preferred milk.
After breakfast, he plucked a few beans out of the paper bag and popped them into his mouth. He also poured himself a glass of milk, just to soften the bitter taste of the fresh beans.
“May I please try some?” asked Miguel.
“They’re very strong and bitter. Are you sure?”
“Maybe just one.”
Sr. Vasquez plopped a single bean into Miguel’s tiny hand. Miguel popped it directly into his mouth, just like a jelly bean. His entire face puckered before Miguel quickly spat it out.
“I told you.”
“The only way I’ll enjoy coffee beans is with a game of loteria. Do you want to play?”
Father nodded.
“Why don’t we all play?” suggested Angelina.
“That sounds alright with me.”
Miguel fetched the game box from under the couch as everyone gathered in a circle. He handed out tables – bingo cards with images instead of numbers. The coffee beans were to act as markers, just like bingo chips.
“Toce su tables,” announced Miguel.
Everyone picked a ‘table’ or card and placed it in front of them. Then, Miguel shuffled the cards before drawing one. He flipped it over and looked at the picture.
“He makes a sound of ‘grrrrrrr.’”
“That could be anything,” said Junie.
“Guess.”
“El Chihuahua!” shouted Aunt Angelina.
Miguel shook his head. Then, everyone took turns guessing.
“El lobo? – (a wolf). El Toro? – (a bull) El Alligator?.”
Miguel shook his head to each one.
“What is it then? We give up,” said mother.
“Es un coche!”
“Un coche?” argued Juneta, “Un coche va ‘Vroom Vroom’ o “Beep Beep’.
Everyone else agreed. Very few buses growled. It did not matter too much, since nobody had the bus card on their tables.
Miguel picked another card and gave another clue.
“He makes a sound of ‘caw caw!’”
“El Cortorro? - (the parrot),” said mother.
“No.”
“El pajaro? - (the bird),” said father.
“No.”
“Un coche?” asked Aunt Angelina.
At that point, everyone laughed. Everyone, that is, except Miguel, who planted his hands on his hips and heaved a sigh.
“Quien sabe?” she said with a shrug. It meant ‘who knows?’
“El arbol pleno de coterros!”
“Meego!” exclaimed Aunt Angelina, “A tree full of parrots? You cannot make such clues.”
Miguel frowned for just a second. Until they took another turn. This time, Aunt Angelina was the new cantor (card reader). She picked a card and gave the clue. Soon, everyone forgot about Miguel’s clues. This included Miguel. He gave simple clues with simple answers.
They all laughed and played until Aunt Angelina looked at the clock.
“Diez en Punto!” she exclaimed. It was ten o’ clock, time for Aunt Angelina to return her job at the firehouse. It was also time for Juneta and Miguel to go to bed.
Aunt Angelina tucked them in, giving each a kiss on a cheek. Since it was so late, she did not tell them a bedtime story. Instead, she simply said two words.
“Suenos Amables.”
“Suenos Amables,” they each replied.
Sweet dreams indeed.
Late in the afternoon, Juneta left her school to pick up Miguel. When he came out of the school, his backpack was empty.
“Meego! Where are your school books?”
“I don’t need them.”
“That can’t be.”
“This is all the homework Senorita Matilla gave me.”
He handed her a single piece of paper. It was a list of directions.
“One half-gallon milk carton, a large bucket, grass clippings, clay, dirt, sand, and hay.”
“That sounds easy, right?”
Juneta nodded.
“Mix the clay, dirt, sand, grass, and hay in the bucket (A wheelbarrow will also work, too).”
“That sounds easy, too.”
Juneta folded the paper and placed it in her pocket. As soon as they got home, Junie and Miguel prepared to make an adobe brick. Miguel went to his room and changed. By the time he came out, Junie was in the kitchen. She’d made a snack of bean burritos and milk.
“Help me drink the rest of the milk so we can have an empty carton.”
Miguel chugged his milk, only to have his sister pour another glass.
“I’m full.”
“There’s no time to be full. Drink your milk.”
So Miguel did as told. Afterwards, she cut the top and one side off the carton, forming a brick mold. Miguel followed her to the barn beside the house. She grabbed an old wash pail and a shovel.
“I’ll dig up the mud while you get some grass and hay.”
“How do I do that?”
“Just pick it out of the soil.”
Miguel knelt down and tore clumps of grass out of the ground. Just then, their father pulled up in his truck.
“Dios Mio! What are my little ones doing to my yard?”
“We’re making adobe,” said Miguel.
“I don’t know if this is quite how you do it.”
“What do you mean? My teacher gave me directions.”
Sr. Vasquez examined the directions.
“She didn’t tell you how to mix the ingredients.”
“We’re using a bucket.”
“Yes, but how much clay and sand are you going to use?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Every ingredient matters. If you use too much sand, the bricks will fall apart. If you don’t use enough, the clay will crack. You also need to consider the fillers, like grass and hay. They act like glue for the bricks, keeping them from falling apart.”
Sr. Vasquez carefully mixed the mud, adding just a bit of sand and grass. He squirted the mix with water from the garden hose before mixing it again. He alternated between adding sand, clay, and grass until it formed a thick red mud.
“Where’s your form?”
Juneta handed the milk carton to her father. He filled it with the mud mix.
“The directions say to set it outside for a couple of days.”
“I don’t think your teacher has ever made adobe before.”
“What do you mean?”
“Real bricks are placed in a kiln, which heats to over one-thousand degrees celcius.”
“That’s hot!” exclaimed Miguel.
“If it wasn’t that hot, it would take days or weeks just to create one brick. There are thousands of bricks in a small house.”
“But the Aztecs didn’t have kilns,” said Juneta.
“It wasn’t until much later that they discovered kilns, so they made bricks like these and dried them in the sun.”
“Can you imagine how many bricks they made for Tenochitlan?” said Juneta.
“They didn’t use adobe.”
“How did they build the temples?”
“Most of the ancient Mesoamerican civilizations, like the Aztecs, Toltecs, and Maya were stone cutters. They used manpower and ingenuity to cut giant building blocks from stone. Then, they moved them, sometimes great distances, to their temples. They stacked them in a way similar to a child stacking wooden blocks, although each stone was as heavy as a car.”
“Why do you think Srta. Matilla wants to make adobe bricks?”
“Many cultures still made use of adobe bricks for small buildings, like houses and storage rooms.”
Sr. Vasquez set the wet adobe brick out on a bench, in direct sunlight. Then, he went inside. The children followed.
“I thought we were going to put it in a kiln.”
“Not until it hardens enough to remove it from the milk carton.”
Sra. Vasquez, who was in the kitchen, overheard the tail end of the conversation.
“Is that what happened to my milk?”
Juneta nodded.
“I needed it for dinner.”
“We can go to the grocery store,” said Juneta.
“Here’s a couple of pesos. I also need some coffee.”
Juneta and Miguel went to the store to buy milk and coffee. Junie picked up the items and paid for them in quick order. They could not begin eating until mother got her milk.
“We’re home!” announced Junie.
“Just in time, dinner’s almost ready.”
“Here’s your milk,” said Junie, “and your coffee beans.”
“Grind the beans for me and I’ll do the rest.”
Juneta placed a handful of coffee beans into the grinder. With a flick of the switch, the grinder’s blades chopped the beans into tiny grounds. Juneta lifted the lid and pressed her face into the chopping bin. The strong aroma of fresh coffee beans smelled very fresh.
“Do you want me to make you a cup of coffee?”
“That would be fantastic.”
Juneta made two cups. One for her mother and a second for herself. She added a splash of milk to both cups.
“You can put the milk and coffee beans away now, dear.”
“I thought you needed milk to cook.”
“I never said that. I wanted café con leche and needed milk for my coffee.”
Juneta sighed.
“Don’t worry about it now. Besides, we’ve got fresh coffee and dinner’s ready.”
Sra. Vasquez pulled a hot dish from the oven. As soon as Juneta saw the corn tortillas wrapped in husks of corn, she knew her mother had prepared tamales.
“Please take these to the table for me.”
Juneta obeyed her mother, careful to use protective oven gloves.
“Tamales!” exclaimed Miguel.
Just as usual, everyone waited for Sr. Vasquez’s prayer before digging into their tamales.
“Ay! Caliente!” said Miguel as he peeled the cornhusk off the tamale. It was used to keep the tamale burning. Inside, a a thick tortilla made of corn flour wrapped the ingredients of the tamale. Miguel carefully nibbled on a corner.
“What kind of meat is inside?”
“I mde some with chicken and some with beef.”
“How do we tell which is which?”
“Check the inside.”
Miguel took a bite, revealing shredded beef.
“What if I want chicken?”
“Do you?”
Miguel shook his head. Except for Miguel’s distaste for anything spicy, her whole family was not that picky. Whatever she cooked, they liked.
Both of the men, however, did not like café con leche. Instead, they had what Sr. Vasquez jokingly called ‘leche sin café’ – milk without coffee. However, Sr. Vasquez sometimes sucked on un-ground coffee beans, mostly for their caffeine. He did not particularly like or dislike coffee – he just preferred milk.
After breakfast, he plucked a few beans out of the paper bag and popped them into his mouth. He also poured himself a glass of milk, just to soften the bitter taste of the fresh beans.
“May I please try some?” asked Miguel.
