Open Writing

During the month of October, my regular supermarket is packing groceries
in orange plastic bags. It's bad enough that they are still using plastic
bags, but orange ones? On inspection of said bags, I discovered they are
decorated with ghostly figures waving 'happy hallowe'en' signs.
Yes, it's Hallowe'en again, and we are being bombarded with things scary and
orange and black every time we try to buy something.

Although I have lived through many Hallowe'ens in Toronto, I never seem
to lose the sense of bewilderment that I felt the first time I experienced the
celebration. The wanton desecration of all those pumpkins, the orgy of
candy, and the otherworldly costumes parading about threw me for a loop.

And the improvised get-ups worn by the children as they go 'trick or
treating' on the evening of October 31st, lugging grinning pumpkin shaped
pails full of candy, as they whoop and holler and indulge in what they
consider ghostly antics.

In spite of myself, the Hallowe'en tentacles have also reached out and
drawn me into its ritualistic net. Stretching my limited creative ability, I
had to respond to my daughter's desires for all kinds of impossible-to-sew
outfits. We made family trips to the candy store to stock up on supplies, so
that the little trick o'treaters (and sometimes big ones too) who came
tramping up the lawn demanding their quota of sugar would not be
disappointed. There was no escape, even in the respectable office environment.

The Hallowe'en parties beckoned. Grown-ups took advantage
of the opportunity to display the silly side of their personalities. And
people drank strange looking brews, and bit into confections that looked
like they might do injury to their health. There was no end to the
carrying-ons.

Growing up in the Caribbean, my concept of Hallowe'en was quite different
from the North American version. We celebrated All Soul's Day on
November 1st. The religious aspect of the celebration as defined by
Catholicism overshadowed the more Pagan and Celtic rites, endowing it
with an unnerving sense of fear. As children, we were concerned about the
spirits of the dead who were returning to the living world on that night.

While you hoped they never visited you, you did your best to placate them,
just in case. The adults paid special attention to the graves of their
relatives, weeding and reclaiming abandoned cemeteries, and lighting
candles on the newly decorated resting-places of their ancestors. I don't
remember food and drink being part of the offering, except for a powdery
concoction of roasted ground corn and sugar which the villagers ate at that
time. You could only have small amounts because of its choking potential.

However, like all enterprising young people, we did our best to create
opportunities for our own diversion on All Soul's night. With the large
cemeteries located in distant parts of the island (Grenada), the villagers
organized bus parties to go visiting their dead relatives, or just simply to
see the grand glow of so many candles burning in the night. Sometimes
our parents allowed us to go on those bus trips, relying on our sense of
fear to keep us on the straight and narrow, but our budding hormones
propelled us into other directions. Young girls got to talk to boys. Maybe to
even sit on the bus beside them. Banned relationships sometimes got a
boost. But the culprits were always reported on, and the threat of 'never
letting you go anywhere again' took its toll on our few liberties.

I imagine all these restrictions have gone with the years and the North
Americanization of the islands. Young people have lost their fear of the
supernatural, and the dividing line between the mysterious and the
mundane has all but disappeared. I don't know whether a cemetery eerily
glowing with lighted candles still hold any sense of dread for young
people. And the huge commercial mayhem that underpins the month-long
celebration in Toronto is not sustainable in the islands. Going door to door
collecting candy is not an option. At least not in the village areas. Neither
is walking in the dark wearing a masked costume. That's inviting trouble.

Perhaps in this age of ipods and MP3 players, hobnobbing with ghosts and
witches and remembering the dead is a good thing; allowing our
imagination to travel beyond today's logic and technology could give us a
chance to think of the unknowable. But hold the candy, please!

© Lytrice Adams

Lytrice writes for Bonzer! magazine. Please visit www.bonzer.org.au