After 3 weeks of living in the squirrel infested attic of a friend's house, and mourning the loss of what I thought was my dream job, I moved into the apartment I've lived in for the last 2 years and accepted the crappy job that sucked my soul for about the same amount of time. It was an ill-conceived plan in many ways, my move to Seattle. I had just turned down a lucrative, but probably really boring job at ASU, when I was rejected from my top two dream jobs, after having been shortlisted for both. I was in limbo, not wanting to stay in Arizona, but running low on cash and not really finding a lot of jobs. So I decided against all rational thought to move back to Seattle with no job, very little money, and no real place to live. I made it work though, with the help of a very supportive community of friends.
I found a small apartment that has been my home. I loved being close to the lake and to the cafe before it closed down. I didn't always love my neighbors, especially the crazy ones, but it is amazing the things you get can get used to.
In August I started my new job. I also began the process of looking for a new place to live. With my constant stream of visitors and the addition of my unexpected roomate, I just didn't have enough space. Plus I had developed a huge aversion to the 358...hands down the bus preferred by the transient,incontinent, and mentally ill. Finally after months of trolling craigslist and schlepping from one nightmare apartment to the next, I found a place. Though the timing was insane, what with the wedding of my friend taking place in California, and the fact that I had been sick all week, I still managed (again with lots of help) to move on Sunday.
I love my new place. It's much bigger than my old place, and well laid out. Mz. Blu finally has a legitimate space of her own as well, and I don't have to save my quarters up to do laundry anymore. It's light, the floors are hardwood, and my neighbor doesn't seem to be crazy. It's also much closer to school.
While I am really happy, I also feel a strange unexpected anxiety. I still wake up to my vision board in the morning. And it's easy to see that I've come a long way towards manifesting my vision. In some ways it feel like it's taken forever, in others I feel astounded by how quickly my life has changed. I am so used to having to fight for everything that when it's easy, I find myself waiting for the other shoe to drop. How do I change my consciousness? I don't want to always expect life to give me shit. At CSL they always ask you "How good can you stand it?" I always kind of thought it was a stupid question. I mean who doesn't want to be happy? Who wouldn't appreciate some extra blessings here and there? But then I am reminded of the Matrix. There is that part where the computer is explaining how they had tried to create an a matrix full of peace and bliss, but it didn't work because the humans kept trying to wake up. It's like they couldn't accept that something so good could be true. I don't want to be like that. So I guess for now, I'll just stand in gratitude for all the wonderful things coming my way.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Faculty Slam
Yesterday was the faculty Poetry Slam. What poem do you slam in front of Elementary school kids? I wasn't sure, so I wrote a new piece. There is this book called The Rainbow Fish. I first came across it in Japan. It's about this fish with all these cool sparkly rainbow scales...but all the other fish are jealous, so in the end, the fish gives away its scales so that everyone can have one. I was livid when I read it. I mean clearly the idea is that sharing yourself is beneficial to the community, but I was sickened by the thought that you would have to give up who you are, simply to make others feel better about themselves. My friends tease me and think it's ridiculous that I would be so irritated about some kids book, but it just makes me crazy. Every time I think about how many kids out there are reading that book and absorbing it into their psyche I want to punch something really hard. But that would be really stupid, so instead I funneled my irritation into the creation of this poem. It's called: The Other Rainbow Fish ©
Once there was a beautiful rainbow fish,
She was a fabulous diva with lots of glitz
She had rainbow scales and bright purple fins
And giant eyes as shiny as gems
Half her tail was turquoise
And the other half chartreuse
With stripes and polka dots done in puce
She was the flashiest, most colorful, delightful fish
As she swam by all her colors went
Swish, swish, swish
But the other fish were haters,
Every time she swished their was
They had nothing but negative things to say
“you’re too flashy, you’re too glitzy”
“what’s with all the swish, swish, swish.
You can only be one color in our school of fish.”
Some fish would giggle
Others pointed their fins and railed
“Who ever heard of a fish with a striped and spotted tail.”
“You’re too different, you’re too strange.
All those colors are insane
There’s like totally no way
You can play in our fish games.”
So the poor rainbow fish
Was lonely indeed
With no fish to play with
She hid in the reeds
She tried to rub off her rainbow scales
And wrapped brown seaweed around her fabulous tail
But when she began to swim
They recognize her,
by her bright purple fins
They said “Oh no! It’s that tacky rainbow fish again,
Can’t you understand that we’ll never be your friends?”