“They’re very strong and bitter. Are you sure?”
“Maybe just one.”
Sr. Vasquez plopped a single bean into Miguel’s tiny hand. Miguel popped it directly into his mouth, just like a jelly bean. His entire face puckered before Miguel quickly spat it out.
“I told you.”
“The only way I’ll enjoy coffee beans is with a game of loteria. Do you want to play?”
Father nodded.
“Why don’t we all play?” suggested Angelina.
“That sounds alright with me.”
Miguel fetched the game box from under the couch as everyone gathered in a circle. He handed out tables – bingo cards with images instead of numbers. The coffee beans were to act as markers, just like bingo chips.
“Toce su tables,” announced Miguel.
Everyone picked a ‘table’ or card and placed it in front of them. Then, Miguel shuffled the cards before drawing one. He flipped it over and looked at the picture.
“He makes a sound of ‘grrrrrrr.’”
“That could be anything,” said Junie.
“Guess.”
“El Chihuahua!” shouted Aunt Angelina.
Miguel shook his head. Then, everyone took turns guessing.
“El lobo? – (a wolf). El Toro? – (a bull) El Alligator?.”
Miguel shook his head to each one.
“What is it then? We give up,” said mother.
“Es un coche!”
“Un coche?” argued Juneta, “Un coche va ‘Vroom Vroom’ o “Beep Beep’.
Everyone else agreed. Very few buses growled. It did not matter too much, since nobody had the bus card on their tables.
Miguel picked another card and gave another clue.
“He makes a sound of ‘caw caw!’”
“El Cortorro? - (the parrot),” said mother.
“No.”
“El pajaro? - (the bird),” said father.
“No.”
“Un coche?” asked Aunt Angelina.
At that point, everyone laughed. Everyone, that is, except Miguel, who planted his hands on his hips and heaved a sigh.
“Quien sabe?” she said with a shrug. It meant ‘who knows?’
“El arbol pleno de coterros!”
“Meego!” exclaimed Aunt Angelina, “A tree full of parrots? You cannot make such clues.”
Miguel frowned for just a second. Until they took another turn. This time, Aunt Angelina was the new cantor (card reader). She picked a card and gave the clue. Soon, everyone forgot about Miguel’s clues. This included Miguel. He gave simple clues with simple answers.
They all laughed and played until Aunt Angelina looked at the clock.
“Diez en Punto!” she exclaimed. It was ten o’ clock, time for Aunt Angelina to return her job at the firehouse. It was also time for Juneta and Miguel to go to bed.
Aunt Angelina tucked them in, giving each a kiss on a cheek. Since it was so late, she did not tell them a bedtime story. Instead, she simply said two words.
“Suenos Amables.”
“Suenos Amables,” they each replied.
Sweet dreams indeed.
Princess for a Day
The sun disappeared that night only to return again in the morning, shining as brightly as ever. Today, after all, was a day for good sunshine, and Junie’s Fiesta Quinceanera.
She woke early and went straight to the shower. Meanwhile, her mother and Aunt made preparations, too.
Aunt Angelina laid out Junie’s clothes. Sra. Vasquez made bolilos. She fried beans and pulled pork before rolling them in dough and baking the sandwich pockets in the oven.
When Junie emerged from the shower, she dressed casually to eat a quick and light breakfast. She ate the bolilo in just a few bites and chugged the entire glass of orange juice. She took her dirty dishes to the sink as soon as she finished.
“Are you ready, Auntie?”
“Not quite, but I can take it with me.”
Angelina followed Junie to her bedroom. After a quick nibble of her bolilo, Angelina lathered her hands with conditioner. She massaged it through Junie’s hair. Afterward, she combed Junie’s long, black hair until every last tangle was gone. Then, she flipped a curling brush through Junie’s hair as she dried it with a hair dryer.
“Can I have curls?”
Angelina opened a small crate. There were hair curlers of all sizes. She rolled Junie’s hair into the curlers until there was none left. After she blow dried Junie’s hair, she undid every curler. She quickly rubbed hair gel into the curls to keep them in place. Now, Junie’s hair was filled with long curls.
“Are you ready to be made up?” asked her Aunt.
Junie nodded excitedly. She had never been allowed to wear makeup before. She hadn’t even been allowed to style her hair with anything more than a simple hairbrush, either.
“Let’s start with the easy parts. Hold your breath and puff out your cheeks.”
Angelina coated a small brush with blush and drew it over Junie’s cheeks.
“Better. Now I’ll let you apply the lipstick.”
“How do I do that?”
“Just like a crayon.”
Junie carefully drew the lipstick over her lips. She thought it felt waxy and weird. When she was finished, the lipstick was smudged unevenly across her lips.
“Oh, Junie,” said Angelina, “press your lips closed like this.”
Aunt Angelina carefully wiped the excess lipstick with a napkin. She carefully reapplied the lipstick, making it smooth and straight. She drew in a bit of lip liner to accentuate Junie’s lips.
“Close your eyes. Here comes the hard part.”
Angelina massaged a cleanser into Junie’s face. Afterwards, she blew gently across Junie’s nose and cheeks.
“What are you doing?” Junie said with a giggle.
“It has to dry before I do the next step.”
Angelina dug through a pile of brushes and make-up before applying the foundation.
Next, she spread gloss over Junie’s eyelids. When it dried, she blended several different colors of eye shadow over the lids until they were smoky brown. She blended a lighter color of shadow into Junie’s eyelids, working it until it went from light to dark.
“This is the hard part.”
Angelina held Junie’s eye’s open as she drew eye liner around the eyes.
“It’s really scary.”
“Just one more moment and then we’re finished.”
Junie fluttered her eyes as Angelina pulled away. She then began to apply mascara.
“I thought you said we were finished.”
“Just with that part. There is still much to do.”
In fact, it was as if Aunt Angelina was working a masterpiece, filling in the color of Junie’s lashes and brows. After that, she worked the color of the cheeks, adding blush and blending the shades with a large fan brush.
“And now the lips again.”
Angelina carefully re-glossed the lips and touched up the lip liner.
“Now, I’m finished.”
Junie looked in the mirror. She hardly recognized herself. Lips were pretty in a pink. Her eyelids were dark brown, which brought out all of her Mexican traits. Junie smiled.
“Now it’s time to put on your fancy dress.”
By the time the girls emerged from the bedroom, Sr. Vasquez and Miguel rose from bed and took their showers. They were downstairs, eating bolilios.
“¡Que Bonita, mi princessa!” said father, “Now that you no longer have a tilde, what will I call you?”
“Don’t worry, daddy. You can always call me tilde.”
Sr. Vasquez hugged his little girl. Señora Vasquez came out from the kitchen. She wanted to see Junie, too.
“¡Que Bonita!” said mother.
“That’s the second time we’ve heard that, so it must be true.”
“How do you think your sister looks, Miguel?”
“I like her better in t-shirt and jeans.”
“Meego!” said Junie.
“I do.”
“You’ll have to get used to a more grown-up look from now on,” said Junie.
Miguel sighed.
“What’s important now is the Fiesta,” replied father, “We’d better hurry before we’re late.”
All five Vasquez’s, Aunt Angelina included, loaded into the family car. Junie sat in front next to her father while Miguel was squished between his Aunt and Mother.
When they arrived at the Cathedral, the parking lot was filled with cars. A handful of other families had a Quinceanera, too. The parents and godparents were dressed as well. That included the Vasquez family’s next door neighbors, Sr. and Sra. Rivera, who were Junie’s godparents.
“We’ve been looking for you everywhere,” said Sra. Rivera.
“We had lots to do.”
“But you look absolutely stunning!”
“Que Bonita!” boasted Miguel.
Sra. Vasquez patted him on the head.
“Let’s go inside,” she said.
The church looked no different than an ordinary Sunday Mass, except the ‘Quinces’ dressed in various shades of white and pink. Even the altar boys with their incense and the priest with his scepter looked the same as any other day at the Cathedral.
The priest led a Quinceanera Mass, saying usual prayers before talking about the girls and their rite of passage. He asked the girls to stand in front of the pews. He then invited each one’s Godparents.
The Riveras stood behind Junie, each with a hand on her shoulder. The priest said a prayer. Then, the girls turned around. Sra. Rivera presented Junie with a small necklace. As Junie opened the locket, an ivory carving of the Virgin Mary praying was inside. She fastened the locket as Sra. Rivera hung it about her neck.
The priest cleared his throat.
“Now, your responsibilities to family and community have widened, just like the new rewards of being a young woman. My wish for you is to join your families as I give a final prayer.”
Juneta returned to her seat with the Riveras. She sat between her mother and father, showing them her new locket.
Afterwards, they returned home. In the short time she had been gone, friends and family, including her Uncles and some of the Bomberos, helped set up a tent, table, and chairs. They also brought out large platters of food as everyone arrived.
“Junie!” said Uncle Juan, “You look beautiful.”
That was the common statement of everyone at the Fiesta. Although Juneta liked her fancy dress, it itched and was not very practical for eating a buffet.
“Mother?”
“Yes, dear?”
“Is there any way I can change back into t-shirt and jeans?”
Her mother let out a heavy sight.
“I want to get pictures of you with all your family first. Do we have a deal?”
Juneta nodded.
“Fair enough. Let me get the camera.”
