Ciudadano Pueblerino

What exactly is a pueblo remains a difficult concept to explain to those who don't see it for themselves. A pueblo is a village, or a town, also, a people or the people. The word also carries with it a paradoxical sense of both pride and derision, depending on who's saying it. Well... apparently, I'm married to a pueblerino, and who knew!

Of course, the village in this case might look like downtown Boston, with more bullicio on the street, more lights, and more people. (This could be just a function ofsucky downtown Boston, though. I don't know.)

hanging out with assorted family members Christmas Day

But picture this. Every year since every year you remember, during the Christmas fiestas, you come down to the same plaza at the same time, to say hello to the same people, and find out who's gotten married, who's had a baby, who's died, and who's shacking up with a Cuban 20 years younger than them (true story). The bartenders all know you, so as you move from little bar to little bar (and in a single afternoon, expect to visit 5-6, taking in a zurrito, or a txikito in each one - that's a baby sized beer or wine), your drinks are served before you even arrive. You check out people's new kids, new cars, old scars, you comment on football, real estate, how your wife fell down the stairs and has a giant bruise on her ass (true story)... and at 3 o'clock, the village shuts down as everyone, including the bartenders, goes to celebrate the birth of Christ with family and lamb, first giant meal of maybe, six or seven for the next week.

You don't find this downtown Boston.

I'm overwhelmed by all the action, and the compelling nature of the custom. I guess, I'm an American. I get shuffled from class to class, school to school, rotation to rotation. I don't make life-long bonds. I have zero sense of community and a strong sense of personal space.

But there is something about this yearly routine, decade in, decade out... I might even be jealous.