X-MAS MARKS THE SPOT
“The Beacon” held its nose and published my disagreeable report on the elections in Honduras. I hope that’s the last time I have to waste a whole CASA on politics!
https://www.stlbeacon.org/content/33900/voices_dulick_election_120213
In fact, “The Beacon” has joined St. Louis Public Radio News:
http://www.news.stlpublicradio.org
Christmas had us coming and going. And not just here in Honduras.
A week before Christmas, my sister Barb arrived home about 5:00 p.m., threw a big bag of Christmas presents and her even bigger purse on the couch, coaxed Jah the dog, blind and frail, out the door, and went for a walk. She returned to find her house lit up like a torch, in flames and smoke. Too shaken even to dial 911, she screamed it aloud, but the neighbors assured her they had already called. By the time a swarm of fire trucks arrived, it was already too late, so fast and furious was the blaze. In fact, things like her TV, computers, furniture, clothes didn’t just burn, they MELTED. A space heater with a thermostat might have been the culprit, but the house is old and every improvement project Barb would start got stalled by decayed and dangerous wiring.
About midnight, she texted me with the horrifying news, then added: “Well, I’ve been praying recently to find some way to simplify my life. Do you think God maybe misunderstood?” Even in a tragedy, she’s still Barb!
I wanted to drop everything and go up to St. Louis, though my last bank balance was $2.01 and my credit cards are stuffed tighter than a turkey, but Barb, longing for the time to sort things out, urged me to stay put, and just pray. At least one prayer had already been answered. Can you imagine if the fire had struck at night while Barb was asleep upstairs, or if she might have tried to put it out herself? A couple pet guinea pigs did not make it. “I keep thinking about those poor little guys,” Barb says. Thank God we’re not thinking about Barb for the same fate!
Her best friend Linda welcomed her to her apartment till the insurance company arranged rooms at a suite hotel (one that allowed dogs!). Our sister Nancy quickly joined her from Columbia, MO, and George, her favorite handyman, helped her pick through the rubble. Priceless photo albums were among the finds. And when her melted purse seemed a total loss, Barb’s friend Maria said, “Let’s cut it open.” Inside, like pearls in an oyster, were her wallet, credit cards, ID, license, etc., all perfectly intact.
I call Barb almost every day, and finally worked up enough courage to ask her if she had had any hopeful “signs” from our family in heaven. “Well...” Turns out our brothers’ ashes--John and Bob, who died last year--still in the plastic boxes from Ambruster Mortuary, had fallen off a shelf and fused together in one lump. You have to be flexible to see why that’s “positive”!
But the saddest picture from the fire was the front door, ruined and gaping, its antique leaded glass exploded, the door that welcomed everyone and anyone, the door we joked about forever because the key or keys almost never worked, if you could even find them hidden on the porch, now a door to nowhere. When I mentioned Christmas Midnight Mass at College Church, I could see Barb’s smile even through the phone. Silent night, holy night. But yoga sessions with Nancy are just as spiritual.
The next step is an apartment that insurance will pay for. Until the house can be redone. A daunting task. And get this, it’s a designated “historical district,” so everything has to be approved by “the committee.” The simplest thing might be if the ever-expanding Washington University would snatch up the property, as it has other real estate in the neighborhood.
There's bridal showers, baby showers, has anyone ever heard of a fire shower…?
Meanwhile, here in Las Vegas, little Mariana Teresa, named by mom and dad Maricela and Juan Blas for our sister Mary Anne, who died in 2009, celebrated her fourth birthday. Can we take that as a “sign”? More life! even if Carlota accidentally shortened her name to “Maria Teresa” on the cake.
Actually, her nickname is even shorter, Marite. Her big sister Milena had a celebration, too, graduating in Arts & Letters from a college in El Progreso. Maricela and Juan Blas invited us (Chemo and me) to the event, which I took as a “sign” to enhance the celebration, just as I had promised! I love to see education given such a priority against all odds. The church gave Milena, who wants to be a doctor, a scholarship. So, busfare and such, and a big lunch with her brother Manuel and family, who live in Progreso, at the “world famous” Las Tejas restaurant (“Your Place for Meat”) were the least I could do!
