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day of the dead

the journal of Michael Werneburg

twenty-seven years and one million words

Today we went down to the Harbourfront center (ignoring the unseasonable cold) and enjoyed an introduction to the Mexican "day of the dead". There were colorful shrines and streamers and food vendors and activities for the kids. With the baby in tow we couldn't do the music or stage performances or the session on how to make chocolate, but we did have some of the best soft-tortilla tacos I've ever had and Kenny has some brightly-colored day of the dead stuff (a mask, a small paper coffin, and a drawing) and what the hell, it got us out of the apartment.

They had face painting, and Kenny suggested that I do it. I told him that it wasn't for adults and he pointed to the one adult who did have the face paint done. I couldn't figure out how to explain to Kenny that the nice man had been escorted from the premises by security staff after making several loud and abrasive comments and that his behavior had been worse than that of any of the kids. Or that at one point I'd positioned myself between my family and that "adult" because he had taken his circus act to within striking range of us and had seemed about to erupt (this was shortly before the security staff arrived).