Dia de los Meurtos

Day of the Dead. Ancestor Altar. After a good fluffing and reenergizing yesterday, the tableau glows with new candles, bowls of fragrant candies, nuts, fruit, chocolates, wine and fresh flowers. Pictures, poetry and names written in glittering ink, remember the ones who are gone. Even Boofer the cat and Ratty Rat Rat have a place. One of my favorite holidays, this Halloween/Day of the Dead. I am so amazed that in this age of plastic, folks continue to mutilate fat orange gourds and put fire inside them. So deliciously pagan.

Among the rememered is Papa, shown here young and strapping. I was in the room when he died. All present where moved by the grace of his exit. Here are the words his son Rob, my hubbie, wrote the day after he died:

Papa

Great booming voice.
Twinkle of mischief in solemn eyes.
Quick to befriend children.
Unafraid of striking up conversation with strangers.
Generous, supportive, a great friend in time of need.
A teaser.
Too hard to express love straight on.
I was proud of him.
Married 47 years.
He hated bureaucracy.
He loved nature.
He worried too much for too long.
Trusted TV news too much.
Was devoted to Nana utterly and blossomed when she died.
A teller of stories, a trickster, master of gallows humor.
He died with integrity, sweetness and dignity.
He taught me not to fear death.
So long.