Well, she had tried to hide,
And she felt bad that she had tried!
Who were those other fish to be so nasty and snide?
She was who she was
Anything less would be a lie
That’s when she decided to have some pride
She ripped off the seaweed
She shined up her scales
And did a quadruple swish
With her fabulous tail
And once she had escaped
Those plain jane hater fish
She realized there were other parts
Of the ocean she had missed.
And thus began the great journey
Of Miss rainbow fish.
She traveled here and there
And everywhere
And lots of other fish stopped to stare
At her great beauty
At her rainbow scales
At the swish, swish, swish
Of her fancy tail
And they loved her,
ADORED her
Because she was who she was
And she gave them the courage
To be themselves
Just because…
And when occasionally she came across a fish
Who didn’t want to be her friend
It didn’t bug her so much
Because she had learned by then
That the haters were just scared
And trying to blend
Instead of taking a chance and believing in
Their greatness
Their beauty
Their truth
Their light
Their hope
Their spirits
Their strength
Their might
That whatever kind of fish you were,
It was just fine
And for the rainbow fish
It felt absolutely divine.
She was free!
Finally free!
To be exactly who
she’s supposed to be.
Once there was a beautiful rainbow fish,
She was a fabulous diva with lots of glitz
She had rainbow scales and bright purple fins
And giant eyes as shiny as gems
Half her tail was turquoise
And the other half chartreuse
With stripes and polka dots done in puce
She was the flashiest, most colorful, delightful fish
As she swam by all her colors went
Swish, swish, swish
But the other fish were haters,
Every time she swished their was
They had nothing but negative things to say
“you’re too flashy, you’re too glitzy”
“what’s with all the swish, swish, swish.
You can only be one color in our school of fish.”
Some fish would giggle
Others pointed their fins and railed
“Who ever heard of a fish with a striped and spotted tail.”
“You’re too different, you’re too strange.
All those colors are insane
There’s like totally no way
You can play in our fish games.”
So the poor rainbow fish
Was lonely indeed
With no fish to play with
She hid in the reeds
She tried to rub off her rainbow scales
And wrapped brown seaweed around her fabulous tail
But when she began to swim
They recognize her,
by her bright purple fins
They said “Oh no! It’s that tacky rainbow fish again,
Can’t you understand that we’ll never be your friends?”
Well, she had tried to hide,
And she felt bad that she had tried!
Who were those other fish to be so nasty and snide?
She was who she was
Anything less would be a lie
That’s when she decided to have some pride
She ripped off the seaweed
She shined up her scales
And did a quadruple swish
With her fabulous tail
And once she had escaped
Those plain jane hater fish
She realized there were other parts
Of the ocean she had missed.
And thus began the great journey
Of Miss rainbow fish.
She traveled here and there
And everywhere
And lots of other fish stopped to stare
At her great beauty
At her rainbow scales
At the swish, swish, swish
Of her fancy tail
And they loved her,
ADORED her
Because she was who she was
And she gave them the courage
To be themselves
Just because…
And when occasionally she came across a fish
Who didn’t want to be her friend
It didn’t bug her so much
Because she had learned by then
That the haters were just scared
And trying to blend
Instead of taking a chance and believing in
Their greatness
Their beauty
Their truth
Their light
Their hope
Their spirits
Their strength
Their might
That whatever kind of fish you were,
It was just fine
And for the rainbow fish
It felt absolutely divine.
She was free!
Finally free!
To be exactly who
she’s supposed to be.
Friday, November 14, 2008
The Poetree
Next week is Literature Week at my school, so in preparation, the children have been writing amazing poetry....I mean absolutely fabulous. It has really inspired me. In our hallway hangs a magically creation called the Poetree where works from all grade, staff, parents, and faculty are displayed. I put up a few haiku. Lately I have not been writing that much poetry and it has been ages since I last slammed. I don't know, I guess it's like to being able to rub your stomach and pat your head at the same time, though I am usually proficient in multi-tasking, I find it hard to paint and write. I tend to do one or the other, and lately it's been painting. But I do miss the slam, and oddly enough I will be slamming on Monday at our all school assembly. Don't know what I'm going to read yet. Most of my poems are a little above the comprehension level or Kindergartners (at least I hope so :)), but here is a practice poem I wrote: inspired by the jar that lives by the copier.
