An e-altar for Day of the Dead

So a very wet and dreary All Hallow’s Eve has passed: the candy has been hoarded, the jack-o-lanterns lit (if not extinguished by the rain) and the tricks have been pulled.  –Sigh--  It all goes by so fast.  I love Halloween the way other people love Christmas or their birthdays. 

I’m resisting the urge to weigh in on this year’s celebrity Halloween ridiculousness.  People were up in arms about blackface.  There was righteous indignation all around.  There was also the “obese child” letter sent to select houses by one very misguided preschool teacher.  And of course, there were hundreds of “empowered” women “proudly displaying their sexuality” by wearing self-identified “slutty” costumes.  I’m choosing not to waste my breath (or rather, my typing) on these facsimiles of Halloween.

Now that October 31 has slipped away, more important than focusing on the hangovers and the selfies, or at least, more important to me, is to honour the departed.  November 1 and 2 are All Saint’s and All Soul’s days respectively.  Mexican folklore has it that the doors to Heaven have opened and families are breiefly reunited with the spirits of the dead.  And while this year I have no colourful, bedecked shrine to display, nor even the capacity to get out to the cemeteries where my ancestors rest, I’m thinking fondly of those I’ve loved and lost.

Source: tripping.com

My grandfather; a decorated veteran who served in WWII in his late teens and early twenties.  A man with a big open face, tender heart, and mischievous smile.  I remember bouncing on his knee, swivelling in his “spinny” chair, and every year, we still turn on the trick Christmas ornament that plays a bird chirping.  He used to tell my cousins and I that a bird had gotten into the house; we’d chase it all around until he’d throw the door open.  “Oh, you missed it!  It just flew outside!”  It’s 19 years since he passed, and I feel the depth of what I missed learning from him more and more.  If I were constructing an altar, I would leave in Gramps’ honour a scrap of wallpaper (a throwback to his career), a PBR, and a child’s toy sword.  I’d also leave something red—his favourite colour.

My gand-papa; an entrepreneur and expert mechanic.  I never knew him well, but what I know of him is that he was driven, savvy, honourable, and a true Montrealer.  There were always Cheetos when we saw him, and my brother was (probably) his favourite, because they were so alike.  He wore a beret, smoked like a chimney, and, as I understand it, was the calm, quiet hitching post for the wild brumby that was my grand-maman.  For my grandpapa, I would leave out a rusty license plate, a coffee mug full of pens, and a Marlboro.  And Cheetos.  An entire bag of Cheetos.

Grand-maman; a truly excellent lady.  Loud, boisterous, passionate, musical.  She taught me French.  She was truly classy, and ever so stylish.  A fighter and an adventurer, I know I have some of her in me.  Once, she accompanied my Dad on a business trip, and she famously disappeared, leaving only a note: “R--, j’y vais a Las Vegas.”  She couldn’t steam a vegetable, but hell, she could dress a cake.  And I know for fact that I inherited her out-of-control sweet tooth.  I leave on my electronic alter for her a red velvet cupcake, a few sheets of music, and some weather-beaten postcards.

Gram; a quiet prairie girl who was adopted as a baby, she never lost her British roots.  With her, we had tea at 3pm, and every Christmas, birthday or bout of the flu, we were given books.  She was a fantastic gardener, an avid walker, and, to our entire family’s surprise, when my pet rat proved to be awesome, she got one too.  I deeply regret having lost her—I could’ve come home from university with so much to tell her, and so many books to share.  I could have consulted her when my philodendron grew stringy.  For her, I’ll leave out flowers and a handful of earth.  A bone china teacup and saucer with a hummingbird pattern, and one of her cat’s toys.      

There are more people—and pets—whom I could list, but I’ll keep that to myself.

I hope you take the time this season to reminisce, with joy, over the ones you were privileged to know, and to take comfort that, even if you don’t believe, others do, that they are on the other side, waiting for you. 

Source: randomthoughtsofacitymouse.com

Gotta book it!

-Jem