Día del Patrimonio Cultural

There is a brass band playing outside. Enthusiastically, if slightly off-key. They are celebrating Día del Patrimonio Cultural de Chile, a nation-wide festival which lasts, not just one day, but all weekend to honor the different dimensions of cultural heritage in Chile.

In my neighborhood, the brass band is here in conjunction with the bomberos, the fire department. They play a song or two. Then, the bomberos release a stream of water from an antique steam-powered water canon, shooting it high into the air to entertain the cheering crowds.

I spoke with one of the bomberos, wearing his official company uniform which was festooned with medals. He explained to me that this engine was one of the first "fire trucks" in Santiago. It has been lovingly preserved and is used only for celebrations like this one.

When I first moved here, four years ago, a bombero approached me on the street. He had a clipboard and asked me to sign up to give a monthly donation to the fire department. In Chile, firemen are not paid. They are all volunteers.

I didn't know this at the time, and I was a little leery of signing up. "Let me think about it," I told him.

"If we get an alarm for your apartment, we're not going to think about it before we come to rescue you."

I signed up as a donor that day. Living only a block or two from the fire station, I hear the alarm at least once a day. Luckily, it's never rung for me.

~~Sally Rose
Author of Penny Possible & A Million Sticky Kisses
iamsallyrose.com

Buh-bye, 2014!

I'm all set. Tonight, I'll be wearing red for good luck, and I'll be burning a bayberry candle because it attracts prosperity. I plan to make lots of noise at midnight to welcome in the new year. Not sure exactly how I will accomplish this one without bothering my neighbors, but maybe they will be partying, too, happy to begin a new chapter, as I am.

If I were in Chile tonight, I might be wearing red underwear to attract a new love or yellow to attract prosperity. And if I wanted to attract both or just a prosperous lover, could I mix it up and wear orange undies for that?

To attract travel in 2015, I would take my suitcase out and make a midnight stroll around the block with it. Then, tomorrow, I would eat lentils for good luck. Here in the US, I will be eating black-eyed peas and cabbage for the same reason.

I've started on those pesky New Year's resolutions, too. Goals, intentions, whatever you call them. Top of the list is spending less time on "social media." You know what I'm talking about.

An inordinate amount of my day is spent scrolling through all the "stuff" that appears in my newsfeed. I enjoy seeing friends' photos or reading things they post, but it's like mining for nuggets of gold. I have to sift through all the inane things that people I have only met once or twice think is important enough or funny enough or witty enough to post on Wastebook. By the time I've reached the end, looking for posts from people I actually know, I have to start over again because there are 48 new posts to ferret through.

For me, it equals an enormous time drain. I'd quit using it altogether except that some of my friends use it instead of email. To stay in touch with them, I have to continue it, but I'm going to attempt the practically impossible--only doing one big "read" of it every day instead of scrolling endlessly.

Here's to spending less time on social media and more time being social in 2015. Cheers!

Happy New Year.

Happy anyway

The following is an except from my upcoming book, A Million Sticky Kisses.

"After school, I was invited to go with the chorus to the annual Christmas concert at a nearby cathedral. Students from each of The Network’s schools participated. My kids were partnered with girls from the adjacent high school.

We left from school in a large van, zigging and zagging down narrow backstreets to arrive at the church just in time. In the 90-degree heat, my clothes clung to me as we hurried the kids inside to find our pews. I left summer temperatures behind as I stepped into the ancient church where it was blessedly cool. The air smelled of candles and furniture wax.

I sat with the mother of one of my students and kept an eye on them. In our chorus were eighteen girls and one lone boy. They were the only ones wearing their “every day” uniforms, the same tired, gray sweatsuits that they wore to school. Choir members from the other schools had on school uniforms, too, but they were cleaner, dressier, and more expensive. White shirts, navy pants for boys and white shirts with navy jumpers for girls. I had never seen my kids in any uniform except the sweatsuit and I wondered if my school might be the poorest in The Network.

Hearing commotion behind me, I turned around to find little girls pushing off one side and sliding to the opposite end of the polished pew. I gave them a look that included an arched eyebrow and they settled down again, giggling.

The concert began, only fifteen minutes late, with "It Came upon a Midnight Clear." I recognized it from the melody, not the lyrics, since it was sung in Spanish. My kids were next. I'd never heard their song before, but it was beautiful with their young voices echoing strong in the vaulted cathedral. They accompanied the song by clapping their hands in flamenco-style rhythm as the youngest girl pinged on a triangle.

Out of the twenty or more songs that were sung, I only recognized five. The rest were traditional Chilean Christmas songs, unknown to me.

After the concert, we were dropped off back at school. It was later than usual when I boarded the Metro to go home. The train car was crowded and, at first, I didn't notice the man who had followed me in..."

Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Happy Holidays, Happy Whatever-You-Celebrate or even if you don't, Happy anyway.