Looking out my Backdoor: Christmas, cookies and critters

Last year, I realized I had come to dread Christmas obligations. I like to give to others. But when it becomes an obligation, trying to find that just right small gift for the families on the Rancho, seemed overwhelming.

Years ago, my own children and I agreed to not give adult gifts, but to focus on their children.

Last year I told my neighbors here at the Rancho, that instead of joining the usual gift exchange, I would give a gift to a family in the community who had touched my heart. I told my friends I would wrap the gift with ribbons of thoughts for each one of them. So, don’t bring me a gift!

This year I did the same. I gave to a woman who needed clothing for her children. Then I expanded my scope to include the Old People’s Home. For those good folks and their (truly) loving staff, I baked 32 trays of cookies.

One day I mixed dough. The next day I baked — all day long. The next day I was too wiped out beat wasted tired to go with Leo to deliver bags and bags of cookies. “You go, tell me about it.”

Obviously I hadn’t thought through the process very well, just jumped in, just like I usually do. No regrets. Just a bit of chagrin.

Gifts are given, Christmas is upon us, each with our own memories of Christmas Past, hopes for Christmas Future and plans for Christmas Present.

Baking day heated my sieve of a brick-and-window casita to a cookie-steamed heaven. I like it hot. So did the Grand Poobah Daddy Scorpion who I found that night marching through my kitchen area toward my bedroom door.

“I don’t think so,” I said, grabbing the can of Raid. That knocked him wobbly. I will gladly escort spiders outdoors but have no Zen with scorpions. I happened to be wearing my Timberland boots, so I stomped him dead. It is not the scorpion I stomped who worries me. It is the scorpions I don’t see. I think about them in the dead of night.

It is winter. Creatures want their comfort just like I do. I get it.

A nice thing about Christmas week is the first day of winter. To me that means, now the days get longer. Longer in terms of daylight. Even here in Jalisco where there are only a couple hours difference between summer and winter light, I notice the difference.

Another critter, a welcome one, which comes into the house on a sporadic basis, is a fresh fig. My tree is a mere few months in the ground but she is giving me regular treats, like this one today. I’d never eaten a fresh fig until this year. My former association with figs was only in Newtons. It is a poor comparison, let me tell you.

When Lola and I walk, we pass a section of rock wall along the arroyo. On the other side of the wall, two horses and a mule line up to watch us. I think we are their entertainment. I used to pet Pretty Boy and give him a treat when I could but he pushed and pressed until he knocked through a section of wall.

Now we just look, nod, stop and talk. The mule is large and lovely but well-used. He has a scald mark on his back that makes me flinch. The little mare seems sweet and I want to treat these friends, but how?

Leo asked what food I wanted him to buy for the week. “None, Leo. I’m out of pesos for the month. I have eggs and beans and rice and potatoes and onions and everything in my garden. I am rich. No shopping this week.”

Nancie and Lani planned a special Christmas dinner for our community. I toted up the number of people and sent my regrets. I’m not ready for larger gatherings, even outdoors.

Clouds mar my Christmas. My daughter is home, isolated, with the latest variation of the COVID virus. My son is not well. I would love to be with them. I’m not ready to travel.

Unfortunately, COVID and other illnesses are on the high upswing here just as everywhere. Mexico has re-instituted mask requirements.

Outside my wall in the little seating area we built last year, I sit with one or two friends at a time. I share my garden bounty. My friends, my children, know I love them. I tell them.

To each and every one of you, with love from my heart, have a wonderful Christmas.

——

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].