Mexico - Grandma Rose

Today is Palm Sunday, the day the Lord made his triumphant entry into Jerusalem.

Mexico is a deeply Christian country, where religious holidays punctuate daily life and imbue the culture with genuine fervor.

This day brings back a wave of sweet and powerful emotions: childhood memories spent with Grandma Rose. This extraordinary woman illuminated my early years with so much love and tenderness.

She lived very close to me and was so much more than a grandmother: she was my refuge, my confidante, and my greatest life lesson. How many magical evenings we spent playing cards! She taught me my numbers, but above all, the delicate art of losing gracefully… and with a smile.

Feeling peckish during a card game? Grandma would instantly transform the kitchen into a haven of happiness. She'd pull out her famous cast-iron piece from an old wood stove, place it on the burner, and say with a wink, "This is how you make real buckwheat pancakes, my dear." I'll never forget the butter melting slowly over the still-warm pancakes, generously drizzled with maple syrup, that precious "gold of Quebec." Every bite was a hug for the heart.

The only little trick at Grandma's house... was naptime! If I got the time wrong and arrived at the exact wrong moment, she'd look at me with her sweet face and declare, "It's nap time. Everyone's asleep, even little girls who miscalculated their schedule!" The result: I'd find myself lying on the sofa, eyes wide open, patiently waiting for time to pass...

One of my most moving memories is that Palm Sunday when, returning from church, she taught me how to weave little cone with the blessed palm branches. These little braided treasures were hung above doorways to protect the house and its inhabitants all year round. I was amazed by the magic that unfolded between my fingers. A few skillful twists and voilà: a real cone!

Even today, every time I braid these branches, the fresh, green scent, the feel of the supple leaves, and the repeated gesture bring me straight back to her arms. My heart aches a little, my eyes sting… and I smile thinking of her.

Grandma Rose, the best of grandmothers. The one who always told me, when I was sad… “With time, everything passes.”

Thanks to Louise, my neighbor in Puerto Morelos, for giving me a branch when she returned from church and thus bringing back all these beautiful memories.