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 Dia de los Muertos. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dia de los Muertos. 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.
Emily Dickinson, was a great a poet, but I doubt she had any contact with Latinx culture. Most likely, she never rode a bicycle, either. So, when she penned
