by Ray Jason
It is Christmastime down here in the Banana
Latitudes. Far to the north in the
Frenzied Latitudes, the shoppers are body-slamming each other with vigor and
venom. In a little Panamanian town
square, I savor the sight of the Indio families in from the hills letting their
children marvel at the lights and the decorations. Compared to El Norte, it is all so calm and
unhurried and moderate. Surely gifts
will be exchanged on the big day, but there is none of the fevered gluttony for
stuff that soils the holidays in the First World.
As I leave the park to head back to
AVENTURA, a faint, sweet music whispers from the little chapel across the
street. I cross over and answer its
call. It is a choir of children
practicing Christmas carols. The beauty
and innocence on their faces is enough to inspire a Leonardo to reach for his
canvas and brushes. I am spellbound by
the sound of these old English folk songs exquisitely rendered in Spanish. Their last song is a playful version of “The
Twelve Days of Christmas.”
It is still joyously cascading in my
head when I step back aboard my lovely sailboat. Since eggnog is not available this close to
the Equator, I improvise and combine some warm milk with some Bailey’s Irish
Crème. It keeps my festive joy simmering;
and I settle in to ponder what “my true love might give to me.”
