Why I fail at Halloween

Oaxaca, Mexico
Day of the Dead is not scary.

I eat the candy before the trick or treaters come.

I am afraid of being afraid.

I startle easily. If someone dressed as a ghoul or an ax murderer jumps out at me from somewhere I might actually die.

Gore freaks me out. Fake blood? Real blood? How do you know?

I did Halloween when my kids were small. Walked them around the neighborhood with my heart pounding. The very first Halloween when my older daughter was one or maybe two we went to the mall. Someone told us it was a great venue for a really little kid. The lights were on ,and I thought it might be fun for her to see the older kids dressed up. But there were trick or treaters in scary masks, wielding rubber axes and roaring like monsters. She cried. I wanted to. We left.

One Halloween this same daughter and I made luminarias and lined our long driveway with them. We sat on the porch, dressed as rather benign witches with harpsichord music on our laptops. It was great. We didn't terrify anyone. But children did approach with a certain cautious wonder.

My other favorite Halloween wasn't real life. It was  a dream. Dan and I went to a party dressed as John and Yoko. He, wearing a long black wig, was Yoko. I still smile when I think of it.

I get that people love Halloween and have a great time. Cool.

But I love Day of the Dead.  A days long celebration to remember and to connect with our lost loved ones. Magic. I'd love a giant room full of marigolds right now.

Art in Oaxaca, Mexico

I'm not a visual artist. I'm a writer. But at a friend's suggestion, I joined her for this: http://www.artworkshopsinoaxaca.com

With the focus on Day of the Dead, I decided my project would be an altar box dedicated to my mother. The instructors were fantastic, and the box, I think, honors my mother's life, her beauty, and her spirit. I also included her twin sister. That 's my aunt on the left and my mom on the right. These are the doors on the outside of the box

Below is the complete view of the inside of the box.

Here's a close up of the inside side panels which reflect her life in California and her last birthday party.

This last picture is a close-up of the center inside panel.

Visiting the cemeteries

Day of the Dead in Oaxaca is a celebration as deep and wide as a field of marigolds. While All Souls Day is November 1st, the towns stagger their celebrations so people can visit more than one cemetery. I came to El Dia de Los Muertos in Oaxaca for the first time last year. My mother had been dead for only seven months, my boyfriend Dan for a little more than two years. I brought their photos to place on the altar of the place I stayed and prayed for a glimpse of them or some sense of their presence. My mother was elusive, but I saw Dan in the base player of the ensemble who played at the graveside party for the husband of my hostess. Once or twice in the crowded streets, he seemed to be ahead of me before turning a corner and vanishing into another throng of people.

This year the artists hosting the workshop took us to three cemeteries. The care in cleaning and decorating the tombs, the density of the flowers, the whole place awash in candlelight after the sun sets, the mix of solemnity and celebration as evidenced by the loud music, the children playing among the graves is like nothing I've ever experienced in a cemetery in the U.S.. I think I saw a sign at the cemetery where my parents are buried prohibiting live flowers. Or did I dream that? After a week here, it seems like that can't be real. Here in Oaxaca, you can sit next to your loved one in the candlelight, breathing in the scent of marigolds while waiting for the cotton candy vendor to come by.

The four photos below are from Xoxochotlan.

We also visited the large urban cemetery in Oaxaca City.

On the way into the cemetery, there's plenty of food and games.

 

 

San Felipe Cemetery might have been the most beautiful. The photos below were taken there.

 

Archways of marigolds mark the doorways of houses, businesses, offrendas, and tombs so the dead can find their way back to visit the living.

Parades and Preparations: Oaxaca, Day of the Dead

The Parades have been going on for days already. They're family friendly.

Many people get their faces painted, and businesses like this bakery have a side hustle doing the painting.

These giant spheres appear in the parades and parties. The design varies and the meaning or significance of them remains a mystery.

This is Not a Food Blog

But this was my lunch today.

There's a lot of beauty in Oaxaca.

The sink  in my hotel room looks like a shrine.

While out and about in Oaxaca today, I think I found the stairway to heaven.

I think that's where these folks are headed.

We Are All on the Same Path

Parade through the streets of Oaxaca Day of the Dead 2017

Well, if you look closely you can see the glint of the tuba, but not much else. There were fabulously made-up marchers, but the crowd was huge so I could barely see them myself, much less photograph them. And I was woozy from lack of sleep and a big meal, so I have to confess I didn't try really hard to stand on a fire hydrant or jump three feet into the air or anything.

pulpo

This was dinner. Plus a fancy cocktail made with mescal, mint, and cucumber.

It's good to be alive. Despite all the treats brought to the cemeteries for the dead, I'm pretty sure the living eat better.

