Looking out my Backdoor: Breakfast at Calano's

Lani and I sneaked off to breakfast at Calano’s this Sunday morning. It is something we do now and then. We don’t go often, usually, like today, on a whim. If you don’t ride whims, you are missing out. I recommend jumping on every whim you possibly can.

Since Lani and I are the only full-timers here, over these few years we have developed a special friendship. This little outing has become a small enjoyment to which we look forward. It’s nothing special except that we make it special.

What a surprise to walk in the door at Calano’s and find that the owner has begun painting the walls, needed, yes, needed in this building, at least 300 years old, which has undergone many changes, many uses, different lives.

The restaurant is housed in an open courtyard, flanked by tables along the two roofed sides. An indoor eating area is situated along one end, kitchen on the other end. Potted plants fill the open space, with vignettes here and there, composed of antiques such as the cabinet record player from the ’40s and a telephone table with embroidered cloth and a Bakelite rotary telephone. Traditional Mexican music from a long past era greets us.

The menu is simple, food good and plentiful. I ordered my usual, huevos ala Mexicana con frijoles y tortillas. It’s a good day for comfort food.

It’s been a rough week. I lost another good friend, one of the best, to that Grim Reaper.

And Leo’s sister, a beautiful young woman whom I’ve come to know, is in bed with dengue fever, also known as break-bone fever, with good reason. There is no cure, no medicine to help. Tylenol, said the doctor. Amparo’s sister, husband, mother-in-law, and Leo are taking care of her and her two little girls. It’s a worry.

Lani and I ordered the special coffee. (You might liven up your Christmas morning coffee with cinnamon sticks and chocolate syrup. If you are of a mind, a splash of Kahlua would not go wrong.)

For us, Calano’s has become a place we unwind. When we walk in the door, we enter another dimension, much visited and comfortable.

Unlike places where Christmas décor and gift items show up on store displays in August, this week in Etzatlan heralds the beginning of the shopping frenzy. To me, it seems like Christmas in Mexico is more like the Christmas when I was a young child.

The tree with all the requisite glitter and glory takes pride of place in the gazebo in the center of the plaza with the tree lighting ceremony, Cathedral bells, civic speeches, just three days ago.

Beginning today, tables and booths of Christmas items line the plaza. Stands, tables and kiosks full of glittery treasures, seemingly by magic, appear in front of tiendas and in the parking spaces on the street.

Children hope for, expect one or two gifts, from Santa and Baby Jesus. One does not see wretched excess. Can you tell I’ve become a curmudgeon? Bah!

In my own yard, I have a tree shaped of interwoven vines with a star atop. I wrapped it with a swag of gold, hung red and blue globes, simple and rustic.

Christmas is important here in Mexico, a time for family, for celebrations. My cousin Nancie and I will go to Mass at the Cathedral, not Midnight Mass, but an earlier service, easier on our bones.

I had hoped to find a new hip in my Christmas stocking but it looks like a lump of coal. I’ve adjusted my hopes for a hip New Year.

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Sondra Ashton grew up in Harlem but spent most of her adult life out of state. She returned to see the Hi-Line with a perspective of delight. After several years back in Harlem, Ashton is seeking new experiences in Etzatlan, Mexico. Once a Montanan, always. Read Ashton’s essays and other work at http://montanatumbleweed.blogspot.com/. Email [email protected].