After pictures with everyone in the neighborhood – whether it was Juneta’s parents, godparents, uncles, aunts, cousins, the neighbor’s goat, the old lady down the block, or even her little brother, Juneta was finally free.
She ran upstairs and changed out of her Quinceanera dress. However, she kept her tiara, locket, and make-up. She did, however, bring a hair-tie around her curls, bringing it into a very fancy topknot.
“Junie!” gasped her Aunt, “I worked on that all morning!”
“I know, but I think I still like my tilde better.”
Aunt Angelina rolled her eyes before she kissed her niece on the cheek.
“I guess the time to be a woman will come soon enough.”
Tilde sat next to Meego. As they ate their feast, he whispered in her ear.
“Mas Bonita.”
That meant “more beautiful”, because Miguel would be happiest if his big sister never grew up.
She woke early and went straight to the shower. Meanwhile, her mother and Aunt made preparations, too.
Aunt Angelina laid out Junie’s clothes. Sra. Vasquez made bolilos. She fried beans and pulled pork before rolling them in dough and baking the sandwich pockets in the oven.
When Junie emerged from the shower, she dressed casually to eat a quick and light breakfast. She ate the bolilo in just a few bites and chugged the entire glass of orange juice. She took her dirty dishes to the sink as soon as she finished.
“Are you ready, Auntie?”
“Not quite, but I can take it with me.”
Angelina followed Junie to her bedroom. After a quick nibble of her bolilo, Angelina lathered her hands with conditioner. She massaged it through Junie’s hair. Afterward, she combed Junie’s long, black hair until every last tangle was gone. Then, she flipped a curling brush through Junie’s hair as she dried it with a hair dryer.
“Can I have curls?”
Angelina opened a small crate. There were hair curlers of all sizes. She rolled Junie’s hair into the curlers until there was none left. After she blow dried Junie’s hair, she undid every curler. She quickly rubbed hair gel into the curls to keep them in place. Now, Junie’s hair was filled with long curls.
“Are you ready to be made up?” asked her Aunt.
Junie nodded excitedly. She had never been allowed to wear makeup before. She hadn’t even been allowed to style her hair with anything more than a simple hairbrush, either.
“Let’s start with the easy parts. Hold your breath and puff out your cheeks.”
Angelina coated a small brush with blush and drew it over Junie’s cheeks.
“Better. Now I’ll let you apply the lipstick.”
“How do I do that?”
“Just like a crayon.”
Junie carefully drew the lipstick over her lips. She thought it felt waxy and weird. When she was finished, the lipstick was smudged unevenly across her lips.
“Oh, Junie,” said Angelina, “press your lips closed like this.”
Aunt Angelina carefully wiped the excess lipstick with a napkin. She carefully reapplied the lipstick, making it smooth and straight. She drew in a bit of lip liner to accentuate Junie’s lips.
“Close your eyes. Here comes the hard part.”
Angelina massaged a cleanser into Junie’s face. Afterwards, she blew gently across Junie’s nose and cheeks.
“What are you doing?” Junie said with a giggle.
“It has to dry before I do the next step.”
Angelina dug through a pile of brushes and make-up before applying the foundation.
Next, she spread gloss over Junie’s eyelids. When it dried, she blended several different colors of eye shadow over the lids until they were smoky brown. She blended a lighter color of shadow into Junie’s eyelids, working it until it went from light to dark.
“This is the hard part.”
Angelina held Junie’s eye’s open as she drew eye liner around the eyes.
“It’s really scary.”
“Just one more moment and then we’re finished.”
Junie fluttered her eyes as Angelina pulled away. She then began to apply mascara.
“I thought you said we were finished.”
“Just with that part. There is still much to do.”
In fact, it was as if Aunt Angelina was working a masterpiece, filling in the color of Junie’s lashes and brows. After that, she worked the color of the cheeks, adding blush and blending the shades with a large fan brush.
“And now the lips again.”
Angelina carefully re-glossed the lips and touched up the lip liner.
“Now, I’m finished.”
Junie looked in the mirror. She hardly recognized herself. Lips were pretty in a pink. Her eyelids were dark brown, which brought out all of her Mexican traits. Junie smiled.
“Now it’s time to put on your fancy dress.”
By the time the girls emerged from the bedroom, Sr. Vasquez and Miguel rose from bed and took their showers. They were downstairs, eating bolilios.
“¡Que Bonita, mi princessa!” said father, “Now that you no longer have a tilde, what will I call you?”
“Don’t worry, daddy. You can always call me tilde.”
Sr. Vasquez hugged his little girl. Señora Vasquez came out from the kitchen. She wanted to see Junie, too.
“¡Que Bonita!” said mother.
“That’s the second time we’ve heard that, so it must be true.”
“How do you think your sister looks, Miguel?”
“I like her better in t-shirt and jeans.”
“Meego!” said Junie.
“I do.”
“You’ll have to get used to a more grown-up look from now on,” said Junie.
Miguel sighed.
“What’s important now is the Fiesta,” replied father, “We’d better hurry before we’re late.”
All five Vasquez’s, Aunt Angelina included, loaded into the family car. Junie sat in front next to her father while Miguel was squished between his Aunt and Mother.
When they arrived at the Cathedral, the parking lot was filled with cars. A handful of other families had a Quinceanera, too. The parents and godparents were dressed as well. That included the Vasquez family’s next door neighbors, Sr. and Sra. Rivera, who were Junie’s godparents.
“We’ve been looking for you everywhere,” said Sra. Rivera.
“We had lots to do.”
“But you look absolutely stunning!”
“Que Bonita!” boasted Miguel.
Sra. Vasquez patted him on the head.
“Let’s go inside,” she said.
The church looked no different than an ordinary Sunday Mass, except the ‘Quinces’ dressed in various shades of white and pink. Even the altar boys with their incense and the priest with his scepter looked the same as any other day at the Cathedral.
The priest led a Quinceanera Mass, saying usual prayers before talking about the girls and their rite of passage. He asked the girls to stand in front of the pews. He then invited each one’s Godparents.
The Riveras stood behind Junie, each with a hand on her shoulder. The priest said a prayer. Then, the girls turned around. Sra. Rivera presented Junie with a small necklace. As Junie opened the locket, an ivory carving of the Virgin Mary praying was inside. She fastened the locket as Sra. Rivera hung it about her neck.
The priest cleared his throat.
“Now, your responsibilities to family and community have widened, just like the new rewards of being a young woman. My wish for you is to join your families as I give a final prayer.”
Juneta returned to her seat with the Riveras. She sat between her mother and father, showing them her new locket.
Afterwards, they returned home. In the short time she had been gone, friends and family, including her Uncles and some of the Bomberos, helped set up a tent, table, and chairs. They also brought out large platters of food as everyone arrived.
“Junie!” said Uncle Juan, “You look beautiful.”
That was the common statement of everyone at the Fiesta. Although Juneta liked her fancy dress, it itched and was not very practical for eating a buffet.
“Mother?”
“Yes, dear?”
“Is there any way I can change back into t-shirt and jeans?”
Her mother let out a heavy sight.
“I want to get pictures of you with all your family first. Do we have a deal?”
Juneta nodded.
“Fair enough. Let me get the camera.”
After pictures with everyone in the neighborhood – whether it was Juneta’s parents, godparents, uncles, aunts, cousins, the neighbor’s goat, the old lady down the block, or even her little brother, Juneta was finally free.
She ran upstairs and changed out of her Quinceanera dress. However, she kept her tiara, locket, and make-up. She did, however, bring a hair-tie around her curls, bringing it into a very fancy topknot.
“Junie!” gasped her Aunt, “I worked on that all morning!”
“I know, but I think I still like my tilde better.”
Aunt Angelina rolled her eyes before she kissed her niece on the cheek.
“I guess the time to be a woman will come soon enough.”
Tilde sat next to Meego. As they ate their feast, he whispered in her ear.
“Mas Bonita.”
That meant “more beautiful”, because Miguel would be happiest if his big sister never grew up.
With a Tail on Top
“My little Tilde is growing up too fast,” said father to daughter as Sr. Vasquez kissed Junie goodnight. He wished her “Sueños Amables,” just as he had been doing all week. The next morning, she’d go to school as a little girl for the last time.
The first thing that has to be explained to anyone who did not truly know Juñeta Vasquez was her nickname: ‘Tilde’.
Mexicans (or anyone else speaking Spanish) have a name for the little squiggle above the n for certain words like Mañana, Quinceañera, or even Juñeta. It was the tilde. Instead of rhyming manana with banana, they pronounce it mon-yah-nah. The tilde turned the n into a “nyah”, with a slight nasal sound.
Juñeta’s father gave her the nickname for two reasons. First, she had the tilde in her name. Secondly, she always wore her hair in a topknot – a ponytail fixed high on her head. The topknot reminded her father of a tilde.
The Next day went by very slowly for Junie.
The next day went by very slow for Junie. She could only think about one thing, and that was the Fiesta Quinceañera.
Normally, Junie waited for Miguel after school and walked home with him. When he exited the school, he did not see his big sister in her usual place. Instead, it was his mother.
“Where’s Junie?”
“She’s out with Aunt Angelina.”
“Why couldn’t I go?”
“They’re picking up her dress and getting her nails polished for her big day tomorrow. It’s girl stuff. You wouldn’t enjoy it.”
