Somebody has written your grandmother's name on a piece of paper and set it beside a candle, except it is not your grandmother, and you stand there reading it anyway. That is what the ofrendas do to a stranger. Families build them in the plazas for the people they lost, and for a few minutes the distance between here and gone gets very small. Adobe walls that usually frame a historic district become the backdrop for one of the largest of these celebrations in Southern California — altars, papel picado, marigolds everywhere. The face painting draws real lines; the calavera artists have been doing this for years and it shows. Traditional music fills the courtyard. You can smell the pan de muerto and the champurrado from a block away. This is not Halloween. It is older, and it runs deeper, and if you have never been, know that the sadness and the celebration are the same thing.
Somebody has written your grandmother's name on a piece of paper and set it beside a candle, except it is not your grandmother, and you stand there reading it anyway. That is what the ofrendas do to a stranger. Families build them in the plazas for the people they lost, and for a few minutes the distance between here and gone gets very small. Adobe walls that usually frame a historic district become the backdrop for one of the largest of these celebrations in Southern California — altars, papel picado, marigolds everywhere. The face painting draws real lines; the calavera artists have been doing this for years and it shows. Traditional music fills the courtyard. You can smell the pan de muerto and the champurrado from a block away. This is not Halloween. It is older, and it runs deeper, and if you have never been, know that the sadness and the celebration are the same thing.
Somebody has written your grandmother's name on a piece of paper and set it beside a candle, except it is not your grandmother, and you stand there reading it anyway. That is what the ofrendas do to a stranger. Families build them in the plazas for the people they lost, and for a few minutes the distance between here and gone gets very small. Adobe walls that usually frame a historic district become the backdrop for one of the largest of these celebrations in Southern California — altars, papel picado, marigolds everywhere. The face painting draws real lines; the calavera artists have been doing this for years and it shows. Traditional music fills the courtyard. You can smell the pan de muerto and the champurrado from a block away. This is not Halloween. It is older, and it runs deeper, and if you have never been, know that the sadness and the celebration are the same thing.
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