Dia de Los Muertos: the fiesta in the cemetary big city style

"Tell the taxi driver Pantheon General," Jane said, pronouncing the name of the cemetery in Spanish. "Tell him tercero porta." She warned us that he might not be able to drive up to the third entrance, so get out wherever he left us and find the third entrance on foot. Luckily, I went in the same taxi with Jane or I would have been arguing in my almost nonexistent Spanish with a taxi driver. No, no, not the carnival, general. Pantheon general. All of the entrances to the huge cemetery were masked by a blocks-long carnival. Tilt-a-Whirl, shooting galleries, go fish, every junk food concession imaginable. For blocks. And blocks.  The Pantheon General was the urban equivalent of our previous night's visit to a village cemetery. Only this night we went to the party at Jane's husband's grave. There was beer and mescal, tamales, a hired trio if musicians and scores of friends come to pay their respects. 

Oh, by the way, there was a base player. 

The next day we went back to the Pantheon General  to tidy up, and to clean (there are water spigots every 30 feet or so) and adorn the graves of friends of Jane's as well as the grave of an unknown gringa adopted years ago by Jane and her husband. 

The simple mounds of dirt are few and far between at Pantheon General. The graves are, at a minimum covered with stone or or tile. Some are shielded from the sun by roofs or canopies; others have small enclosures complete with benches. There are flowers everywhere. It's hard to fathom that Mexico can grow enough flowers to decorate the graves of all the dearly departed. As we were leaving, people continued to stream in, arms laden. 

Dia de Los Muertos: the fiesta in the cemetery

The Santa Maria Cemetery in Atzompa, Oaxaca

I imagined what it would be like. I didn't come close. 

The festive atmosphere began as we walked through the streets at 1:30 in the morning. Food vendors cooking up hot meals. Men with boxes of candy and chewing gum working the crowd. We could hear the music blasting happy tunes. Not ranchero, not banda, but something polka-like. The band was from the neighboring state of Chiapas, I was told. An accordion, a couple of electric guitars, drums, singing. As we passed through the gates of the cemetery, a couple was dancing arm in arm.

Townspeople poured through the entrance, arms full of marigolds, cockscomb, gladiolas, blankets, babies, pots of tamales, tall candles. The graves had been cleaned and readied; some were already completely decked out with flowers in vases or simply mounded over the graves. Candles were everywhere. Fruits and vegetables were laid out for the returning spirits. Drinks were poured for them. Some people were wound into blankets sleeping next to, on even atop the mounds of earth, under which lay their loved ones. Families brought chairs and settled in. Food was passed around. There were smiles and laughter and conversation while the band played on.

It was comfortable enough to be a norte americana there to observe rather than participate. Stepping along the winding narrow paths on uneven terrain between the graves amidst tall lighted  candles and the crowds was challenging. Señora, a woman called, standing up from her little wooden chair to point my way. The people seemed accustomed to visitors, maybe even proud of the beauty and willing to share it.

I've never felt comfortable visiting my father or anyone else in a cemetery. It feels sad. It feels deserted. Pouring out a beer or a shot of scotch and laying out a pack of Chesterfields, I'm sure would be frowned upon. Lighted candles would probably require a permit from the fire marshall, and amplified music would, no doubt, cause nothing short of scandal. But I think that if I lived in my hometown after seeing what I saw last night, it's quite likely that I'd be having martinis in the cemetery after my mother's ashes are returned from the University of Iowa Medical School. There'd be hummingbird feeders, candies, cookies, cake, and orchids. 

The Veil Grows Thinner

We visited candle makers and weavers in Teotitlan Del Valle today. It seems like everyone who lives there is an artist. 

Zapotec master candlemaker Viviana Alvarez and family

World renowned master weaver Issac Vasquez

The sky was its own work of art.

In the church courtyard at Teotilan

I watched the clouds shift and the light change. Within a few seconds of one another, two hearts appeared in the clouds.

Later we stopped at a nearby cemetery to observe the preparations for Day of the Dead. People were cleaning off the graves and beginning to decorate, but they welcomed us. A few of us struck up a conversation with a couple. He had lived in Santa Barbara, California but returned to his town after a few years. 

Back at the Casa, we tested out our altar.

SaveSave

Everyone Rises from the Dead Here

This morning we sat in the sala, talking about religion and Day of the Dead and what a big holiday it is. Easter is not the huge holiday that it is for Catholics in the States, Jane (the owner of the Casa) told us. "Everyone rises from the dead here in Oaxaca--at least for one day," she said. The weather is changing in Oaxaca, the heat easing, the skies thinning into a clear blue. The spirits are coming, people say. They can get through now. We can feel it.

We went to the Abastos Mercado today to the special section for Day of the Dead. We bought marigolds and cockscomb, Pan de Muertos and sugar skulls, candles, copal, and whatever else people in the group wanted for our alter here at the Casa. As we turned a corner and came upon the flower section--all marigolds and cockscomb, my eyes filled with tears. All those thousands of flowers will be purchased for graves and altars. All that color and sweetness for departed loved ones. Maybe the scent and the color is what guides them to us.

The dining room, decorated for Day of the Dead

Supplies are piling up for the altar, there's sawing in the courtyard as I write this.