In the middle of the journey of my life, I am--as always--a woman on a bike. Although I do not know where this road will lead, the way is not lost, for I have arrived here. And I am on my bicycle, again.
I am Justine Valinotti.
Showing posts with label Day of the Dead. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Day of the Dead. Show all posts
When I was growing up, this day—the one after Halloween—was known as All Saints’ Day.
Then again, I was taught by Italian-American relatives and Irish and Irish-American nuns. As hard as this may be to fathom, especially if you are, ahem, young enough to be a child I’ll never have, there weren’t any Mexicans in our neighborhood in the heart of Brooklyn. So I didn’t know about Dia de Los Muertos—the Day of the Dead—until I was well into adulthood.
So, today, in addition to enjoying nachos, I will celebrate this day by relishing the irony of some imagery I’ve seen.
Some people cycle to improve their health and prolong their lives. Perhaps the above image shows that it’s a good plan—or that some of us will never stop cycling!
Es el segundo dia de los muertos. (It's the second Day of the Dead.) With that in mind, I bring you this:
A few years ago, my father insisted that I write a will. Of course, I didn't want to, but I'm glad I did. What interested me more, however, than what would happen to my, shall we say modest, wealth is what will happen to me. To wit: I've specified that I don't want a funeral and that I want to donate my body for medical research.
But whatever happens, my body will have to be transported. I didn't mention that, but now I know how I want it to be brought from wherever to whichever research facility. For that, I have Isabelle Plumereau to thank.
She runs "The Sky and the Earth," a small funeral home in Paris. Her brainchild is the "corbicyclette." The name says it all: It's a portmanteau of "corbillard" and "bicyclette," the French words for "hearse" and "bicycle." Essentially, it's a cargo bicycle designed to carry full-size coffins.
Plumereau says she is trying to bring environmentally sustainable practices to the funeral industry. She also had, however, other motivations when she created her vehicle for the "final journey." For one thing, it "allows for a slow, silent, quiet procession, to the rhythm of the steps of the people who walk behind and who make the procession."
That comment reminded me of a conversation with a neighbor who's studying to be a funeral director. As he described some aspects of the job, I realized why they're called "directors:" a funeral is as much a performance and a production as anything staged in the Globe or on Broadway--or done in the classroom. Plumereau seems to understand that; if anything, from the comment I quoted, I'd liken her to a choreographer.
Another motivation for her was the aesthetics of the vehicle itself. "I am as attached to the form as I am to the content," she explained. "For me, it is very important to accompany the families by proposing to put meaning in the ceremony, but also by proposing to put beauty. Because beauty is also what will bring comfort."
I wonder whether she feels the way I do about typical funeral hearses: They disturb me, not only because they carry dead people, but because they're just so ostentatiously intimidating in their appearance.
While Isabelle Plumereau's "corbicyclette" is the first of its kind in France; it's not the first in the world: A few similar bicycle-hearses exist in Denmark and the United States. But a funeral home, however small, using such a vehicle in a city as prominent as Paris--and in a country like France which, like other European countries, has an aging population--may well influence others, in her own city and country and others.
Oh, by the way, the corbicyclette has an electric assist to help its operator up hills. Still, I have to give Ms. Plumereau and anyone else using such a vehicle "props." (I was going to say that I'd be "eternally grateful" but that's, well, somewhere I felt I couldn't go if I'm going to continue calling this blog "Midlife Cycling!")
Today is Dia de los Muertos--the Day of the Dead. Actually, it's the first of two Dias de los Muertos. Like most Americans, I assumed it was simply today, the day after Halloween, which I knew as "All Saints' Day" when I was growing up. But, as it turns out, today's commemoration is for deceased children; tomorrow is for departed adults.
As a kid, I always thought it was weird to have a solemn "All Saints' Day"--when we were supposed to attend Mass (I served, as an altar boy, in two ASD masses)--the day after Trick or Treating. Perhaps that was a way of inculcating us with Catholic Guilt (TM): You pay for pleasure with pain, or at least drudgery.
Interestingly, Dia de los Muertos, at least as it's celebrated in Mexico and Mexican immigrant communities, bears more resemblance to our Halloween than to a somber church holiday. Notice that I used the word "celebrated." That's exactly the point of the costumes and festivities: to celebrate the lives of the departed.
I know that there are organized bike rides with cyclists in costume. I can't go to one of those, but I will ride later today with some old riding buddies.
Yes, they're old bike riders. Me, I'm Midlife Cycling! I go wherever the journey takes me.
I grew up thinking today was All Saints' Day. Later, I learned that it was also called All Souls' Day. Either way, it was the reason Halloween (All Hallows' E'en) existed. Then I learned that those two days, and the one that follows are celebrated as Dia de Muertos in Mexico, and now in Mexican communities here in the US.
Actually, only the southern part of Mexico, where Aztec and other indigenous cultures were still strong, celebrated it until the middle of the 20th Century. Until then, the north--which was almost entirely Roman Catholic and mainly of European ancestry--commemorated All Saints' Day in a fashion similar to the rest of the Catholic world. What that meant, mainly, was going to Mass and, for some families, a commemorative meal or other event for their dear departed. I must say, though, that for a time in my life, it didn't seem to have anything to do with death--unless, perhaps, the weather was particularly gloomy. Catholic schools, including the one I attended, were closed that day. We were expected to go to church, but other than that, we were free. At least, I was, because my family didn't do anything special for the day.
I can remember going for bike rides on the first of November, both as a child and as an adult. According to the calendar, this day is the first day of the year's penultimate month. Some years, the weather told us that the cycling season was winding down, or even on its last legs.
Whatever the day was like, the sensual feast of October would soon be over and the more austere beauty of November would lead to rides that shortened with the amount of daylight available but grew in intensity, sometimes physically but more often emotionally.
Today I rode to work and I might get to sneak out for a "quickie" before riding home. Whatever I do, I am sure to think about not only my rides past, but also the people who rode (some of) them with me--and the person I was on those rides. And, of course, about the rides ahead. Yes, on the Day of the Dead. About the Images: The first is the box from a special edition "Day of the Dead" Bicycle playing card set. The second, third and fourth are by Heather Calderon and are titled "Hollywood Bicycle Woman," "Hollywood Bicycle Man" and "El Panadero", respectively.
In Mexico, today is celebrated as el Dia de Muertos, or the day of the dead. The holiday originated with indigenous people, and current ways of celebrating it can be traced back to the Aztec beginning-of-summer festival honoring the goddess Mictecacihuatl (If anyone has an Aztec spell-check, let me know!) After los conquistadores arrived in the 16th Century, the holiday was moved to the beginning of November to coincide with the Roman Catholic feast of All Saints' Day. In France and some other countries, families leave crysanthemums on the graves of deceased relatives on Toussaint. (During my childhood, many Italian-American families did the same thing.) In one of her essays, Marguerite Yourcenar observed that autumn rites are among the oldest and most universal, and are held after the last harvests, when "the barren earth is thought to give passage to the souls lying beneath it". Anyway, I actually found a Day of the Dead bike jersey:
and some artwork, including this tandem bicycle hearse, if you will
Take the motors away from Hell's Angels, and you get this:
Believe it or not, some people actually get married on this day:
Now, if any of you gear freaks are looking for the ultimate bike part, check out this seat:
Finally, if you want something that expresses the spirit of this day better than this blog post, check out this poem from--who else?--Emily Dickinson:
