How my love of Stars & Magic was fueled by my Catholic Upbringing

 

This is the original Coo Coo Clock

                                                                        

© M.C.V. Egan

Ironically my conservative Catholic upbringing in 1960s Mexico was the very fuel that ignited my interest in Astrology and all things magical. For those of you with no experience in said religious upbringing; the irony lies on an acquired love of the very pagan things I was being taught to steer away from while clearly being shown a way to them.

The Christmases of my childhood are filled with stressful memories. The need to please both sides of the family, run by two strong and very different family matriarchs who dictated the traditions and rituals between the twenty-fourth and twenty-fifth of December every year and those forty-eight hours were long. As such my favorite day of the holiday season was January sixth; The Epiphany and The Three Magic Kings.

On the twenty-fourth of December in my paternal grandmother’s home gifts were brought at the stroke of midnight by Baby Jesus, a stroke hammered out by a scary and dark cuckoo clock. The magical manner in which a tiny baby could possibly bring all our gifts, was the sole thought I pondered upon as I was told to sit and pray to him aloud and in the company of most of the family. Understandably some of the adults had to lay out the gifts.

Every time I asked how a little baby could possibly accomplish such a colossal task. After all a small baby carrying such large loads seemed far less plausible than a Santa who arrived through nonexistent chimneys. The predictable answer was the same; “We were not born to understand the great power of the omnipotent.”

Yes, I was raised with huge long words that were seldom explained and I knew better than to ask; “What does omnipotent mean?” Because that would have been greeted with incredulity by the adults and mocking of my ignorance from older siblings and cousins.

Exhausted at midnight we opened gifts after which I slept in the car for what seemed like a horribly long ride home; Mexico City is spread out and it was a good distance. The much needed sleep disrupted by having to make it to my bed, as the sixth of eight too old to be carried and too young to help.

The following morning Santa’s gifts suspiciously addressed with my mother’s handwriting appeared under our Christmas tree. Excited and running on little sleep we opened those. Some Christmases Santa; with the same suspicious and distinguishable handwriting, left some unlucky recipient a letter of warning that their behaviour had not been too impressive and far more than a reprimand could be expected the following Christmas. I never received one of those and always felt in excellent terms with the man in red.

I did however get in trouble over the inevitable crash of the breaking glass of the Christmas ornaments. I loved the distorted reflection of my face on the spheres and sometimes I got too close to try to make my nose look larger. As an adult I do not own glass ornaments.

On the twenty-fifth lunch was at my maternal grandmother’s home. She was a great fan of Santa Claus, her tree was not only filled by Santa but her second husband my step-grandfather dutifully dressed the part and had a deep impressive Ho, Ho, Ho. The telltale smell of his favorite bourbon, Old Crow and a distinctive ring he wore made it all too clear that underneath the red suit, hat and huge beard was our clean shaven bald adorable  Tío Luis, sharing his holiday cheer. Then there was the kids table, in which I was the only girl surrounded by brothers and male cousins, (but that’s another story).

One similarity every household had during the holidays was Los Tres Reyes Magos. The three exotic figures and their camels set apart from the Nativity scenes. Every day we moved them closer to the crèche where baby Jesus lay. These three Magic Kings who followed the stars and brought great gifts; gold, frankincense and myrrh all three sounded like magical potions to me, even the gold was something I visualized as liquid and magical.

In Spanish, they are Reyes Magos (Magic Kings), not Wise Men, but in both languages, they were tremendously appealing to me and made sense. I could look up and see stars; the language that defined them was not complicated, and they made sense. They were interesting, attractive, and wealthy-looking; they brought gifts and followed stars. They fueled my interest in Astrology, travel, and foreign cultures.

On January 5th,   we placed our shoes outside our bedroom door. By then, the tree was taken down, and the dangerous glass spheres that had survived the season were safely stored away. The winter break over and in school uniforms we welcomed the day of The Epiphany; surely it fell on a weekend sometimes, but my memories always incluse the school uniform.

On the sixth of January we would awaken to a small gift brought by these Magical Kings, we ate a round cake with a hidden baby Jesus; which if at my paternal grandmother’s house we were order to swallow and deny having gotten (that is also another story), but that stress free feel of rhythm and back into routine, that was the holiday day I loved and still celebrate every year.