Graduations in Honduras are even more solemn than in the States, so I almost fell off my chair when “El Progreso’s Own” Victoria took the stage with a mini-concert of about 4 or 5 songs before they handed out the diplomas. It was as if Tina Turner showed up! “I never graduated from anything, but you kids are GREAT!” Most of the faculty sort of fidgeted, but when she got the music teacher up there with her for some wild moves, they brought down the house. I made a point of seeking out the Master of Ceremonies afterward to thank him for inviting her. He blushed.
We took advantage of the trip to El Progreso to see Teatro La Fragua’s signature production “Navidad Nuestra,” the Christmas story with a Honduran twist. They’ve been doing it for 30 years, but it’s as fresh, revolutionary, really, as Pope Francis’ latest call for the “Christian” church (you notice he doesn’t just say “Catholic” church) to return to its roots in poverty and service. Jack Warner, a Jesuit priest who started the Teatro, watches every performance as if it were the first; he must feel amazed to have at last a Pope who “gets it.” Maybe, just maybe, they can perform it for Francis when he visits Central America.
We got another invitation, this one from Carlos Ordonez, a young poet whose work I discovered in 2004 when he was just 20. His email address was inside and so I contacted him to congratulate him and invite him to Las Vegas. I never imagined he would accept, bringing two other poets with him. We had a “Noche Cultural” that included local poets of our own, especially Erlinda, and a tribute from Beto, who memorized one of Carlos’ poems that I taught him, since Beto is blind. Carlos was moved to tears. In fact, the theme of Carlos’ poetry, like his mentor Roberto Sosa is, you might say, the tears of the poor, as the title of his first book “Llanto Alrededor” (‘Grief Abiding’) suggests.
The new book would be launched in another “noche cultural” at the Cultural “Annex” of the Spanish embassy, no less, in Tegucigalpa. Carlos now makes films with his wife Ursula in Brasil, so this would be our only chance to see him till who knows when. The new book has the challenging title, “Disturbio,” prose-poems of pure imagery, words in a million colors. I suppose he is on the verge of international fame, but he greeted me and Chemo like family, and warmly introduced us to his mother and father as well as Ursula’s parents: “These are the friends I keep telling you about.” Chemo has watched Carlos’ documentary film about Brasil’s oldest poet, hardly an “action movie!” over and over. And Carlos also inscribed a copy of “Disturbio” to Angelica, who met him when he would pick us up for lunch at the Nanking Hotel, where she has her little candy stand out front.
The “Disturbance” of the title is our struggle to be ourselves, a meaningless pursuit without solidarity with the dispossessed.
Carlos’ vision comes from his tiny village Orocuina, folks like our own Celestino, who died a week before Christmas at the age of 99 (some say 100, some even more) in Paraiso, the “town between two rivers” that he founded with his wife Liandra next to Las Vegas. When I heard the news, I knew I had a great picture of him, but when I went searching for it, I was pleased to find it was one of the first pictures I took when I moved down here in 2003.
Here, Christmas Eve IS Christmas. That’s the tamales, that’s the visits, that’s the only Mass. So when I asked Godo, “Are we doing anything tomorrow?” he drew a blank. Then we remembered it was the finale of Celestino’s novenario. Perfect! Our Christ child would be a centenarian! The celebracion, some singing, some preaching, everyone a coffee and rolls, it was Paraiso’s Secret Santa. Martin, one of the grandchildren, said at one point, “I’ve been doing some figuring.” In his lifetime, Celestino and Liandra had 8 children (3 boys, 5 girls), 71 grandchildren, 241 great-grandchildren, 109 great-great-grandchildren, the latest Luis Fernando, born November 9. Abraham and Sarah, call your office! But even with this cloud of witnesses, Liandra grasped my hand as I was leaving. “Don’t stay away, I’m all alone now.”
May I say the same, to you. Stay close, in the New Year. Keep my sister even closer. Fires certainly do “simplify” things. At midnight January 1, we burned up 2013 in the form of a old dummy “ (‘Pichingo’) stuffed with firecrackers, at the soccer field. Bless you for giving us hope that 2014 will stay fresh all year!
P.S.: Let me add one more note from the November elections. Mel Zelaya, who still thinks his wife Xiomara won the presidency, accused another candidate Andres Pavon of selling his votes to the National Party candidate and official winner Juan Orlando Hernandez. Pavon politely asked Mel for proof, adding, “Lacking any forthcoming evidence, we must consider Mr. Zelaya’s accusations as ‘speculative’ in nature.” Have you ever heard a gentler accusation of “Liar!”?
Love, Miguel
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