the dead are far too busy

The candles are lit, the copal incense is filling the air and the door stands open but there is one task remaining before the dead begin to arrive. Everyone knows that in life things change. Despite best efforts to maintain the status quo, people move. As one ages, one’s appearance changes too.

According to Enrique, from Ejutla, and Soledad, from Octlan, the dead are far too busy to keep up with all that is happening to to their living relatives and friends. “How can a dead one know to come to this house? If he goes to the place where he used to live, he’ll find strangers there. Will they treat him well? Like a relative? Perhaps not.” Others have suggested that the dead begin to lose their memories of life, and so, even if there are no changes, the dead may have trouble finding their way home for the celebration. The living recognize the dead need help.

Early in the morning of November 1, a child, ideally a young girl between the ages of seven and ten, takes a basket of marigold petals or veruche and begins to carefully scatter the petals in a narrow band. She will begin in front of the ofrenda and spread the petals to the door that connects the house to the street. The traditional families will extend this path or trail of flower petals all the way to the cemetery to ideally end at the foot of the grave or graves of the deceased who have been invited to the celebration.

This magic path now shows the way from the grave to the ofrenda and the family’s home. The assumption is that the dead can easily return to the last place they occupied on Earth, the place where they were buried. The grave acts as a homing beacon, attracting the dead to the right place. Once there, the soul follows the appropriate path to the home of his or her loved ones and he cannot get lost because of the path’s magic. I was told that the young girl who made the path is usually a relative of the deceased and that relationship between the living and the dead imparts magic to the path. It converts the thin trail of petals into a private road meant only for those dead who belonged to the living household.

From The Day of the Dead: when two worlds meet in Oaxaca by Shawn D. Haley, Curt Fukuda.





Photo: From The Skeleton at the Feast
by E. Carmichael and C. Sayer

how to be a hobo (on halloween)

Whine as only a fifth grader can about not having figured out your halloween costume yet (I don’t wanna be a witch again!) until you push your father to the edge and he says: Come here.

Follow him to the master bedroom where he rummages around in his closet and drawers and pulls out:

• A funky old flannel shirt (Put this on.)


• A bunch of old t-shirts (which he promptly stuffs into the funky old flannel shirt and plumps just right so that it looks like you have a beer belly)


• A funky old flannel jacket (‘cause this is the Olympic Peninsula and it’s cold and wet out there, trick-or-treaters)

Follow him into your brother’s bedroom where he scores an old railroad conductor’s hat, then turns and twists your long hair into a bun and stuffs it all up inside.

Follow him into the kitchen where he whips out a can of Crisco and a tin of Folger’s coffee and slops on grease and coffee grounds until your 10 year old face has a five o’clock shadow.

Admire your whiskers approvingly in the bathroom mirror while he disappears outside and then returns with a stick that he’s whittled down quick and outfitted with one last bundled up funky old t-shirt.

Best costume ever.
Best Dad in the whole wide world.

Update: The above pic made John Hodgman's blog -- see just a little bit starstruck for the full story.