Friday, October 31, 2008

The Communion of Saints


Like most adults, I love Halloween; I love it for the excuse it gives for silliness -- and neighborliness, too. This may be the only time all year that I even see some of our neighbors -- the grown-up ones, I mean, those over 5 feet.


We've been gnoshing on the Trick-or-Treat candy, Fred and I. You know, on the sly. Unbeknownst. In secret. Surrepticiously. But then, you realize, as you take the last Reese's Peanut Butter Cup, that you are leaving a gaping hole in the bowl of sweets, that everyone is aware of your stealth, and that you are not stealthy at all. La Belle Bianca Castafiore giggles at it all, pokes fun. The nerve of her. (She only eats the finest of chocolates and turns up her considerable nose at our commercial sweets. Her dresser at the Opéra, especially, admires --and appreciates -- her resolve.)


I miss partying, though I hate to admit it. The very best parties in my memory are associated with the Día de los Muertos. Those Latin American Studies folk knew how to celebrate the perquisite saints and the souls, which dances to dance in the hilly backyard, hands held in a laughing circle, me done up as a pregnant nun -- whirling, whirling!

It comes down to community -- Halloween, el Día de los Muertos, and the upcoming All Saints' and All Souls days. We remember, not as individuals, but as something... larger.
(As I wipe the tear from my eye... I see Bianca slinking near the goody bowl... She reaches, she grabs, she looks furtively around. Aha! Gotcha, you freakish diva! Gotcha!)

Be safe out there tonight!

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