Our three tables, on the patio

I slept hard Thanksgiving night, we all did.  After a long and satisfying day standing barefoot on terra cotta floor tiles cooking for our family and five guests, I was worn out.

It was a perfect day.  The skies were mayan blue overhead, the wind of the lake was “just enough,” and the Bella Donna trees began blooming again, as if on cue, decorating the garden with their enormous peach hued bells for the party.

This not being our first international Thanksgiving, the children had low expectations.  Imagine their delight when Hannah and I came off the boat with a REAL, WHOLE turkey, instead of dismembered parts we’ve made do with in the past, ACTUAL cranberry sauce (Ocean Spray, no less!) and even canned pumpkin for pies.  “This is going to be like a REAL Thanksgiving!” Elisha gushed.  The only thing that was a bust were the “sweet potatoes;” they weren’t, exactly.

While our friends posted to Facebook about snow and sleet across the northern tier of the United States, we cooked with the doors open, the children popped coffee pods and swam while the scent of roasting bird wafted across the newly mown grass.

Dinner

Thanksgiving is simply NOT Thanksgiving without guests, for us.  This year we were delighted to host our Irish friend, Mira, who celebrated her first North American Thanksgiving with great joy and a lot of questions, and our new friends Jeff & Wendy and their two kids.  We met them on the boat to San Pedro a few weeks ago and Darius, their three year old, informed me then that he was a “real super hero, I have a cape, but I can’t fly yet, I’m too young, I need some more super hero stuff tho, like ropes.”  He arrived sporting green spiked hair for the special occasion and was soon screaming through the garden and swinging on the vine with the boys.

It really was one of life’s perfect moments, to sit down on our patio at a table covered in a long length of mayan corte fabric in every color of the rainbow and give thanks for another year of life, the ability to live it our way, for old friends and new, for family far and near.  We ate and talked until the stars came out and then lit the candles in the fireplace and moved the party inside, away from the few mosquitos that find us at dusk.

I sipped my tea yesterday morning in the sun, basking in the after glow of a perfect day, savoring my slightly achy feet and wondering at the crazy tapestry of lives that gets woven around dinner tables the world over.

And then, the parade started.

First came two men, carrying an enormous blue enamel pot between them, the type I ALWAYS buy in Central America.  I can’t help it. I love them so much.  Then came an array of ladies carrying bundles on their heads, some boys with concrete blocks, a big foam cooler, and by this time the first fellows had started back up the hill for a second load.

“Hey guys! Come check this out!  There’s a parade in our yard!!” I hollered into the house.

Soon the kids were perched around the garden watching the show as the parade continued, soon a stereo was blasting the signature Latin beat and a young man with sparkly, coal black eyes appeared at the door to ask, “Can we borrow your grill?  We’re having a party today for the mayor!”  “Um, sure…” I responded while I reached around inside my brain for the words in Spanish to ask five of the ten questions that presented themselves, such as:

• Who are you?
• What’s the party for?
• Who is the mayor?
• How long are you staying?
• Why in our yard? (confirming our suspicion that our garden is the best waterfront in town!)

Two men took the enormous rectangular grill top between them and waddled down the path toward the lake where an older fellow was already fanning flames next to our path.

I shook my head.  Anyone with any sort of reverence for the idea of “personal property” would be sorely irritated to live here.

Before long there were ladies washing something in the yard faucet and I, fortified with a second cup of tea, headed out to find out what in the WORLD was going on in our yard.

The short version:  the entire staff of the local health center had descended to celebrate the end of their business year and honor the mayor for his support of health improvement in San Marcos.

Caldo Mariscos going together on our path

The ladies quickly included me in the cooking and chattered away about how to make caldo mariscos, explained that the fish were from the sea, not the lago and that they’d gone up to Quetzaltenango the day before to bring them back.

Caldo Mariscos (Seafood Soup)

Crabs, shrimp and mussels were boiling in the cheerful blue pot.  Hannah asked the ladies if the fish (32 of them) were going in, heads and all.  “Of course!  The heads are the richest part!” they responded, promptly dipping out broth and handing me a bowl to sip from.  “Mmmmm… muy sabroso…. VERY tasty.”

Before long the black eyed doctor handed us Cuba Libres and we were officially adopted into the party.  Everyone wanted their pictures taken with the gringos.  Hannah played her violin.  We ate big bowls of sea creature filled caldo, crunchy bits and all.

“Mom!  I just discovered something by accident!  Shrimp eyeballs are REALLY GOOD!” Announced Hannah.  Shudder.

We talked, we danced, we got to know our local policeman.  We visited with our gardener who was quite focused on keeping an eye on everyone and keeping them out of our house… until I told him I’d invited them to use the bano if they needed it.  Far better than the yard, I figured.

As I sat, stirring the fish pot and chatting with the ladies, explaining that the pumpkin pie I’d added to the table was left over from Thanksgiving the day before I had one of those rare moments of clarity.  The chief cook nodded, and said, “Yes! We all should have a day of Thanksgiving, there is much to be grateful to God for, this is another day to celebrate, once with your American friends, once with your Guatemalan friends!”

I smiled, all of the reasons we live life this way flashed before my eyes in a parade of Guatemalan faces, some chins drippy with crab parts, some old and wrinkly, asking me if I could please HUG him for the picture and then insisting that I dance with him on the shores of this beautiful lake.  There is MUCH to be thankful for.

In trade for partying in our yard, the doctors made a house call.  Ezra had perfect timing in producing the initial symptoms of a urinary tract infection.  A lovely young doctorette did an exam, prescribed an antibiotic and then headed back to her party.

The policeman in attendance cheerfully walked me into town and clear to the pharmacist’s house, insisting that she see me immediately and go into town to open the farmacia to fill my prescription.  45Q… five bucks… and she handed the prescription back, which I’ll fill again so that we have a spare.  Gotta love the third world.

The sun was setting behind the volcanos before the last of the inebriated health care professionals wobbled up the hill and the party dissolved.  Dr. Pablo flashed his perfectly straight teeth and repeated, as he hugged me goodbye for the fifth time, “I am sorry.  We are drunk.”  We all laughed.  Adang made the international sign for “crazy” behind his back.

It was a long night.  Ez isn’t feeling too great.  There was blood in his urine at midnight.  The antibiotics are making progress this morning and he’s doing much better.

I’m remembering Hilda kissing me on both cheeks and assuring me she’d be back to visit me someday in the morning.

I’m thinking about Mira, our Irish friend, who’s coming back to trade guitar lessons to Hannah for a vegetarian dinner.

I’m wondering when Jeff and Wendy will bring their little super hero back to grace my garden and share their little butterball baby, Caleb with my lap again.

As usual, I’m completely overwhelmed by God’s grace, and the wonderful serendipity laden life that we are so privileged to lead.  We miss you all dearly this time of year and wish out loud ten times a day for your company and to win the lottery so that we could fly you ALL to us… but we wouldn’t trade impromptu dances in our fairytale garden on the shores of this lake this winter for all of the tea in China… although, I could use another cup… I’m still tired.