Miguel knew his mother was right. It was girl stuff. Still, he wanted to do something. When they arrived home, Sra. Vasquez went into the kitchen and began preparing dinner. Miguel joined her.
“Do you need any help?”
“I could always use help. I’m making Chile Relleno.”
“Stuffed chili peppers? That’s too hot!” said Miguel.
“I have leftover enchiladas for you,” replied mother.
Miguel groaned.
“I made these especially for your sister.”
Miguel did not like the fact Junie was getting everyone’s attention all of a sudden. He also wished he could be older, so he could have the freedom to do whatever he wanted.
Sra. Vasquez sliced the tops off the Poblano peppers. Meanwhile, Miguel mixed ground pork, cheese, nuts, and raisins in a bowl. When he finished, his mother stuffed the peppers. She dipped the peppers in egg yolks and then in corn flour. She repeated the process, covering each pepper in breading. Then, she placed them on a platter and set it in the refrigerator to wait for everyone’s arrival.
First to come home were Aunt Angelina and Junie.
“Where’s daddy?” asked Junie.
“He should’ve been home a while ago,” noted mother.
“I wanted to show him my Quinceanera dress.”
“He should be home any time now. Go ahead and model it for us.”
Juneta went to her bedroom and put on her dress. Afterwards, she returned to the living room where everyone waited. The dress looked as fancy as any wedding dress. It was white, just like a wedding dress, with light blue ribbons sewn into the lace. Junie also wore white satin gloves and heels.
She wore a tiara on the top of her head. It hid the topknot of her ponytail, with its glitter and rhinestones.
“¡Que Bonita! Don’t you think?”
Miguel shrugged.
“Meego!”
“She looks like one of her porcelain dolls.”
“That’s the point. This is one of the most important moments in a girl’s life.”
Miguel shrugged again.
“Don’t worry about him, this is what my boys do.”
Just then, Sr. Vasquez came in the front door.
“My dear queen Juneta!”
“Daddy!”
Junie gave her dad a bear hug.
“I’m so glad you got to see me in my new dress!”
“Me, too,” he replied, “Do I smell Chile Rellenos?”
Junie nodded.
“For your special dinner,” he added.
Junie went into her bedroom and changed back into a green t-shirt and blue jeans.
“That’s much better,” said Miguel.
“It is definitely more comfortable,” replied Juñeta.
“Now that you’re ready, let’s eat dinner before it gets cold.”
They took their usual places at the table. Also as usual, Sr. Vasquez led them in the Lord’s Prayer before they ate.
Everyone but Miguel had Chile Rellenos. After eating half an enchilada, Miguel stopped. He reached over to the platter full of Chiles and placed it on his plate.
“Are you sure you want to do that?” asked his mother.
Miguel nodded as he sliced the Chile Relleno into bite-sized pieces. He cut into the breading that covered the large green Poblano pepper.
He took one bite. That was enough.
“¡Muy caliente!”
Aunt Anglina quickly handed him a large glass of ice water. He drank it all. Sr. Vasquez passed his glass of water to Miguel, too.
“Meego,” said Aunt Angelina, “Poblanos are some of the hottest peppers in the world.”
“All the grownups are eating Poblanos,” said Miguel.
“Meego, you have the rest of your life to grow up. Enjoy being a child.”
“But…”
“No buts about it.”
Aunt Angelina carefully separated the Poblano from the rest of the Chile Relleno. She moved the hot pepper to her plate. Miguel was careful to take small bites. The stuffing was made of. The breading reminded Miguel of fried chicken.
“Why don’t they just make Chile Rellenos like this?”
“There wouldn’t be any Chiles in the Rellenos.”
“That’s fine with me. Can you make me another?”
Aunt Angelina smiled as she cut away another Poblano and put it on her plate.
“There’s always time to grow up, Miguel,” said his mother, “let’s just not do it today, okay?”
“Okay.”
As everyone continued eating, Miguel looked over to his sister’s plate. She had only taken one bite of her Poblano, scooping out the good parts inside just like her little brother. Maybe he could grow up later after all.
The first thing that has to be explained to anyone who did not truly know Juñeta Vasquez was her nickname: ‘Tilde’.
Mexicans (or anyone else speaking Spanish) have a name for the little squiggle above the n for certain words like Mañana, Quinceañera, or even Juñeta. It was the tilde. Instead of rhyming manana with banana, they pronounce it mon-yah-nah. The tilde turned the n into a “nyah”, with a slight nasal sound.
Juñeta’s father gave her the nickname for two reasons. First, she had the tilde in her name. Secondly, she always wore her hair in a topknot – a ponytail fixed high on her head. The topknot reminded her father of a tilde.
The Next day went by very slowly for Junie.
The next day went by very slow for Junie. She could only think about one thing, and that was the Fiesta Quinceañera.
Normally, Junie waited for Miguel after school and walked home with him. When he exited the school, he did not see his big sister in her usual place. Instead, it was his mother.
“Where’s Junie?”
“She’s out with Aunt Angelina.”
“Why couldn’t I go?”
“They’re picking up her dress and getting her nails polished for her big day tomorrow. It’s girl stuff. You wouldn’t enjoy it.”
Miguel knew his mother was right. It was girl stuff. Still, he wanted to do something. When they arrived home, Sra. Vasquez went into the kitchen and began preparing dinner. Miguel joined her.
“Do you need any help?”
“I could always use help. I’m making Chile Relleno.”
“Stuffed chili peppers? That’s too hot!” said Miguel.
“I have leftover enchiladas for you,” replied mother.
Miguel groaned.
“I made these especially for your sister.”
Miguel did not like the fact Junie was getting everyone’s attention all of a sudden. He also wished he could be older, so he could have the freedom to do whatever he wanted.
Sra. Vasquez sliced the tops off the Poblano peppers. Meanwhile, Miguel mixed ground pork, cheese, nuts, and raisins in a bowl. When he finished, his mother stuffed the peppers. She dipped the peppers in egg yolks and then in corn flour. She repeated the process, covering each pepper in breading. Then, she placed them on a platter and set it in the refrigerator to wait for everyone’s arrival.
First to come home were Aunt Angelina and Junie.
“Where’s daddy?” asked Junie.
“He should’ve been home a while ago,” noted mother.
“I wanted to show him my Quinceanera dress.”
“He should be home any time now. Go ahead and model it for us.”
Juneta went to her bedroom and put on her dress. Afterwards, she returned to the living room where everyone waited. The dress looked as fancy as any wedding dress. It was white, just like a wedding dress, with light blue ribbons sewn into the lace. Junie also wore white satin gloves and heels.
She wore a tiara on the top of her head. It hid the topknot of her ponytail, with its glitter and rhinestones.
“¡Que Bonita! Don’t you think?”
Miguel shrugged.
“Meego!”
“She looks like one of her porcelain dolls.”
“That’s the point. This is one of the most important moments in a girl’s life.”
Miguel shrugged again.
“Don’t worry about him, this is what my boys do.”
Just then, Sr. Vasquez came in the front door.
“My dear queen Juneta!”
“Daddy!”
Junie gave her dad a bear hug.
“I’m so glad you got to see me in my new dress!”
“Me, too,” he replied, “Do I smell Chile Rellenos?”
Junie nodded.
“For your special dinner,” he added.
Junie went into her bedroom and changed back into a green t-shirt and blue jeans.
“That’s much better,” said Miguel.
“It is definitely more comfortable,” replied Juñeta.
“Now that you’re ready, let’s eat dinner before it gets cold.”
They took their usual places at the table. Also as usual, Sr. Vasquez led them in the Lord’s Prayer before they ate.
Everyone but Miguel had Chile Rellenos. After eating half an enchilada, Miguel stopped. He reached over to the platter full of Chiles and placed it on his plate.
“Are you sure you want to do that?” asked his mother.
Miguel nodded as he sliced the Chile Relleno into bite-sized pieces. He cut into the breading that covered the large green Poblano pepper.
He took one bite. That was enough.
“¡Muy caliente!”
Aunt Anglina quickly handed him a large glass of ice water. He drank it all. Sr. Vasquez passed his glass of water to Miguel, too.
“Meego,” said Aunt Angelina, “Poblanos are some of the hottest peppers in the world.”
“All the grownups are eating Poblanos,” said Miguel.
“Meego, you have the rest of your life to grow up. Enjoy being a child.”
“But…”
“No buts about it.”
Aunt Angelina carefully separated the Poblano from the rest of the Chile Relleno. She moved the hot pepper to her plate. Miguel was careful to take small bites. The stuffing was made of. The breading reminded Miguel of fried chicken.
“Why don’t they just make Chile Rellenos like this?”
“There wouldn’t be any Chiles in the Rellenos.”
“That’s fine with me. Can you make me another?”
Aunt Angelina smiled as she cut away another Poblano and put it on her plate.
“There’s always time to grow up, Miguel,” said his mother, “let’s just not do it today, okay?”
“Okay.”
As everyone continued eating, Miguel looked over to his sister’s plate. She had only taken one bite of her Poblano, scooping out the good parts inside just like her little brother. Maybe he could grow up later after all.
Los Bomberos
Whenever Senor Vasquez took a long trip without Miguel, he would always bring home a toy car. One of Miguel’s favorites was a large red fire truck. It was complete with hook and ladder.
