Day of the Dead goes mainstream
Death is all around us. Well, that much is always true, but it has been especially so around my house, where, since Sunday, my living room has been graced by the yearly addition of a candled, flowered, candied altar to my dead.
Yep, it's that time of the year: Saturday was Halloween, followed immediately on Sunday by the first day of the Mexican, Central and South American celebration Dia de los Muertos, a festival-like tradition honoring departed loved ones.
Today, Nov. 2, is when the whiskey, tequila, heavy food and cigarettes are usually brought out because that's the day deceased adults are honored. But I go to town with candy, toys, flowers and light-hearted trinkets on Nov. 1, which is the day infants and children are remembered -- and the day my own departed young one is celebrated in my home.
The coolest thing about this year's Day of the Dead celebrations is that this -- I proclaim -- is the year it went mainstream. It's no surprise every year when the Mexican supermarkets and bakeries put out the annual sugar skulls, pan de muerto -- "bread of the dead" -- and skeleton pinatas. But this year I've seen Mexican muerto skull sugar cookies in very mainstream bakeries, and I've seen feature stories all over the Internet, in mainstream newspapers, magazines and on TV about how to make the vibrant and fun accoutrements of this Latin American holiday.
I love that for two reasons. First, non-Latinos are learning about Hispanic culture and naturally integrating bits and parts into their own Halloween affairs -- melting pot, I think they call it.
Second, it's a great education for that segment of the Hispanic population who didn't grow up with this tradition. Culture is funny that way, some touchstones ignored by one generation only to be taken up by the next.
Take me, for instance. You might be imagining a young me flanked by black lace-garbed Mama Cepeda and Abuelita Cepeda in a great big sun-drenched kitchen decorated with colorful clay cooking pots, learning with tiny hands how to roll out the masa -- dough -- for the pan de muerto. Perhaps you imagine us decorating the graves of our loved ones. That couldn't be farther from the truth.
A family trip from the bosom of the North Side all the way to Pilsen's National Museum of Mexican Art to see dressed up little skeletons? Not once.
And there's nothing wrong with that. Culture can be so very strong that it need not be drilled in via field trip or workshop. Think chocolate bunnies at Easter.
No, I grew up in this city living whatever the "typical American life" means. Since Mayor Daley never dyed the Chicago river black on Dia de los Muertos, my family never made a fuss about it, reserving their loving attention to ensuring year after year of picture-perfect Halloweens for me.
Like I said, culture is a funny thing. It can skip generations, yet it is so strong that it can leave a homeland, travel thousands of miles and settle into new interpretations. This is only my sixth year of setting up a Day of the Dead altar.
When I started, I felt the need to connect to something symbolic in my heritage, but I didn't want to share my new personal tradition with anyone. I didn't want to deal with explaining that it's not some Satanic hoodoo voodoo thing.
But how scary can Latin American traditions really be to anyone -- even those who fear the melting pot has become an unwieldy and distasteful chunky stew -- when grocery chains sell Day of the Dead greeting cards and delightful pictures, and recipes for traditional sugar skulls, sweet bread, and hot chocolate seem newly omnipresent?
To my great happy surprise, I've "come out" of the Dia del Muerto coffin only to find a pre-Colombian, all-American tradition rising in the U. S. of A.