All Hallow's Eve

Happy Halloween to all my friends back in the United States.  Based on Facebook photos, it looks like you all had a good time.

Noel: El Fantasma de Miedo

In Spain, Halloween is not a cultural tradition, and thus there is very little semblance of the celebration here.  (Due to the influx of American media, there is an awareness of it, but the only ones who seem interested at all are very young children.  In our family, the youngest ones [Noel, 8, and Mario, 4]) had a friend over, and their Halloween fix was satiated after about 10 minutes of running around in makeshift ghost costumes [literally pillow cases with eye-holes cut out] and "trick or treat"ing [trico-truco!] for whatever candy was around the house.  It was very cute.)  Instead, what Spain does celebrate is what might be known as All Hallow's Eve, or, the day before El Dia de Los Santos (All Saints' Day).

El Dia de Los Santos is a very special and important holiday here (everything, pretty much, will be closed), particularly since in Spain it coincides with El Dia de Los Muertos (The Day of the Dead), usually thought of as a Mexican holiday but also observed here.  For those unfamiliar, El Dia de Los Muertos is far less grisly than it sounds; the "celebration" is, essentially, a solemn and bittersweet day for family to visit the graves of their relatives and loved ones, which are traditionally cleaned and especially-ordained with tremendous bouquets of flowers, candles, and whatever else might be deemed appropriate.  My grandfather, who emigrated his family to the United States and spent the last half of his life there (serving in many ways as a second father to me), is interred here in Raxó, and so Emily and I spent our Halloween 2010 observing, instead, All Hallow's Eve.  (Some of the cleaning/grave-decoration happens today, so that when the graves are visited tomorrow they already look sufficiently kempt.)  It was at once the least "scary" or "frightening" Halloween in memory, and yet, paradoxically, the most macabre.

Here are some photos of Chelo and her daughter Marichelo cleaning the mausoleum of my grandfather's family (interred there as well, most immediately, are his brother and nephew [Chelo's father and brother, respectively]).  Chelo took this job very seriously; after everyone else had done seemingly enough, Chelo, wiping down the entire mausoleum, made sure to stand on a rag while she finished tidying up, sure not to track in footprints of any kind on this rainy day.  Marichelo joked: "There may be some prettier graves, some better decorated, but none are cleaner."  Tomorrow is the major part of the holiday: a big family dinner; important church service; another trip to the cemetery.  I'll be sure to blog about that, after its done.

This oil & water mixture will burn for a particularly long time.

My grandfather's newly improved grave, cleaned & decorated.

Pauper's grave, with flowers

I'm not quite sure yet how I feel about El Dia de Los Muertos.  On the surface, it's difficult to be anything but enthusiastic about it; here is a holiday that reminds people to honor and cherish their dearly departed, brings together families to remember and celebrate their loved ones, and closes down work and businesses as a reminder to slow down and focus on the things that are most important in life.  Furthermore, I personally am particularly attracted to the holiday's inherent acknowledgment of, and focus on, death and the nature of dying; I can think of no American holiday that does this, and moreover I think it's something, amazingly, that most Americans seldom (if ever) think about.  And that, I think, is a shame: I think of my death frequently, and though it may sound morbid or perverse, I actually think it's the opposite--thinking of and acknowledging my inevitable death allows me to remain grateful for my health and the time that I do have, refocus my energies on living & accomplishing my goals in life, and takes the terror and mystery out of dying (as much as possible, anyway).  I think Americans' reluctance to go there psychologically and emotionally is a large contributor to some of the characteristics (selfishness, vanity, materialism) I would categorize most unfavorably about the American soul.  At one point tonight Marichelo guided me to something in the back of the cemetery that I had never before noticed: it was an unmarked plot, which generations ago (nobody apparently knows when) served as a pauper's grave.  Marichelo had an extra vase to place there--filled with the same fresh, beautiful flowers that she had graced at her family's graves--for the soul(s) of whomever might rest there.  It was a deeply moving gesture, made even more so when I noticed how many other people had felt the same impulse.

At the same time, as someone who has had a unique history of loss and grief, I am dubious of a custom that contrives to have everyone grieve in the same way, as El Dia de Los Muertos does intrinsically.  Grief is a complicated and deeply personal experience: I, for one, suppose a lot of people might find it shameful that, in the almost 14 years since he died, I have only been to my father's grave twice; while that physical space has very little significance to me (I felt nothing either time I went), I think of my father constantly and have my own ways to honor him and make sure his memory never dies.  I have found it, and find it still, preferable to grieve in that specific manner, and in the same vein I don't intend to have a conventional funeral or "resting place" when I die (personally, I've always found the conventional Western approach to death appalling).  Ultimately, I wonder if the public spectacle of El Dia de Los Muertos doesn't have a negative effect on some people--people like me, at least--who might rather emote privately.