Miguel settled himself upon the small circular carpet between his bed and dresser. He arranged building blocks to form city buildings and small homes. He also opened the dresser drawers to create balconies for an imaginary skyscraper.
He pushed the fire truck around the carpet, making siren sounds and honking the horn. He stopped the truck in front of the dresser, rescuing toy soldiers from the top of each dresser drawer.
“Meego?”
Miguel turned around. His sister Juneta stood in the doorway..
“Notice anything different about me?” she asked.
“Not really.”
“Today is my fifteenth birthday.”
“Oh. That’s right. Would you like to play ‘Bomberos’ with me?”
“I’m too old for toy trucks,” replied his sister.
“Nobody is too old for Bomberos,” said a voice from the hallway.
“Uncle Juan!” she exclaimed.
“Buenas Tardes, Junie!”
Most of Junie and Miguel’s relatives (including Uncle Juan) worked for the Mexico City Fire Department. In Mexico, firemen were called “Bomberos”. In fact, Sr. Vasquez was the only one of his brothers and sisters who was not a Bombero.
“Where is everyone else?” asked Juneta. She knew that wherever one Uncle or Aunt was, another was close by.
“Angelina and Andres are unloading the car.”
Juneta rushed out to meet them. Aunt Angelina was carrying a large cardboard box.
“What is this?”
“Junie, it’s a surprise,” said Aunt Angelina.
Juneta knew the box was for her Quinceanera. The fifteenth birthday was the most important birthday for any Mexican girl. She would receive a special dress and there would be a special ceremony at the church.
As Juneta tried spying on Angelina’s surpsise, her mother came up the stone path leading to their house.
“Leave her alone, Junie.”
“Mama…”
“You can help me,” she said.
Juneta grabbed one of the grocery bags from Sra. Vasquez’ arms. She looked inside.
“Tomatoes and chili peppers and tortillas. What are you making?”
“Since we have some very special visitors, I thought I’d make Bomberos.”
“Bomberos!” said Andres.
Bomberos was not only a nickname for firemen, but for a sauce that they used in enchiladas. Just like firemen inside a burning building, Bomberos were fiery and hot. Bomberos was Juneta’s favorite dinner. It was everyone elses, too.
As everyone came through the front door, Juan got up from his kneeling position beside Miguel.
“We’d better see if they need help,” said Uncle Juan.
Miguel groaned.
“We can always play later,” promised Uncle Juan.
Everyone was crowded into the kitchen. Sra. Vasquez had everyong doing something. Angelina and Juneta were cleaning vegetables while Andres sliced them. Even Sr. Vasquez was helping, slicing the chicken into small cutlets so his wife could cook them on the stove.
“Is there anything we can do to help?” asked Juan.
“You could set the table for me.”
“That’s woman’s work,” said Miguel.
“Meego!” exclaimed Angelina, “There is no such thing as woman’s work.”
“It would be our honor to set the table,” said Juan proudly.
Miguel followed Uncle Juan around the table, placing silverware around the dishes. Then, Aunt Angelina brought out the first platter. It was the grilled chicken. Miguel reached out for a piece.
“Be patient,” she said.
As each successive dish came out, they brought their own delicious smells. First it was the mint from the iced tea. Second were the soft tortillas. Third was the fried rice. Finally, mother came out with the Bombero sauce. With its hot chilis and green onions, the smell of the spicy Bombero sauce filled the air.
When everything was on the table, everyone took their place. Senora Vasquez led everyone in The Lord’s Prayer.
After the quietness of the prayer, everyone and everything began to move. From oldest to youngest, plates were passed to Sr. Vasquez. He filled everyone’s plates. It was not until Miguel received his plate that everyone ate.
Sr. Vasquez scooped chicken and rice into the soft flour tortilla. He added just a small amount of hot sauce before rolling it into a cylinder.
“That’s no Bombero! That’s an enchilada!” exclaimed Juneta.
“I know, but Bomberos are too spicy for Miguel.”
“Meego,” interrupted Aunt Angelina, “we made a second salsa, just for you.”
She passed a small bowl of salsa across the table. Miguel investigated it closely. There were tomatillos and corn, but no green peppers and no red chilis. Miguel dipped the edge of his fork into the salsa for a taste test. It was very mild. Miguel dipped a portion onto his enchilada and made himself an anti-Bombero.
“Bien?” asked his mother.
“Bien,” he replied.
As Miguel enjoyed his dinner, Junie thought about the Bomberos of the Vasquez family.
“Papa, if Angelina, Andres, and Juan are all firefighters, why aren’t you?”
“I never thought of becoming a firefighter,” he replied.
“The real question is why didn’t we become something else,” joked Angelina.
‘What do you mean?” asked Junie.
“About the time I was your age, I wanted to be a biologist, but was having trouble with my science classes in college. Uncle Andres was already a firefighter and Juan was studying to be a paramedic. I was helping him with his classes and that’s when I decided to become a paramedic, too.”
“Then why did you want to be a firefighter, Uncle Andres?”
“As far back as I can remember, I wanted to be a firefighter, just like my father. When I was a little kid, he’d come home some days and smell like charcoal and his face would be dirty. He was my hero.”
“I think he was a hero to all of us,” said Junie’s father.
Everyone nodded.
“Then you should have become a firefighter,” said Junie
“Not everyone wants to run into a burning building,” said Angelina.
“Some of us just want to build them,” said Sr. Vasquez with a chuckle.
Junie thought about it for a while as she finished her spicy enchilada.
“I wonder what I’ll be when I grow up.”
“You don’t have to worry about that for a little while,” said her father.
He said that, knowing it had all gone by very quickly. After dinner, all the Aunts and Uncles returned to the fire station.
Tomorrow, Junie would be fifteen and the day after that, she would be in church celebrating her Quinceanera. At bedtime, Sr. Vasquez tucked his little girl into bed. She still had every stuffed plush alligator he had brought her from his road trips. These were the same road trips where he bought toy cars for Miguel, too.
Junie reached up and kissed her father goodnight. After that, she tucked the largest of the alligators – the one she called Gus Gator – under her head.
“Suenos Amables,” said her father, which meant sweet dreams.
“Suenos Amables, Papa.”
Just like she had done a thousand times before, Juneta Vasquez used her furry little alligator as her bright green pillow.
And of course, all her dreams were sweet.
Miguel settled himself upon the small circular carpet between his bed and dresser. He arranged building blocks to form city buildings and small homes. He also opened the dresser drawers to create balconies for an imaginary skyscraper.
He pushed the fire truck around the carpet, making siren sounds and honking the horn. He stopped the truck in front of the dresser, rescuing toy soldiers from the top of each dresser drawer.
“Meego?”
Miguel turned around. His sister Juneta stood in the doorway..
“Notice anything different about me?” she asked.
“Not really.”
“Today is my fifteenth birthday.”
“Oh. That’s right. Would you like to play ‘Bomberos’ with me?”
“I’m too old for toy trucks,” replied his sister.
“Nobody is too old for Bomberos,” said a voice from the hallway.
“Uncle Juan!” she exclaimed.
“Buenas Tardes, Junie!”
Most of Junie and Miguel’s relatives (including Uncle Juan) worked for the Mexico City Fire Department. In Mexico, firemen were called “Bomberos”. In fact, Sr. Vasquez was the only one of his brothers and sisters who was not a Bombero.
“Where is everyone else?” asked Juneta. She knew that wherever one Uncle or Aunt was, another was close by.
“Angelina and Andres are unloading the car.”
Juneta rushed out to meet them. Aunt Angelina was carrying a large cardboard box.
“What is this?”
“Junie, it’s a surprise,” said Aunt Angelina.
Juneta knew the box was for her Quinceanera. The fifteenth birthday was the most important birthday for any Mexican girl. She would receive a special dress and there would be a special ceremony at the church.
As Juneta tried spying on Angelina’s surpsise, her mother came up the stone path leading to their house.
“Leave her alone, Junie.”
“Mama…”
“You can help me,” she said.
Juneta grabbed one of the grocery bags from Sra. Vasquez’ arms. She looked inside.
“Tomatoes and chili peppers and tortillas. What are you making?”
“Since we have some very special visitors, I thought I’d make Bomberos.”
“Bomberos!” said Andres.
Bomberos was not only a nickname for firemen, but for a sauce that they used in enchiladas. Just like firemen inside a burning building, Bomberos were fiery and hot. Bomberos was Juneta’s favorite dinner. It was everyone elses, too.
As everyone came through the front door, Juan got up from his kneeling position beside Miguel.
“We’d better see if they need help,” said Uncle Juan.
Miguel groaned.
“We can always play later,” promised Uncle Juan.
Everyone was crowded into the kitchen. Sra. Vasquez had everyong doing something. Angelina and Juneta were cleaning vegetables while Andres sliced them. Even Sr. Vasquez was helping, slicing the chicken into small cutlets so his wife could cook them on the stove.
“Is there anything we can do to help?” asked Juan.
“You could set the table for me.”
“That’s woman’s work,” said Miguel.
“Meego!” exclaimed Angelina, “There is no such thing as woman’s work.”
“It would be our honor to set the table,” said Juan proudly.
