Birthdays

Birthdays were not kept in Yucatan -- except for mine. All the other people celebrated namedays -- the day of the patron saint. Perhaps that is why my birthday came to be a kind of institution -- a yearly ritual looked forward to by dozens of children besides me.

To begin with it often fell in Lent, a season entirely bereft of amusements -- my birthday party being the only concession to frivolity. Then, in an effort to teach me to share things, my mother provided a handsome gift for each guest. Besides the gift there was also the excitement of a wonderful spread which included an English birthday cake (from the Army and Navy Stores) complete with almond icing and candles, also trays full of exquisite candies made in the Arrigunaga house by Yata who had been a nun before the closing of the convents.

My birthday was a complete holiday. I would wake up early, tingling with excitement and knowing that every moment of the day was to be my own. My mother's main present was generally a lovely medal or something else valuable and to be enjoyed for many years, but there were also minor gifts and always books. I trusted my mother implicitly when it came to books. She had very sound taste, especially in fairy tales and poetry and she knew how to choose books which led one on mentally, instead of leaving one to stagnate.

Fat packages from the aunts, May and Gertie, would also have to be opened. Aunt May had a delightful fancy, and her gifted fingers produced such charming objects as a tablecloth painted with nursery rhyme characters, and a book containing the adventures of me and Changuita, (my beloved ugly, stuffed monkey) portrayed in watercolors. This treasure book - alas - was lost in one of our many moves.

Breakfast and presents having been dealt with, I would accompany my mother to town. Tia Carlota was always enthroned in one of the bentwood rockers in the sala of my greatgrandfather's house, and would call one in to offer her felicitations, and to give me some trifle - generally a Chinese or Japanese teacup to add to my collection. I loved these cups, which were fragile and beautiful, and fired my imagination. Tia Felipa would also greet me and produce some family treasure from the slender hoard she kept locked in the big wardrobe in her room.

But the crowning visit was to the Arrigunaga house, that blissful spot which combined all the joys of home, menagerie, school and goodness knows what more. The girls would be in school -- but for Minta -- my beloved and dashing companion -- who would be waiting with her pretty frock done up in a paper parcel. We would drive home, our little tongues clacking.

Nena and Miss O'Brien would be at the Quinta waiting for us -- and then would come lunch, and play and a rushing to the door at every ring of the bell for gifts would arrive by messenger, as was the custom of Yucatan. Each year the Arrrigunagas would send a large tray covered with every kind of sweetmeat, white or shocking pink "diamonds" of coconut and sugar; balls of marzipan dipped into powdered cinnamon; meringues delicately flavored with lime, and beautiful "panetelas" coated in crisp white icing. One year a marzipan lamb, amazingly lifelike, lay on green tissue paper grass in the center of the tray and there were always little, bright birds of spun sugar.

From other sources would come flower strewn trays on which stood glass compotes of flan, that delicious caramel custard sweet of Yucatan and Cuba, or "panetelas" soaked in a heavy syrup of coconut milk and sherry; piles of fine fruit; light, prim bouquets of roses (very rare indeed in Yucatan at that time). For some reason my mother did not care for the idea of the flower-decked tray -- in her opinion plain tissue paper and pink or white baby ribbon sufficed. But I always felt there was something very festive about the gift hidden in a mound of flowers -- a touch of fairyland. When I was older I remember thinking how romantic it must be to receive a diamond and sapphire ring completely embowered in orange blossoms, as did one of my cousins on the eve of her marriage. Perhaps my mother was prejudiced because of the bother entailed in returning the tray and the crystal or silver container.

The swarm of children invading the dining-room soon demolished the delicacies on the table, and that was the moment for bringing on cutglass dishes full of sherbert. Ice cream was virtually unknown, as Yucatan's milk supply was almost nonexistent -- but the fruit sherberts were delicious, especially those made of coconut or tamarind.

The feast over, the children followed by nurses and maids, dashed to the garden, where my mother had prepared all kinds of games and "surprises". One year we had a huge "bran pie", a large wooden container filled with bran and packages -- for which we had to dig around. No one might look -- only feel -- and the largest package was not necessarily the most desirable! Another year there was a treasure hunt through the shrubberies; the gifts and toys were all charming -- and 60 years later I have come across some of them still treasured by the recipients.

By now, I am sure, mother must have been praying for the tropical evening to descend quickly and mercifully, and so it did! There was a great rounding up of youngsters by their respective grownups -- and an exodus to waiting carriages or to the trams -- and all of a sudden I was alone -- one more birthday became part of my life memories! On my seventh birthday this thought proved too much for me and I dashed back into the garden, to the goldfish pool, to try out a French "swimming" doll someone had given me. (This against orders from my mother to go to bed, as it was getting late). My governess found me out there, and brought me, kicking and screaming, into the house. My disgrace was witnessed by some "grownups", still lingering in the gallery, and dismissed as "too much birthday party".