Nacimiento Stories
Dec. 28th, 2006 10:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dedalus_1947I loved my grandparent’s Nacimiento. Every year, at Christmas time, my abuelitos would build a fabulous Nativity scene in their living room. It was a toy-sized, Disneyland-like world, made up of magical kingdoms, and exotic locales. These lands contained cottages, villages, and farms, located along rivers, lakes, deserts, and forests. Equestrians, oxcarts, and wagons vied with bedouins and kings on camels, along meandering roads. Snow and rain, disguised as silver tinsel foil, hovered and glistened over the painted heavens, and light came from multiple sources in the artificial sky. This make-believe world took up a third of the living room, and filled the large picture window, overlooking the front yard and sidewalk.
The Delgado Nacimiento on Workman Street was an elaborate diorama of the Nativity scene with Joseph and Mary, then, the baby Jesus, and, finally, the three Magi. But my fascination was not with the main figures, who were central to the Christmas story. I fell in love with the imaginary, toy-sized world that surrounded the Christmas event, and the many characters and stories that provided the backbeat to the holy trio depicted in the diorama.
To say that my abuelitos made this magical creation is an exaggeration. They certainly sponsored the annual tradition, and always felt free to express their pleasure or dismay to the people working. They pretty much sub-contracted the actual construction work to their children, my aunts and uncles. Of my 10 living aunts and uncles, the seven elders handled the design, material purchases, and carpentry. The three youngest, Charlie, Liza, and Espie, did the low-level, manual labor, and were responsible for the supporting scenes, characters, and stories. They were also allowed to recruit and direct as many nieces and nephews as they wished, or could handle. I joined them at age 5, the minute my parents said I could. My younger brother and two sisters, while not official recruits, were always around watching and joining whenever they could. On the three Saturdays we visited our grandparent’s home, I remember the construction of the Nacimiento as having three phases.
Charlie, Liza, and Espie were strong advocates of sensory stimulation. They insisted that all young Nacimiento builders have “the Christmas spirit” in order to work properly. This spirit, they believed, could only be achieved by singing lots of Christmas songs. So they dedicated this first phase of Nacimiento construction to teaching us Christmas carols “we needed to know”. Since my siblings and I were still learning English at the time, this was unknown territory, but our aunts and uncle were eager and excellent instructors. “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town” was the first carol we learned. It was the biggest hit, because, for three kids just learning about American Christmas, it simplified all the essentials aspects: Santa sees everything we do, and good children get good gifts. What was especially remarkable about this song was the preface they taught us to sing, which is usually left out by commercial singers. The preface gave a context to the song which fascinated me. The mysterious writer of this song was a cosmic explorer, a friend of Santa who vacationed in the North Pole, and a culture hero to boys and girls everywhere for revealing Santa’s plan. He also described a “toy land town” populated with tiny figures, animals, cars, and boats; a world that would soon be recreated in our Nacimiento:
I just got back from a lovely trip
Along the Milky Way
I stopped off at the North Pole
To spend a holiday
I called on dear old Santa Claus
To see what I could see
He took me to his workshop
And told his plans to me
So, you better watch out
You better not cry
You better not pout, I'm telling you why
Santa Claus is coming to town
He's making a list
And checking it twice
Gonna find out who's naughty or nice
Santa Claus is coming to town
He sees you when you sleeping
He knows when you're awake
He knows if you've been bad or good
So be good for goodness sake
Oh, you better watch out
You better not cry
You better not pout, I'm telling you why
Santa Claus is coming to town
Little tin horns
Little toy drums
Rudy-toot-toot and rummy tum tums
Santa Claus is coming to town
Little toy dolls that cuddle and coo,
Elephants, boats, and Kiddie cars too
Santa Claus is coming to town
The kids in Girl and Boy Land
Will have a jubilee
They're gonna build a Toyland
All around the Christmas tree
So, you better watch out
You better not cry
You better not pout, I'm telling you why
Santa Claus is coming
Santa Claus is coming to town
Next came the finding, carting, and unpacking of the Nacimiento materials that were stored in the huge, barn-sized garage in the backyard. Actually my brother, Arthur, and sisters, Stella and Gracie, and I, did not mind being the porters of this Christmas caravan of goods. Each container was a Pandora’s Box of mystery. Although all the boxes carried labels, there was never a guaranteed description of the contents. All the different ingredients that went into creating the Nacimiento could be anywhere in these boxes: wood fragments, moss, rocks, hardware, mirrors, sheets of cotton, cloth, cardboard, colored paper, wires, and, most important, the figurines. Arthur always liked to spoil our fun, by correctly guessing the contents, long before we opened the boxes. He had the uncanny ability to divine what was inside, by feel, smell, weight, and clues on the boxes.