Miguel followed Uncle Juan around the table, placing silverware around the dishes. Then, Aunt Angelina brought out the first platter. It was the grilled chicken. Miguel reached out for a piece.
“Be patient,” she said.
As each successive dish came out, they brought their own delicious smells. First it was the mint from the iced tea. Second were the soft tortillas. Third was the fried rice. Finally, mother came out with the Bombero sauce. With its hot chilis and green onions, the smell of the spicy Bombero sauce filled the air.
When everything was on the table, everyone took their place. Senora Vasquez led everyone in The Lord’s Prayer.
After the quietness of the prayer, everyone and everything began to move. From oldest to youngest, plates were passed to Sr. Vasquez. He filled everyone’s plates. It was not until Miguel received his plate that everyone ate.
Sr. Vasquez scooped chicken and rice into the soft flour tortilla. He added just a small amount of hot sauce before rolling it into a cylinder.
“That’s no Bombero! That’s an enchilada!” exclaimed Juneta.
“I know, but Bomberos are too spicy for Miguel.”
“Meego,” interrupted Aunt Angelina, “we made a second salsa, just for you.”
She passed a small bowl of salsa across the table. Miguel investigated it closely. There were tomatillos and corn, but no green peppers and no red chilis. Miguel dipped the edge of his fork into the salsa for a taste test. It was very mild. Miguel dipped a portion onto his enchilada and made himself an anti-Bombero.
“Bien?” asked his mother.
“Bien,” he replied.
As Miguel enjoyed his dinner, Junie thought about the Bomberos of the Vasquez family.
“Papa, if Angelina, Andres, and Juan are all firefighters, why aren’t you?”
“I never thought of becoming a firefighter,” he replied.
“The real question is why didn’t we become something else,” joked Angelina.
‘What do you mean?” asked Junie.
“About the time I was your age, I wanted to be a biologist, but was having trouble with my science classes in college. Uncle Andres was already a firefighter and Juan was studying to be a paramedic. I was helping him with his classes and that’s when I decided to become a paramedic, too.”
“Then why did you want to be a firefighter, Uncle Andres?”
“As far back as I can remember, I wanted to be a firefighter, just like my father. When I was a little kid, he’d come home some days and smell like charcoal and his face would be dirty. He was my hero.”
“I think he was a hero to all of us,” said Junie’s father.
Everyone nodded.
“Then you should have become a firefighter,” said Junie
“Not everyone wants to run into a burning building,” said Angelina.
“Some of us just want to build them,” said Sr. Vasquez with a chuckle.
Junie thought about it for a while as she finished her spicy enchilada.
“I wonder what I’ll be when I grow up.”
“You don’t have to worry about that for a little while,” said her father.
He said that, knowing it had all gone by very quickly. After dinner, all the Aunts and Uncles returned to the fire station.
Tomorrow, Junie would be fifteen and the day after that, she would be in church celebrating her Quinceanera. At bedtime, Sr. Vasquez tucked his little girl into bed. She still had every stuffed plush alligator he had brought her from his road trips. These were the same road trips where he bought toy cars for Miguel, too.
Junie reached up and kissed her father goodnight. After that, she tucked the largest of the alligators – the one she called Gus Gator – under her head.
“Suenos Amables,” said her father, which meant sweet dreams.
“Suenos Amables, Papa.”
Just like she had done a thousand times before, Juneta Vasquez used her furry little alligator as her bright green pillow.
And of course, all her dreams were sweet.
Reinventing the Ball Court
After breakfast, Miguel and his father hurried across the street, returning to the place they were before. They walked up the steps of the old city building and entered. They rode one of the elevators to the top floor.
“I’m pretty sure the Aztecs didn’t make these,” said Miguel.
“I suppose not,” chuckled his father.
The city planner, who was waiting in the lobby, greeted Miguel and his father and led them to his office. He was tall and lean, just like Miguel’s father.
The city planner sat behind his desk while Miguel and his father sat across from him. The office walls were old and outdated. The furniture, including Miguel’s chair, was fancy and new. Miguel bounced slightly on the chair cushion until his father reached over to stop him.
“He’s alright,” said the city planner.
“I was just noticing that everything in Mexico City is either really old or really new,” said Miguel.
“If it wasn’t, I probably wouldn’t have a job,” laughed the city planner. Miguel’s father laughed, too.
“What do you mean?”
“Mexico City is one of the oldest cities in the world. It has survived although some of its buildings have not.”
The city planner pointed to the painting hanging on the wall.
“A long time ago, this was Tenochitlan, the city of the Aztecs. It was a magnificent city, built by the city planners over one thousand years ago.”
The picture showed several pyramid-shaped temples standing in the middle of a lake.
“What is all this water?” asked Miguel.
“Mexico City was once surrounded by five lakes. In fact, it stood in the middle of Lake Texcoco.”
“Why would you choose to build a city in the middle of a lake?”
“The Aztecs didn’t choose Tenochitlan. It was chosen for them. Originally, the Aztecs served as slaves under the Toltecs.
“What are Toltecs?” asked Miguel.
“They were another tribe that lived in the hilltops and mountains. Lake Texcoco offered protection from attackers. It supplied water to the Aztecs. It also allowed the Kingdom to be set apart from the rest of the village. In fact, when Spanish explorers came to Tenochitlan, they reported to their king that Tenochitlan was so beautifully crafted that some thought it was a dream.”
“Where is it now?”
“Most of it is gone. Natural forces destroyed some, while man destroyed the rest.”
“You’re going to build on top of it?” asked Miguel.
“That’s why your father is here. We’re going to make sure we preserve the old sites.”
The city planner rolled the blueprints and placed them in the cylinder.
“Let’s head over to the site now,” he said.
Miguel followed the men as they took the elevator to the garage. Miguel watched as they passed the buildings, old and new, on their way to the site.
An open lot stretched one hundred meters in both directions. On either side of the lot stood two stone walls. As the city planner parked the truck, Miguel rushed toward the walls.
Carvings of alligators were etched into the upper edge of each wall. A large ring protruded from the top of each wall. It, too, was made of carved stone. Instead of alligators, the ring featured a snake, encircling the ring, eating its own tail.
“What is this?”
“This is the ball court. When this was Tenochitlan, the Aztecs played a game where the object was to put a rubber ball through this ring.”
Miguel snatched a rock from the ground and tossed it at the ring. It completely missed.
“Like basketball?”
“In a way, but they could not touch the ball with their hands.”
“So they kicked it?”
“They could also use their hips, head and elbows.”
“Like football,” replied Miguel.
“Also, the ball could never touch the ground.”
“That sounds impossible.”
“Nothing is impossible,” replied the city planner, “But I suppose it took great patience and skill.”
Miguel practiced kicking rocks toward the stone ring while his father walked through the lot with the city planner. They walked through the entire lot, returning a short while later.
“Having any luck?” the city planner asked Miguel, who was still kicking rocks towards the stone ring.
“Not at all.”
Maybe one day,” said the planner.
“I don’t know,” he sighed.
“You’ll have plenty of time to practice,” said his father. We’ll be building here for quite some time.”
“What are you building?”
“This is an important historic site for Mexico City. The city officials decided to build a city center here, where people could gather. There will be space for a basketball court, too. Shops and stores will surround the sports arena. Still, the old ball court will remain intact, with a stone sidewalk to accompany the old walls of the ball court,” said the city planner.
“Artists will also create sculptures and murals,” added Sr. Vasquez, “depicting the sports of the Ancient Aztecs and the modern Mexicans.”
“What does that have to do with your company?”
“I’ve designed a large building to sit at the far end of the ball court. It will be the largest car factory in all of Mexico.”
Miguel looked at the far end of the court.
“It’s getting late,” said Miguel’s father.
“We’re finished already?”
“Far from it.”
“When will the building be finished?”
“That will come later,” said the city planner, “first, we have to talk to other important people. For now, we wait.”
After tie city planner drove Miguel and his father back to the garage, they parted ways. As they rode home, Miguel carefully removed the blueprints from the cardboard cylinder and investigated them.
He imagined backhoes and bulldozers moving piles of earth while workmen constructed giant buildings just like the ones in downtown Mexico City.
As soon as they arrived at home, Miguel tucked the blueprints into the cylinder. He carried them for his father, placing them in his drawing room.
“All in all, that was a good day,” he said to his father.
“I think you’re right. I’m going to do some work. Will that be alright?”
Miguel nodded. “I’ll play with my toy cars until everyone gets home.”
“That sounds like a good idea.”
It was a good idea, because it was one of Miguel’s favorite things to do. He went to his bedroom.
He pulled a tiny brown briefcase from beneath his bed. Its contents clanked and rattled. When he pressed the two brass knobs on either side of the leather handle, the fasteners clicked. He opened the lid to reveal an assortment of cars inside.
Now, it was time to plan and build his very own imaginary city.
“I’m pretty sure the Aztecs didn’t make these,” said Miguel.
“I suppose not,” chuckled his father.
The city planner, who was waiting in the lobby, greeted Miguel and his father and led them to his office. He was tall and lean, just like Miguel’s father.
The city planner sat behind his desk while Miguel and his father sat across from him. The office walls were old and outdated. The furniture, including Miguel’s chair, was fancy and new. Miguel bounced slightly on the chair cushion until his father reached over to stop him.
“He’s alright,” said the city planner.