The Poison Candy corn of Death
It sits
and lurks, and
calls my name, til
I must gorge and feel
ashamed, cause no amount
of pistachio nuts will rev me
up the same. I want sugar shaped
like traffic cones, so sweet I feel
it in my bones. Then I get jittery
and freak out, I twitch and pulse and
scream and shout, yes we all know what
its about, the candy corn of death. Oh but
how I love the autumn frosting on my tongue
that tells me halloween has come, and
poisoned me with the need to fill my belly
with the super sweet eat.
I love the candy corn of death
The Poison Candy corn of Death
It sits
and lurks, and
calls my name, til
I must gorge and feel
ashamed, cause no amount
of pistachio nuts will rev me
up the same. I want sugar shaped
like traffic cones, so sweet I feel
it in my bones. Then I get jittery
and freak out, I twitch and pulse and
scream and shout, yes we all know what
its about, the candy corn of death. Oh but
how I love the autumn frosting on my tongue
that tells me halloween has come, and
poisoned me with the need to fill my belly
with the super sweet eat.
I love the candy corn of death
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Missing Shoshana
There are some things you just know. I was born understanding that my life is a journey.I don't always understand the journey or know why I have to go where I have to go, but I have had several salient moments of absolutely knowing that I was en route to somewhere I had to go. Like Japan for example: After 8 years of studying Spanish, I announced to my friends and family that I was moving to Japan. It was crazy, illogical, and not at all what I rationally thought I might want to do, but I also knew there was something there for me. I felt like I was supposed to go. So I went, and though it was hard, it was amazing and it really helped to shape who I am now. I had a similar experience before grad school. After 3 near death experiences in Thailand, I had a messenger tell me to go to SIT. I didn't want to go back to school. I never want to go back to school. SIT was definitely akin to the Jonah story. If I hadn't finally given in and gone, I felt like some natural disaster would have befallen me and forced me to relocate to VT. Sometimes the Universe has a lesson and you don't get to opt out.
So when Shoshana first told me about the dreams she kept having about going to DC, I knew, almost before she did, that she would have to go. But I hoped she would stay. I hoped selfishly, for all the wrong reasons, that things would miraculously work out, and things did work out...but in favor of her going.
She left a few weeks ago, and though we've talked several times a week, often for hours at time, I feel her absence. I have tons of friends, but each person has their special place and I don't think I realized how much I counted on Shoshana to be there for me...if only to share a meal, or bitch about the rampant passive aggressiveness of Northwesterns.
Shoshana, I miss you so much. I'm so glad that you have this opportunity and that are doing what you have to do. I'm thrilled about all the amazing things that are happening for and to you, but it really sucks to be the one left behind.
Funny, in saying that I realize that why this is so hard. I leave. I am the leaver, not the one left behind. When am I ever in on place long enough to be left behind? Almost never, but even in this bittersweet moment, I feel even more at home than before. Everything is falling into place for me as well, and I am comforted with the knowledge that I am exactly where I should be. Your sister in the journey....
Monday, November 10, 2008
The Quatum Leap of Letting Go
Mz. Blu has been a strange, but welcome presence in my life for the last two years. She is my friend, my roomate, and occasionally my big sister. One of her favorite hobbies, in addition to kicking people with wooden shoes and watching bootleg movies on-line is torturing guys she used to date. There is almost nothing, short of a banana milkshake, that brings joy to her faster than the prospect of watching an ex suffer. I used to think this practice was cruel and a waste of time, but I am beginning to realize I was wrong. Why, you ask? Because Mz. Blu gets over it. I mean it. Though her methods are sometimes drastic, she is able to move forward, and actually process her feelings, and most importantly she can let it go. She is practically floating for how baggage free she is, in that respect.
I on the other hand, hold onto shit with the GI Joe death grip. Even when I think I am letting go, or I spend time repeating in my head that I am letting go, I realize that this can't be what's happening because if I were truly letting go, certain things wouldn't bug me so damn much. So I had a bit of regression this weekend. I was mopey and moody and in general a miserable person to be around, but instead of letting me wallow, which is what I had hoped to do, Mz. Blue took me out for some Pies and Pints, and a couple of Washington apples (the drink, not the fruit).
Mostly she just laughed at me, and we talked about the Big Round Headed Loser, and my favorite illegal immigrant, and all the other not so recent exes that stay super glued to my subconscious in order to pop up in random dreams where I am trying to find them or trying to avoid them or just simply walking with them. I had one such dream a few nights ago, where I was being deported and packing my bags and running away, but then I had to go get my daughter, whose name I didn't know and who I had never met because apparently she lived with the Big Round Headed Loser. Dreams are so weird, but they helped me to realize that even though I changed my number, I erased all his pictures, and I avoid any location he might possibly be, I haven't really let it go.
