Nov 2 is the Day of the Dead, in the Catholic Calendar. At least, it used to be. They might have shifted it around. They can be arbitrary about such matters. It was a day of going to the mass at the graveyard, leaving garlands white decked against old, grey gravestones. It was a bigger deal in school, I remember. The nuns had a mass to mark the occasion as well as some more rituals. It was marked in my father’s family, I think. I cannot remember very well.
What I like about religion: candles, stained glass-windows, Latin chants, and rituals. Rosary beads under fingers, holy water on the forehead, the comforting cadence of the nuns reciting hail-marys.
The Day of the Dead is celebrated here too. I know about this because I have seen various ‘multicultural’ events hosted at the symphony. They make a big fuss over this (not the occasion, but the multicultural aspect).
I remember the New Testament sentences from Luke about letting the dead bury the dead. It has been ten years and counting, and I still remember my catechism lessons. I wish my memory was this sharp about everything else.
It isn’t the best idea she has come up with. Still, she manages to nudge us into playing, her wilful smile and cajoling words paving the way for that triumph.
So we begin, most of us half-hearted, and she is the soul of innocence as she states she has never had a crush on any of her professors. The rest of us sigh and carry on, and an enterprising son of Southern Europe is even brave enough to talk about an amply proportioned chemistry teacher. Oo la la la, says the Frenchman, and we carry on.
Never have I ever had a crush on a married person, she continues daintily. We sigh and tell her that her obsession with Brad Pitt definitely counts. She tosses her pretty head, glares at us, and dares us all.
The rest of us are considerably less innocent and more circumspect. Carefully, we negotiate and avoid topics that are scandalous.
She looks cheated in the end, and I feel sorry for her, though I don’t feel sorry for having spared her. She really, really does not need to know what most of us do in our prototype vehicles over the weekends. She also does not need to know about the gutters in which our minds dwell most of the time.
However, as always, I am curious as to how exactly anyone can be so…untouched by the world, by the blatant commercialization and advertising of sex and sexuality?