November 2, 2008: Dia de Los Muertos and Dia de Bloglandia
My father's Canadian Airforce jacket is draped over a chair next to the ofrenda I made for him this week. I think this was his jacket when he was a corporal. For most of my life I knew my father was a Canadian Airforce Captain although once as child I proudly introduced him to my neighborhood friends as My Father the Policeman. I remember hearing him laugh when he heard that. It was all the shiny gold buttons and colourful decorations pinned to his jacket that had me confused.
I remember my father as a quiet man who loved reading, crossword puzzles and old black and white movies, especially if they were set during WWII. Bing Crosby, Fred Astaire, Jimmy Stewart were welcomed visitors in our living room on a Sunday afternoon. Thanks to my father and his love for old movies, I thought as an eight year old that if I half-closed my eyes a la Betty Davis while talking to my third grade crush, I would be irresistable. Poor Michael looked quite concerned on the junglegym that day.
To say that my father adored dark chocolate, caramels and scottish mints would be an understatement. I remember my twin sister, M., and I crawling into our parents' bedroom late at night to steal the two equally-divided pieces of Burnt Almond on his nightstand. I distinctly remember M. and I giggling that dad smiled while he slept.
My father's clothes always smelled of mints and it was a common occurrence for him to pass mints to us during long church services. Years later, at his funeral, I tucked mints into the pockets of his jacket.
Other memories of my father include standing on his toes as a kid while we danced to an old song (likely performed by the Glenn Miller Band), M and me dancing in the swirls of his cigarette smoke on the shag rug in the living room (hey, it was the mid-seventies, man), shoveling the snow out of our country driveway (if I could go back in time, I would have picked up that shovel more often), M and I holding onto his arms when we met him at his office (and also the saluting among the military personnel) and of him picking me up in the car after I got off from work (How was your day, Pumpkin?).
After my father died, I went through a long angry phase where I couldn't look at his photograph let alone focus on a memory of him. It was as if I couldn't forgive him for dying. When I found out about the Mexican festival Dia de los Muertos, I learned of a more positive way of dealing with grief. Even though the sad emotions still reside just under the skin, I can now talk about my father and laugh at our funny moments together.
Tonight we'll be having one of my father's favourite dinners: roast beef, potatoes and vegetables (in his book, potatoes were a food group on its own). We'll also be having traditional Bread of the Dead which I made for the first time on Friday afternoon. It tastes sweet, a cross between bread and a dessert.
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For other Dia de Bloglandia posts, please check out the list of participants below. If you have written a Dia de Bloglandia post but don't see a link to your blog below, please leave a comment and I'll add you to the list as soon as I can. I'll be leaving this post up for the rest of the week. And thank you for participating!
Look What Leather Lips Sees And Says
Just A Plane Ride Away (Where I Talk About Art)
Gemma (Wild Woman In A Desert Garden)