Now here is why. I am a notoriously picky, closet romantic. I like to see the best in people, but if the best isn't working for me, I am quick to get rid of them. I don't treat guys like friends, because I get so attached to my friends that they can get away with way more than the people I date could. Well the difference is that with my last two boyfriends, I really fell hard. We became friends and I began treating them as such which means making allowance for all their many imperfections, but how much is too much? I'm still working that out, but at a certain point, even though I was still in love and still wanted to try, I hit my limit and I broke it off. But it was really weird and complicated because I was still so in love. Now, I'm not in love, but I feel like I never quite put myself back together all the way. So I went home and I cried and then Mz. Blu gave me some safety goggles and let me break all the bottles in the recycling bin, then we got dressed up and I put on my blue hair and we went out dancing where she promptly ran into the Big Round Headed Loser's new girl friend. To my credit, I kept on dancing (with the help of four WA apples and a seriously kick ass DJ), but the whole time I was thinking this sucks. How can he just get over it, and move on and manifest something new. But then I realized, it doesn't matter what he's doing. He's on his path and I'm on mine, but I just couldn't help having this moment of "if you really loved me, you could've tried harder to make it work. Do you love her enough to try or does she just let you get away with all your bullshit?"
So fast forward to the next day, when I was in a bad way from 5 or 6 too many apples, my favorite hair dresser called to see if I wanted to carpool to CSL, so I went and the topic was all about quantum leaps. According to Wikipedia "In physics, a quantum leap or quantum jump is a change of an electron from one energy state to another within an atom. It is discontinuous; the electron jumps from one energy level to another instantaneously." Being hungover and listening to science was a challenge, but I think I really got something out of it. If I'm the electron, even though I've only ever been one thing, something can happen and I can make a jump, I can change the pattern. This is all about the mental equivalent. Today I may not know how to let go. It just may be one of those genes I missed out on, but if I allow myself to meditate, not on the process, but on the actual outcome I can make the leap. I know if I focus on the process I will probably end up burning down my apartment from trying to burn symbols of what was, but if I can focus on what it is I want to get out of letting go, maybe I can make that leap.
So here is what I want. I want to be free. I want to be able to think about the past without dwelling on it or second guessing my decisions. I want to move into the future without the burden of all this overwhelming luggage I keep with me. I want to just let it go, so that the next person that comes in my life actually has a chance to just be that person...so that I'm not super-imposing all their bullshit onto my perfectly fresh start. I'm off to take a leap.
What
I on the other hand, hold onto shit with the GI Joe death grip. Even when I think I am letting go, or I spend time repeating in my head that I am letting go, I realize that this can't be what's happening because if I were truly letting go, certain things wouldn't bug me so damn much. So I had a bit of regression this weekend. I was mopey and moody and in general a miserable person to be around, but instead of letting me wallow, which is what I had hoped to do, Mz. Blue took me out for some Pies and Pints, and a couple of Washington apples (the drink, not the fruit).
Mostly she just laughed at me, and we talked about the Big Round Headed Loser, and my favorite illegal immigrant, and all the other not so recent exes that stay super glued to my subconscious in order to pop up in random dreams where I am trying to find them or trying to avoid them or just simply walking with them. I had one such dream a few nights ago, where I was being deported and packing my bags and running away, but then I had to go get my daughter, whose name I didn't know and who I had never met because apparently she lived with the Big Round Headed Loser. Dreams are so weird, but they helped me to realize that even though I changed my number, I erased all his pictures, and I avoid any location he might possibly be, I haven't really let it go.
Now here is why. I am a notoriously picky, closet romantic. I like to see the best in people, but if the best isn't working for me, I am quick to get rid of them. I don't treat guys like friends, because I get so attached to my friends that they can get away with way more than the people I date could. Well the difference is that with my last two boyfriends, I really fell hard. We became friends and I began treating them as such which means making allowance for all their many imperfections, but how much is too much? I'm still working that out, but at a certain point, even though I was still in love and still wanted to try, I hit my limit and I broke it off. But it was really weird and complicated because I was still so in love. Now, I'm not in love, but I feel like I never quite put myself back together all the way. So I went home and I cried and then Mz. Blu gave me some safety goggles and let me break all the bottles in the recycling bin, then we got dressed up and I put on my blue hair and we went out dancing where she promptly ran into the Big Round Headed Loser's new girl friend. To my credit, I kept on dancing (with the help of four WA apples and a seriously kick ass DJ), but the whole time I was thinking this sucks. How can he just get over it, and move on and manifest something new. But then I realized, it doesn't matter what he's doing. He's on his path and I'm on mine, but I just couldn't help having this moment of "if you really loved me, you could've tried harder to make it work. Do you love her enough to try or does she just let you get away with all your bullshit?"