My aunts and uncles had been collecting the supporting cast of Nacimiento figurines for years. These were the wood, ceramic, plaster, and, sometimes, rubber characters that provided the back stories to the Christmas tableaux being presented in the forefront of the Nacimiento. The Nativity focused on Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, and eventually, the three Wise Men. These characters were the largest figures, and they, along with the stable, dominated the diorama. They were packed away in special boxes by our abuelitos and placed somewhere in the main house. Only they knew the location of this secret place, and they would bring forth these main images only when the Nacimiento was ready to receive them. It was the lesser beings that were our responsibility.
We would watch, and help, as Charlie, Espie, and Liza, unpacked the boxes, categorized the cargo, and spread the contents on the floor of the living room and family room. Once everything was spread out before them, they would begin identifying roles, scenes, and stories. Some figurines would become angels in the skies, while others, shepherds in fields and hills. Drovers, horsemen, walkers, storekeepers, children playing, merchants, and soldiers; all manner of men, women, and children, were cast into a world of roles and occupations. Some were perennial, traditional roles, shaped long ago by the creator of the image; others changed from year to year. Here was the art that my young uncle and aunts taught us: to see the potential of each figure. Anyone could cast an image of a child with wings as an angel, but a kneeling child might fit the part better.
During this phase, the older aunts and uncles constructed the wooden stage and overhead frame of the Nacimiento. It was a serious undertaking, because the structure would have to support two to three adults working within the diorama. The heavens and earth would be built on that platform and frame, and an open, wooden shed, in Bethlehem would be the axis of that world.
The final job of Charlie, Espie, and Liza, was that of placing the characters they had chosen within the diorama with enhancing scenery, props, and, if necessary and possible, costumes. Many of these items were saved, and used, from year to year. Other times, they had to be invented: mirrors became lakes or frozen ponds, shells became elaborate seashores and jetties, and pine cones became rocks and trees. As the platform became more and more crowded with scenery and figures, smaller children were used to place or modify the objects and images in the diorama. The wood flooring would eventually disappear, and be covered by mountains, forests, hills, lakes, and fields, right up to the edge of the diorama. The smallest or youngest child in the family would place the last, missing piece of the diorama on the night before Christmas.
The Delgado family celebrated La Noche Buena (The Good Night) on the night before Christmas. We would all gather on Christmas Eve to feast on tamales, enchiladas, arroz, frijoles, and other Mexican cuisine, and celebrate the birth of Christ by sharing gifts and singing songs. At the appropriate time, determined by my abuelitos, one of the younger children was selected to place the missing figure in the Nacimiento, the baby Jesus. His placement on the crib would mark the end of the Nacimiento process, and the culmination of more than three weeks of work. We accompanied this ritual by singing “Silent Night”.
I remember hearing the words to that song as I gazed at this magical world, filled with toy-like images and figures that had until that moment, been frozen in expectation. Now they were free to live the momentary life of the Christmas season. I could no longer reach out and change their role, station, or position. I could only watch and wonder what I might have been doing on that cold night, 2000 years ago, when our Savior was born in Bethlehem.
The Delgado Nacimiento on Workman Street was an elaborate diorama of the Nativity scene with Joseph and Mary, then, the baby Jesus, and, finally, the three Magi. But my fascination was not with the main figures, who were central to the Christmas story. I fell in love with the imaginary, toy-sized world that surrounded the Christmas event, and the many characters and stories that provided the backbeat to the holy trio depicted in the diorama.
To say that my abuelitos made this magical creation is an exaggeration. They certainly sponsored the annual tradition, and always felt free to express their pleasure or dismay to the people working. They pretty much sub-contracted the actual construction work to their children, my aunts and uncles. Of my 10 living aunts and uncles, the seven elders handled the design, material purchases, and carpentry. The three youngest, Charlie, Liza, and Espie, did the low-level, manual labor, and were responsible for the supporting scenes, characters, and stories. They were also allowed to recruit and direct as many nieces and nephews as they wished, or could handle. I joined them at age 5, the minute my parents said I could. My younger brother and two sisters, while not official recruits, were always around watching and joining whenever they could. On the three Saturdays we visited our grandparent’s home, I remember the construction of the Nacimiento as having three phases.