“I was just noticing that everything in Mexico City is either really old or really new,” said Miguel.
“If it wasn’t, I probably wouldn’t have a job,” laughed the city planner. Miguel’s father laughed, too.
“What do you mean?”
“Mexico City is one of the oldest cities in the world. It has survived although some of its buildings have not.”
The city planner pointed to the painting hanging on the wall.
“A long time ago, this was Tenochitlan, the city of the Aztecs. It was a magnificent city, built by the city planners over one thousand years ago.”
The picture showed several pyramid-shaped temples standing in the middle of a lake.
“What is all this water?” asked Miguel.
“Mexico City was once surrounded by five lakes. In fact, it stood in the middle of Lake Texcoco.”
“Why would you choose to build a city in the middle of a lake?”
“The Aztecs didn’t choose Tenochitlan. It was chosen for them. Originally, the Aztecs served as slaves under the Toltecs.
“What are Toltecs?” asked Miguel.
“They were another tribe that lived in the hilltops and mountains. Lake Texcoco offered protection from attackers. It supplied water to the Aztecs. It also allowed the Kingdom to be set apart from the rest of the village. In fact, when Spanish explorers came to Tenochitlan, they reported to their king that Tenochitlan was so beautifully crafted that some thought it was a dream.”
“Where is it now?”
“Most of it is gone. Natural forces destroyed some, while man destroyed the rest.”
“You’re going to build on top of it?” asked Miguel.
“That’s why your father is here. We’re going to make sure we preserve the old sites.”
The city planner rolled the blueprints and placed them in the cylinder.
“Let’s head over to the site now,” he said.
Miguel followed the men as they took the elevator to the garage. Miguel watched as they passed the buildings, old and new, on their way to the site.
An open lot stretched one hundred meters in both directions. On either side of the lot stood two stone walls. As the city planner parked the truck, Miguel rushed toward the walls.
Carvings of alligators were etched into the upper edge of each wall. A large ring protruded from the top of each wall. It, too, was made of carved stone. Instead of alligators, the ring featured a snake, encircling the ring, eating its own tail.
“What is this?”
“This is the ball court. When this was Tenochitlan, the Aztecs played a game where the object was to put a rubber ball through this ring.”
Miguel snatched a rock from the ground and tossed it at the ring. It completely missed.
“Like basketball?”
“In a way, but they could not touch the ball with their hands.”
“So they kicked it?”
“They could also use their hips, head and elbows.”
“Like football,” replied Miguel.
“Also, the ball could never touch the ground.”
“That sounds impossible.”
“Nothing is impossible,” replied the city planner, “But I suppose it took great patience and skill.”
Miguel practiced kicking rocks toward the stone ring while his father walked through the lot with the city planner. They walked through the entire lot, returning a short while later.
“Having any luck?” the city planner asked Miguel, who was still kicking rocks towards the stone ring.
“Not at all.”
Maybe one day,” said the planner.
“I don’t know,” he sighed.
“You’ll have plenty of time to practice,” said his father. We’ll be building here for quite some time.”
“What are you building?”
“This is an important historic site for Mexico City. The city officials decided to build a city center here, where people could gather. There will be space for a basketball court, too. Shops and stores will surround the sports arena. Still, the old ball court will remain intact, with a stone sidewalk to accompany the old walls of the ball court,” said the city planner.
“Artists will also create sculptures and murals,” added Sr. Vasquez, “depicting the sports of the Ancient Aztecs and the modern Mexicans.”
“What does that have to do with your company?”
“I’ve designed a large building to sit at the far end of the ball court. It will be the largest car factory in all of Mexico.”
Miguel looked at the far end of the court.
“It’s getting late,” said Miguel’s father.
“We’re finished already?”
“Far from it.”
“When will the building be finished?”
“That will come later,” said the city planner, “first, we have to talk to other important people. For now, we wait.”
After tie city planner drove Miguel and his father back to the garage, they parted ways. As they rode home, Miguel carefully removed the blueprints from the cardboard cylinder and investigated them.
He imagined backhoes and bulldozers moving piles of earth while workmen constructed giant buildings just like the ones in downtown Mexico City.
As soon as they arrived at home, Miguel tucked the blueprints into the cylinder. He carried them for his father, placing them in his drawing room.
“All in all, that was a good day,” he said to his father.
“I think you’re right. I’m going to do some work. Will that be alright?”
Miguel nodded. “I’ll play with my toy cars until everyone gets home.”
“That sounds like a good idea.”
It was a good idea, because it was one of Miguel’s favorite things to do. He went to his bedroom.
He pulled a tiny brown briefcase from beneath his bed. Its contents clanked and rattled. When he pressed the two brass knobs on either side of the leather handle, the fasteners clicked. He opened the lid to reveal an assortment of cars inside.
Now, it was time to plan and build his very own imaginary city.
Life by Chocolate
Just like any other Monday morning, the streets of Mexico City were coming to life. Little Miguel Santos walked rapidly beside his father, whose legs were long and lean. For every step Señor Santos took, Miguel took three.
Still, Miguel managed to keep up. He also managed to look at the old Spanish buildings towering around him. Ornate columns, carefully carved anywhere from five to ten centuries ago, stood tens of meters high. They shouldered the weight of old cathedrals, palaces, and skyscrapers.
Miguel and his father took the diagonal crosswalk across the busy avenue to a cafe on the opposite corner. The cafe itself was located in a row of newly built stores. Old wooden chairs gathered around fancy metal tables in front of a large curved window. It was a splendid mix of old and new. Red letters painted on the window spelled out what was inside: Churreria.
People waited in line for breakfast. Mr. Santos ordered a coffee and a churro while Miguel ordered a hot chocolate and a buñuelo. One server made Senor Santos’ coffee. Another made Miguel’s hot chocolate. She simmered milk in a saucepan until it frothed. She added chocolate syrup, stirring until the liquid was dark brown. When it was ready, she poured it into a tall glass, adding a squirt of whipped cream on top.
“Muchas gracias,” said Miguel.
“De nada,” she replied as she added the final touches on top: sprinkles of nutmeg, grated orange peel, and a cinnamon stick to stir it all.
After Sr. Santos paid for their order, Miguel started for the front door.
“Donde va?” asked father.
Miguel pointed to the front patio. His father motioned toward the patio in the back.
“Viene con mio,” said father: ‘Come with me.’
They walked through a long hallway to the back door. It overlooked an open garden patio. The brick-paved steps led down to a winding path. Twists of tree branches and palm leaves leaned over the path, obscuring Miguel’s view. Beyond the trees, he could hear a crowd of people chatting.
The garden patio sitting at the end of the path was filled with people drinking chocolate drinks and coffee, just like Miguel and his father.
Senor Santos chose an empty table. Miguel sat next to him.
“Are these cocoa trees?” asked Miguel.
Sr. Santos nodded. “See the cacao pods hanging from the trees?”
Miguel nodded.
“That’s where the cocoa in your hot chocolate comes from.”
Miguel leaned back in his chair, grasping the giant cocoa pod in his hands. It was over ten centimeters long.
“It couldn’t possibly come from this.”
“It’s filled with cocoa beans,” he said as he thumped the pod with his hand.
“That couldn’t be,” said Miguel.
Senor Santos waved at one of the waitresses.
“Please tell my boy that this is full of cocoa beans.”
“It sure is.”
“You’re just saying that,” replied Miguel.
“Wait here,” she said.
The waitress disappeared for a moment, returning with the owner. He carried a large machete in his hand. He plucked the giant yellow pod from the tree. Everyone in the garden patio grew quiet as they turned their attention to Miguel’s table.
“Let me show you where cocoa comes from,” said the owner.
He held the yellow seedpod at arm’s lengh. With one quick chop, he sliced the seedpod in half. The inside of the pod was filled with creamy white bulbs, which looked more like hard cotton balls than cocoa beans. The owner scooped a handful and rubbed the outer shell of the beans.
“Here’s your cocoa!”
He held a small brown bean in his hand.
“I don’t believe it!” exclaimed Miguel.
“Try it,” he said.
Miguel grabbed the bean in his hand. It was not what he expected. He took a bite off one corner. The taste was not what he had expected, either.
“It tastes like cocoa powder.”
“Chocolate comes from cocoa powder,” he said.
The owner continued rubbing the outer shell off each bean and handing them to the customers, who were already gathered around Miguel’s table.
“Cocoa is one of Mexico’s greatest treasures,” said the owner, “In fact, the Aztecs would trade the beans for valued goods. When the Spanish came to Mexico, they had never seen or tasted cocoa before. It was the Emperor Montezuma who introduced chocolate to the Spanish, who took it back to Europe. It helped build Mexico City.”
“Why doesn’t it taste like chocolate syrup?”
“It’s a very different process making chocolate. Originally, chocolate was just the drink the Aztecs made, not the candy. They added water, milk, and sugar to ground cocoa beans and warmed it over a fire to bring out the natural cocoa flavors. It wasn’t until much later that chocolate was refined and made into candy bars. That’s the contribution the Europeans made to our chocolate.”
“Why do you say our chocolate?” asked Miguel.
“It’s our chocolate because you cannot grow cocoa trees in Spain. In fact, the best place to grow cocoa trees is within the tropic zone, between the Tropic of Cancer and Tropic of Capricorn, closer to the Equator.”
