I have a thing for skulls. Fact: I have a tattoo of one–a Deathmark to be specific. In my novel’s world, a skull is a marker for grim reapers, sort of a beacon that says “hey, ferry this chick next.” So I feel that I’m a little, eh, bold for the sugar skull inked on my right hip. I’m not exactly the type to tempt death every chance I get, but I think a get a little cred for climbing Devil’s Tower in Wyoming this past June. (Was climbing 800 vertical feet scary? Not really. Was it difficult? Hell, yeah! Will I do it again? Notta chance.)
Considering my passion for skulls and occasionally cheating death, the Day of the Dead celebrations are a real fascination. I see no reason to lament the dearly departed however they passed–timely or not. The deceased deserve color, flair, and remembrance that reminds us of who they were in life, what they achieved, and not what their absence has done to our hearts.
So in a little museum near the mountains, we took an adventure into the world of Dia de los Muertas. We painted sugar skulls, saw an altar for Dr. Seuss and skeleton legos, and made flowers out of tissue paper.
Happy Dia de los Muertos!!!