on a sunny day, thinking lightly of death

on the bus to the village i got busy reading russian poetry with my pocket dictionary and the notebook, which is slightly absurd but not the most absurd thing i've done by far, so there. then i'm left at the top of the hill and mid-poem, so i start walking down while looking up words.
i was reading marina tsvetaeva, this is her wiki bio for the curious,  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marina_Tsvetaeva , and the wikisource for translations in english of some of her poems http://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Author:Marina_Tsvetaeva.  and this was what the morning looked like:

i was at the beginning of the book, poems she wrote when she was young and still had it good, and a lot of them are about death: wanting to die while life is still open in front of her/ imagining a passer-by stopping by her grave. http://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Pass_by,_as_you_look_so_like_me_...
(i'm getting frustrated with all the translations i'm finding!! the poem in russian is so graceful, not one rhyme is forced, and etc. it makes me want to try my own translation. bah, then it makes me only want to learn russian faster. when she says "i laughed when it wasn't allowed...and blood ran through my veins, and my hair curled, i was as much alive as you are", there's so much joyful defiance in that, in those specific words.      )

and then she says " think of me lightly, and forget me lightly." and i'm in the fog on top of a hill, unable to share what got me excited. ugh.

 my parents and i were in the village this weekend for "the day of the dead". which is not a party and celebration in itself, but not a mournful occasion either - of course there's a lot of social show involved, but a big part of it is commemorating the life of those who died. now thinking about it, it is one of my favourite holidays, but especially in the village.

(this is just our autumny yard, before we raked the leaves)

in the city, november 1st (the 'proper' day of the dead) is annoying, overcrowded, full of flower mafia and traffic, so it's harder for the true spirit of the holiday to shine through. in my village (so i'm imagining, especially in tiny villages where everybody knows each other) it's a much cozier affair, with light-hearted banter and checking out to see whether your neighbour's grave was properly tended and whether he has nicer flowers than you. not even kidding.

this is the flower offer of my family. luckily i love chrysanthemums, and my grandma did too.

mmmmm short interlude to show off our traditional november foods, baked pumpkin and apples. minimum effort, best taste ever.

so ok, my parents and i went to the graveyard. three times in 2 days. (it helps that it's just above our house, but still!) first time it was to clean the graves, second to place the flowers and candles, third for the religious service. stretch the fun as long as it goes, right?

you can see how lovely saturday was.

and a lot of people were working there, tending their plots and sharing anecdotes and bits of memories. i knew some of these people from my village days, others were relatives of relatives etc. my dad was well in his element, what with being born there and remembering a lot of those who died a long time ago and all.

this is my grandparents' grave. i don't really understand the tradition about sticking the small bunches of flowers into the ground, i think big bouquets would be much prettier, but if that's the way it's done, there's no arguing.

and the cross with the photo is where the certifiedly oldest person in the village lies. 1864-1967. my dad knew her, and proceeded to tell us everything about her. obviously. then he told some other people and led them to the grave so they could see for themselves.

these are the new crosses my parents ordered for my great-aunt (whom i still remember : i was trying to teach her to write when i was 9 and she was 86) and my great-grandma (who died immediately as i turned 3, and to whom apparently i was as abusive as a small child can be). my mum wanted to get a single cross for both, but dad said no, they never got along and they would have wanted them separate.

here's the priest officiating. i think people were just chatting in groups all through the ceremony. it's probably the number one occasion when so many people who have dead relatives buried here come to pay their respects, so you get people who grew up together who see each other once a year at most, probably less, with the new additions to their families and their new losses and all.

there were a lot of children! they do get candy traditionally, like at hallowe'en. every person in my generation seems to have at least one. child.

and it was such a warm sunny day, that bees were buzzing around the flowers. also, candles were super hard to light because of the wind, but after dark from down in our yard you could still see the lights at the graveyard. i'm glad that it didn't rain this time, but i've been to rainy day-of-the-dead s and it's still a good occasion. any weather metaphor applies for this one, really.

c