Three November Fiestas

Birthday celebrations rarely mean much to me. When we hit decade birthdays, more hoopla invariably arises. Looking back, my fiftieth ranks as my favorite. Jeff’s and Sherry’s front page rendition of the Gazette-Times sports page has amused me and guests for years. Tom Marker’s ballad of Bruce exhibited way more familiarity than a youthful audience could endure. What a joy to have your friends bring to light your idiosyncrasies in such devastating fashion for others to enjoy. Having my birthday four days prior to my wife’s has enabled me to rarely forget hers.
In our early years of marriage basketball often overshadowed my rationality. Other than an elaborate fortieth birthday by surprising her with a trip to La Quinta for four days of sun and fun in a $1,000 a night resort, my efforts rarely dazzled her. If asked, I doubt she could have come up with a second best birthday while married.
Sharon’s birthday last week impressed even me. David and Pat Walker took center stage in the preparation for this. Pat’s birthday is the same as Sharon’s, and David loves a fiesta. The two women discussed the planning of food for weeks. Sharon spent hours preparing more food for her own birthday than she does for a traditional Thanksgiving dinner. Someone had taped announcements of the “November birthdays” in the elevators throughout the complex. Food poured into the palapa for the six PM tip off. Most of the snowbird owners arrive in late November for their four to six month stay. This turned out to be the opening evening event of the year.
The masses drank and chatted. Then we ate a wide variety of delicious delicacies. I love people who take great pride in the food that they share. Pat loves fireworks, so David did not disappoint her. We gathered around the beach while someone set off an impressive array. As the applause died down, Jaime waved three guitarists poolside to serenade Sharon and Pat, two of his favorite women. They played Mexican love songs for a spellbound audience for an hour. We danced some, but mostly we just watched in awe. I couldn’t help, but think of how impressed Tom Marker, my favorite gringo guitarist, would have been. These guys could play.

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Sharon and I approached Thanksgiving with much trepidation. We have spent so many warm, tasty, and wonderful evenings with our Corvallis friends and family that our hearts were heavy. Phoning family and friends before pursuing a curious evening helped. We succumbed to peer pressure at the palapa and signed up with a group of twenty-five who love Thanksgiving at Twisted Mama’s. We sat in plastic chairs in a parking lot (it is warm after all here) with sixty others. A three piece band did play music for us, and they knew their audience. 60’s and 70’s music had us naming groups and songs and tapping our toes.
After feasting with friends who know a thing or two about preparing a meal, the food could only be assessed as OK. Copious gravy couldn’t hide the hideousness of the stuffing. Not having leftovers for the rest of the weekend disappointed me the most.

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Yesterday, Jaime and his father invited seven of us from Paraiso to attend his father’s sixty-second birthday with his family at Loma Linda, the water park where Jaime’s parents live. Pat Walker didn’t feel well enough to attend, but David and his son Craig did. We drove Zinnie and Norm. The Walkers and Zinnie and Norm are the two couples who have lived the most months in Paraiso. Sharon and I felt honored. We had taken some pictures of Jaime’s family and purchased colorful frames for them. Jaime gave them to his father. I also had written a piece about Jaime that Jaime gave to his son to translate for his grandfather.
Jaime waited in the parking lot for us to arrive. He guided us to the festivities. Jaime’s dad hugged us, the men and the boys shook our hands, and the women kissed us. Then we were seated. Four tables with the proverbial plastic chairs awaited us. Jaime showed us our table, the gringo table. The women served us. Jaime wandered from table to table. Eventually, Zennie, who speaks Spanish, and Sharon, who doesn’t, joined several women and Jaime’s boys. I regaled the gringo men with my blather and tales, but I promised myself that I wouldn’t always be relegated to the gringo table. The invitation touched me. The elaborate and expensive invitation to attend Lupito’s brother’s ordination into priesthood in December moved me. But to truly enjoy this experience, I have to learn more Spanish. I have learned to ask questions. I just never understand their answers.