So fast forward to the next day, when I was in a bad way from 5 or 6 too many apples, my favorite hair dresser called to see if I wanted to carpool to CSL, so I went and the topic was all about quantum leaps. According to Wikipedia "In physics, a quantum leap or quantum jump is a change of an electron from one energy state to another within an atom. It is discontinuous; the electron jumps from one energy level to another instantaneously." Being hungover and listening to science was a challenge, but I think I really got something out of it. If I'm the electron, even though I've only ever been one thing, something can happen and I can make a jump, I can change the pattern. This is all about the mental equivalent. Today I may not know how to let go. It just may be one of those genes I missed out on, but if I allow myself to meditate, not on the process, but on the actual outcome I can make the leap. I know if I focus on the process I will probably end up burning down my apartment from trying to burn symbols of what was, but if I can focus on what it is I want to get out of letting go, maybe I can make that leap.
So here is what I want. I want to be free. I want to be able to think about the past without dwelling on it or second guessing my decisions. I want to move into the future without the burden of all this overwhelming luggage I keep with me. I want to just let it go, so that the next person that comes in my life actually has a chance to just be that person...so that I'm not super-imposing all their bullshit onto my perfectly fresh start. I'm off to take a leap.
What
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
A New America
Barack Obama has been elected the 44th president of the United States, the first black man to ever be president, the first president to ever make me cry. I am so proud to be an American right now. I am so proud to, for the first time, glimpse an "America as good as its promise". I want to explain what makes this election different. We all know that Barack Obama is a black man in a world where black men (and women) haven't been afforded the rights, privileges, or opportunities that are said to come with our citizenship. But this is only one facet of what makes this moment so incredible. Yes, he is a black man, but truly he is also an amazing, brilliant, daring human being who has given so selflessly of his time and talents to the purpose of healing this broken nation. I (and I know I'm not alone) have been without hope for this country for so long, that it was a foreign feeling, a strange awakening that took place when I first read Dreams From my Father, almost two years ago. And even while I kind of hoped, I never really believed. I wanted to believe. I wanted to with every fiber of my being, but this country has been so miserable for so long. You don't have to watch Eyes on the Prize to be reminded of the injustices people of color have suffered and continue to suffer on a daily basis. In my case I can simply look at my life, listen to the stories of my family and friends, remember my own stories. I don't say this expecting pity. I refuse to be a victim. I just want you to understand the constructs of my consciousness, the experience of America that has led me to a point where I could feel so desperate...the weight of my country's ills, disparaging my spirit on a daily basis. Without night, would day be as bright?
I want to explain how it feels to witness the realization, the culmination of multiple lifetimes of struggle, but I just don't have the words. All I can say is that today everything changes. Today I am able to believe, to see the proof that what I've hoped for, for so long, can...is transforming into something more tangible than hope,that my hope and the hopes of so many Americans is now a reality. I now have a president of whom I can be proud. But more than that I feel amazed to finally be a part of an America of which I can be proud. My country is actually my country. And now it is time to work. Now is the time to give, to serve, to reconstruct this new America....now is the time to do what we can to expand beyond hope into creating a better reality. I promise you, I will do my part. Thank you Barack Obama. Thank you Michelle, and all of those who have helped to make today possible.
Dia de los Muertos
Here are some of my Dia de los Muertos Paintings. A few will be shown at the Phinney Ridge Neighborhood Center this Friday at 7:00pm.
Lately I have been obsessed with Day of the Dead. November, just after Thanksgiving, marks the 8th anniversary of the death of one of my best friends. She was a month shy of 21 when she passed away in a car crash while driving back to school after the holidays. I was living in Spain and that time, but I remember hearing the news and just falling apart. I was lucky enough to make it back in time for the funeral, but it was miserable. A few weeks ago while visiting Wisconsin, I stopped by her grave. Over the years the monument to her has grown from a small patch of grass in a cemetery near where we went to high school, to a large engraved headstone with two color photos of her. There are always flowers no matter what season and it shows that I am not her only visitor. She was a beautiful person, and even all these years later, something inside breaks to think about her...but the alternative is worse.
