Morning Musings of Mexico City

Wind and rain lash my front window on this cold Seattle morning. I longed for days like this when I lived in Mexico City. Now I long for the dry warm air I once knew. I sit at my dining table in the dim light with coffee, pen and notebook, the large window framing the gray morning, watching a hummingbird land on the swinging feeder.

I scribble my morning musings of Mexico City. I left in 1984 and returned only once the following year. If not for the sore joints, gray hair and wrinkles, it would feel like yesterday. It was only five and a half years – a lifetime for a young woman seeking self.

I did not put up a Christmas tree this year, did not carefully unwrap each Mexican ornament – tiny painted gourds and straw miniatures of baskets, animals and stars, each with a length of bright red yarn. I miss that annual ritual of unwrapping and finding just the right spot on the tree, of carefully tying the red yarn, of remembering the markets of Mexico City where I selected each ornament.

I remember the poinsettia-filled roundabouts and medians of the major downtown streets and the neighborhood posadas, street re-enactments of the biblical Christmas story. I remember the scent of cinnamon and coffee, tortillas and tamales, spicy mole, steaming pozole and sweet atole. I stare at the Seattle rain remembering the sights and smells of Mexico City and know I will return.