After the owner passed out all the seeds in the seedpod, he pulled a small chocolate bar from his pocket, handing it to Miguel.
“For me?”
“Of course, but before you take your first bite, read the label on the back. Chocolate bars. This is their chocolate.”
“How is it made?”
“First, they remove the shells, just like I did. Then, they often sit the beans in the sun, to help them get a richer flavor.”
The owner sliced open another cocoa pod. He rubbed the white outer layer off each bean and placed them on the table until he was finished cleaning every bean. He then pressed the flat edge of his machete against the beans, cruching them into small pieces.
“Do you want some nibs?”
Miguel nodded. He took a small handful and picked through the pieces. Each bite tasted like concentrated cocoa powder. He folded the aluminum foil back into place on the chocolate bar and placed it in his pocket. He took his handful of nibs and placed them in his other pocket.
“These nibs are laid out in the sunshine to enhance their flavor. Some chocolatiers will then put the cocoa beans into a cocoa press. It extrudes all the cocoa butter from the bean. The remainder is often used for powder. The cocoa butter, however, is combined with sugar and milk to make white chocolate. Sometimes, the cocoa powder is re-introduced to make milk chocolate.”
“That seems like a lot of work,” said Miguel.
“Good chocolate takes good work,” said the owner, “It’s why the Spanish were excited by the Aztec’s gift. The cocoa bean is what one of the things that helped build Mexico City.”
“Speaking of building Mexico City,” said Senor Santos, “We’ve got to get to the Government Building to file these blueprints with the city planner. Then, we’re off to the work site.”
Today, Miguel’s father was helping to build Mexico City in another way. He was the chief engineer for a Mexican automaker. He was, responsible for building new factories and launching new dealerships.
“Can I see the blueprints?” asked Miguel.
“You can see them at the city planner’s office.”
“Why do you have to file this with the city planner?”
“We’re building on a historical site, so we have to be careful to follow certain guidelines. We can‘t dig in certain places. There are underground tunnels and structures from previous civilizations.”
“Like Aztec ruins?”
“Among others,” replied his father.
Senor Santos finished his coffee and thanked the owner.
“Where are we going now?” asked Miguel.
Sr. Santos pointed through the canopy of cocoa leaves to the building overlooking the coffee shop. It was the same old building that towered over them earlier that morning. Miguel finished his chocolate drink and his bunelo, the crispy round doughnut that started his day.
Now, he was ready for work. Senor Santos looked at his watch. He was ready, too. Soon, they would take another step in rebuilding the city.
Still, Miguel managed to keep up. He also managed to look at the old Spanish buildings towering around him. Ornate columns, carefully carved anywhere from five to ten centuries ago, stood tens of meters high. They shouldered the weight of old cathedrals, palaces, and skyscrapers.
Miguel and his father took the diagonal crosswalk across the busy avenue to a cafe on the opposite corner. The cafe itself was located in a row of newly built stores. Old wooden chairs gathered around fancy metal tables in front of a large curved window. It was a splendid mix of old and new. Red letters painted on the window spelled out what was inside: Churreria.
People waited in line for breakfast. Mr. Santos ordered a coffee and a churro while Miguel ordered a hot chocolate and a buñuelo. One server made Senor Santos’ coffee. Another made Miguel’s hot chocolate. She simmered milk in a saucepan until it frothed. She added chocolate syrup, stirring until the liquid was dark brown. When it was ready, she poured it into a tall glass, adding a squirt of whipped cream on top.
“Muchas gracias,” said Miguel.
“De nada,” she replied as she added the final touches on top: sprinkles of nutmeg, grated orange peel, and a cinnamon stick to stir it all.
After Sr. Santos paid for their order, Miguel started for the front door.
“Donde va?” asked father.
Miguel pointed to the front patio. His father motioned toward the patio in the back.
“Viene con mio,” said father: ‘Come with me.’
They walked through a long hallway to the back door. It overlooked an open garden patio. The brick-paved steps led down to a winding path. Twists of tree branches and palm leaves leaned over the path, obscuring Miguel’s view. Beyond the trees, he could hear a crowd of people chatting.
The garden patio sitting at the end of the path was filled with people drinking chocolate drinks and coffee, just like Miguel and his father.
Senor Santos chose an empty table. Miguel sat next to him.
“Are these cocoa trees?” asked Miguel.
Sr. Santos nodded. “See the cacao pods hanging from the trees?”
Miguel nodded.
“That’s where the cocoa in your hot chocolate comes from.”
Miguel leaned back in his chair, grasping the giant cocoa pod in his hands. It was over ten centimeters long.
“It couldn’t possibly come from this.”
“It’s filled with cocoa beans,” he said as he thumped the pod with his hand.
“That couldn’t be,” said Miguel.
Senor Santos waved at one of the waitresses.
“Please tell my boy that this is full of cocoa beans.”
“It sure is.”
“You’re just saying that,” replied Miguel.
“Wait here,” she said.
The waitress disappeared for a moment, returning with the owner. He carried a large machete in his hand. He plucked the giant yellow pod from the tree. Everyone in the garden patio grew quiet as they turned their attention to Miguel’s table.
“Let me show you where cocoa comes from,” said the owner.
He held the yellow seedpod at arm’s lengh. With one quick chop, he sliced the seedpod in half. The inside of the pod was filled with creamy white bulbs, which looked more like hard cotton balls than cocoa beans. The owner scooped a handful and rubbed the outer shell of the beans.
“Here’s your cocoa!”
He held a small brown bean in his hand.
“I don’t believe it!” exclaimed Miguel.
“Try it,” he said.
Miguel grabbed the bean in his hand. It was not what he expected. He took a bite off one corner. The taste was not what he had expected, either.
“It tastes like cocoa powder.”
“Chocolate comes from cocoa powder,” he said.
The owner continued rubbing the outer shell off each bean and handing them to the customers, who were already gathered around Miguel’s table.
“Cocoa is one of Mexico’s greatest treasures,” said the owner, “In fact, the Aztecs would trade the beans for valued goods. When the Spanish came to Mexico, they had never seen or tasted cocoa before. It was the Emperor Montezuma who introduced chocolate to the Spanish, who took it back to Europe. It helped build Mexico City.”
“Why doesn’t it taste like chocolate syrup?”
“It’s a very different process making chocolate. Originally, chocolate was just the drink the Aztecs made, not the candy. They added water, milk, and sugar to ground cocoa beans and warmed it over a fire to bring out the natural cocoa flavors. It wasn’t until much later that chocolate was refined and made into candy bars. That’s the contribution the Europeans made to our chocolate.”
“Why do you say our chocolate?” asked Miguel.
“It’s our chocolate because you cannot grow cocoa trees in Spain. In fact, the best place to grow cocoa trees is within the tropic zone, between the Tropic of Cancer and Tropic of Capricorn, closer to the Equator.”
After the owner passed out all the seeds in the seedpod, he pulled a small chocolate bar from his pocket, handing it to Miguel.
“For me?”
“Of course, but before you take your first bite, read the label on the back. Chocolate bars. This is their chocolate.”
“How is it made?”
“First, they remove the shells, just like I did. Then, they often sit the beans in the sun, to help them get a richer flavor.”
The owner sliced open another cocoa pod. He rubbed the white outer layer off each bean and placed them on the table until he was finished cleaning every bean. He then pressed the flat edge of his machete against the beans, cruching them into small pieces.
“Do you want some nibs?”
Miguel nodded. He took a small handful and picked through the pieces. Each bite tasted like concentrated cocoa powder. He folded the aluminum foil back into place on the chocolate bar and placed it in his pocket. He took his handful of nibs and placed them in his other pocket.
“These nibs are laid out in the sunshine to enhance their flavor. Some chocolatiers will then put the cocoa beans into a cocoa press. It extrudes all the cocoa butter from the bean. The remainder is often used for powder. The cocoa butter, however, is combined with sugar and milk to make white chocolate. Sometimes, the cocoa powder is re-introduced to make milk chocolate.”
“That seems like a lot of work,” said Miguel.
“Good chocolate takes good work,” said the owner, “It’s why the Spanish were excited by the Aztec’s gift. The cocoa bean is what one of the things that helped build Mexico City.”
“Speaking of building Mexico City,” said Senor Santos, “We’ve got to get to the Government Building to file these blueprints with the city planner. Then, we’re off to the work site.”
Today, Miguel’s father was helping to build Mexico City in another way. He was the chief engineer for a Mexican automaker. He was, responsible for building new factories and launching new dealerships.
“Can I see the blueprints?” asked Miguel.
“You can see them at the city planner’s office.”
“Why do you have to file this with the city planner?”
“We’re building on a historical site, so we have to be careful to follow certain guidelines. We can‘t dig in certain places. There are underground tunnels and structures from previous civilizations.”
“Like Aztec ruins?”
“Among others,” replied his father.
Senor Santos finished his coffee and thanked the owner.
“Where are we going now?” asked Miguel.
Sr. Santos pointed through the canopy of cocoa leaves to the building overlooking the coffee shop. It was the same old building that towered over them earlier that morning. Miguel finished his chocolate drink and his bunelo, the crispy round doughnut that started his day.
Now, he was ready for work. Senor Santos looked at his watch. He was ready, too. Soon, they would take another step in rebuilding the city.
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