What happens when you die? I don't know if heaven or hell exist outside of our day to day worlds. I like to think that spirits are energy and as such are neither created or destroyed, but simple transformed into whatever form they need to take on in order to move on. When I think of the people I've lost: Robin, Sue, Bobbie Jo, Papa, Papi Howl, Non, Papa Thorp, Martha, and so many others, I give thanks that at least they live on in my head. I can still remember the sound of Robin's voice, Sue's laugh...
So this year, for my first year as a Spanish teacher, I decided to celebrate Day of the Dead with my kids. I was worried about how it might go, especially knowing that some of them had recently lost grandparents. What I discovered is that the kids, like me, want to remember. Even though most of my students are only in the fourth or fifth grade, they have quite a bit of experience with death, mostly in the form of Hamsters (one of my kids has had 17 Hamsters pass away under his care....please don't buy him anymore!)and grandparents. They all have their ritual though. Some like to bury pets in the yard, others like to celebrate by having a special dinner or just lighting a candle.
Together we visited an ofrenda at a nearby school and watched a short movie about Dia de los Muertos which is celebrated on November 1 and 2 each year, when the veil between the living and dead realms is said to be more fluid. Families visit the graveyard, setting up alters with ofrendas...or offerings. It's a Mexican holiday greatly influenced by Aztec and also Catholic traditons. Alters often have four levels, representing the four seasons, the four directions, the four stages of life, and the four elements.The alters are decorated in bright colors with papel picado (tissue paper cut in beautiful patterns), pictures of the deceased and things they liked to do or foods they enjoyed. Marigold are said to light the way for the spirits. Some people make sugar skulls or pan de muerto (bread of the dead- a sweet egg bread made with anise). The whole point is to spend time with your family and friends, both living and dead.
Lately I have been obsessed with Day of the Dead. November, just after Thanksgiving, marks the 8th anniversary of the death of one of my best friends. She was a month shy of 21 when she passed away in a car crash while driving back to school after the holidays. I was living in Spain and that time, but I remember hearing the news and just falling apart. I was lucky enough to make it back in time for the funeral, but it was miserable. A few weeks ago while visiting Wisconsin, I stopped by her grave. Over the years the monument to her has grown from a small patch of grass in a cemetery near where we went to high school, to a large engraved headstone with two color photos of her. There are always flowers no matter what season and it shows that I am not her only visitor. She was a beautiful person, and even all these years later, something inside breaks to think about her...but the alternative is worse.
What happens when you die? I don't know if heaven or hell exist outside of our day to day worlds. I like to think that spirits are energy and as such are neither created or destroyed, but simple transformed into whatever form they need to take on in order to move on. When I think of the people I've lost: Robin, Sue, Bobbie Jo, Papa, Papi Howl, Non, Papa Thorp, Martha, and so many others, I give thanks that at least they live on in my head. I can still remember the sound of Robin's voice, Sue's laugh...
So this year, for my first year as a Spanish teacher, I decided to celebrate Day of the Dead with my kids. I was worried about how it might go, especially knowing that some of them had recently lost grandparents. What I discovered is that the kids, like me, want to remember. Even though most of my students are only in the fourth or fifth grade, they have quite a bit of experience with death, mostly in the form of Hamsters (one of my kids has had 17 Hamsters pass away under his care....please don't buy him anymore!)and grandparents. They all have their ritual though. Some like to bury pets in the yard, others like to celebrate by having a special dinner or just lighting a candle.
Together we visited an ofrenda at a nearby school and watched a short movie about Dia de los Muertos which is celebrated on November 1 and 2 each year, when the veil between the living and dead realms is said to be more fluid. Families visit the graveyard, setting up alters with ofrendas...or offerings. It's a Mexican holiday greatly influenced by Aztec and also Catholic traditons. Alters often have four levels, representing the four seasons, the four directions, the four stages of life, and the four elements.The alters are decorated in bright colors with papel picado (tissue paper cut in beautiful patterns), pictures of the deceased and things they liked to do or foods they enjoyed. Marigold are said to light the way for the spirits. Some people make sugar skulls or pan de muerto (bread of the dead- a sweet egg bread made with anise). The whole point is to spend time with your family and friends, both living and dead.
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