Charlie, Liza, and Espie were strong advocates of sensory stimulation. They insisted that all young Nacimiento builders have “the Christmas spirit” in order to work properly. This spirit, they believed, could only be achieved by singing lots of Christmas songs. So they dedicated this first phase of Nacimiento construction to teaching us Christmas carols “we needed to know”. Since my siblings and I were still learning English at the time, this was unknown territory, but our aunts and uncle were eager and excellent instructors. “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town” was the first carol we learned. It was the biggest hit, because, for three kids just learning about American Christmas, it simplified all the essentials aspects: Santa sees everything we do, and good children get good gifts. What was especially remarkable about this song was the preface they taught us to sing, which is usually left out by commercial singers. The preface gave a context to the song which fascinated me. The mysterious writer of this song was a cosmic explorer, a friend of Santa who vacationed in the North Pole, and a culture hero to boys and girls everywhere for revealing Santa’s plan. He also described a “toy land town” populated with tiny figures, animals, cars, and boats; a world that would soon be recreated in our Nacimiento:
I just got back from a lovely trip
Along the Milky Way
I stopped off at the North Pole
To spend a holiday
I called on dear old Santa Claus
To see what I could see
He took me to his workshop
And told his plans to me
So, you better watch out
You better not cry
You better not pout, I'm telling you why
Santa Claus is coming to town
He's making a list
And checking it twice
Gonna find out who's naughty or nice
Santa Claus is coming to town
He sees you when you sleeping
He knows when you're awake
He knows if you've been bad or good
So be good for goodness sake
Oh, you better watch out
You better not cry
You better not pout, I'm telling you why
Santa Claus is coming to town
Little tin horns
Little toy drums
Rudy-toot-toot and rummy tum tums
Santa Claus is coming to town
Little toy dolls that cuddle and coo,
Elephants, boats, and Kiddie cars too
Santa Claus is coming to town
The kids in Girl and Boy Land
Will have a jubilee
They're gonna build a Toyland
All around the Christmas tree
So, you better watch out
You better not cry
You better not pout, I'm telling you why
Santa Claus is coming
Santa Claus is coming to town
Next came the finding, carting, and unpacking of the Nacimiento materials that were stored in the huge, barn-sized garage in the backyard. Actually my brother, Arthur, and sisters, Stella and Gracie, and I, did not mind being the porters of this Christmas caravan of goods. Each container was a Pandora’s Box of mystery. Although all the boxes carried labels, there was never a guaranteed description of the contents. All the different ingredients that went into creating the Nacimiento could be anywhere in these boxes: wood fragments, moss, rocks, hardware, mirrors, sheets of cotton, cloth, cardboard, colored paper, wires, and, most important, the figurines. Arthur always liked to spoil our fun, by correctly guessing the contents, long before we opened the boxes. He had the uncanny ability to divine what was inside, by feel, smell, weight, and clues on the boxes.
My aunts and uncles had been collecting the supporting cast of Nacimiento figurines for years. These were the wood, ceramic, plaster, and, sometimes, rubber characters that provided the back stories to the Christmas tableaux being presented in the forefront of the Nacimiento. The Nativity focused on Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, and eventually, the three Wise Men. These characters were the largest figures, and they, along with the stable, dominated the diorama. They were packed away in special boxes by our abuelitos and placed somewhere in the main house. Only they knew the location of this secret place, and they would bring forth these main images only when the Nacimiento was ready to receive them. It was the lesser beings that were our responsibility.
We would watch, and help, as Charlie, Espie, and Liza, unpacked the boxes, categorized the cargo, and spread the contents on the floor of the living room and family room. Once everything was spread out before them, they would begin identifying roles, scenes, and stories. Some figurines would become angels in the skies, while others, shepherds in fields and hills. Drovers, horsemen, walkers, storekeepers, children playing, merchants, and soldiers; all manner of men, women, and children, were cast into a world of roles and occupations. Some were perennial, traditional roles, shaped long ago by the creator of the image; others changed from year to year. Here was the art that my young uncle and aunts taught us: to see the potential of each figure. Anyone could cast an image of a child with wings as an angel, but a kneeling child might fit the part better.
During this phase, the older aunts and uncles constructed the wooden stage and overhead frame of the Nacimiento. It was a serious undertaking, because the structure would have to support two to three adults working within the diorama. The heavens and earth would be built on that platform and frame, and an open, wooden shed, in Bethlehem would be the axis of that world.
The final job of Charlie, Espie, and Liza, was that of placing the characters they had chosen within the diorama with enhancing scenery, props, and, if necessary and possible, costumes. Many of these items were saved, and used, from year to year. Other times, they had to be invented: mirrors became lakes or frozen ponds, shells became elaborate seashores and jetties, and pine cones became rocks and trees. As the platform became more and more crowded with scenery and figures, smaller children were used to place or modify the objects and images in the diorama. The wood flooring would eventually disappear, and be covered by mountains, forests, hills, lakes, and fields, right up to the edge of the diorama. The smallest or youngest child in the family would place the last, missing piece of the diorama on the night before Christmas.
The Delgado family celebrated La Noche Buena (The Good Night) on the night before Christmas. We would all gather on Christmas Eve to feast on tamales, enchiladas, arroz, frijoles, and other Mexican cuisine, and celebrate the birth of Christ by sharing gifts and singing songs. At the appropriate time, determined by my abuelitos, one of the younger children was selected to place the missing figure in the Nacimiento, the baby Jesus. His placement on the crib would mark the end of the Nacimiento process, and the culmination of more than three weeks of work. We accompanied this ritual by singing “Silent Night”.
I remember hearing the words to that song as I gazed at this magical world, filled with toy-like images and figures that had until that moment, been frozen in expectation. Now they were free to live the momentary life of the Christmas season. I could no longer reach out and change their role, station, or position. I could only watch and wonder what I might have been doing on that cold night, 2000 years ago, when our Savior was born in Bethlehem.
