Feast of All Souls

"The Day of the Dead" by William-Adolphe Bouguereau (1859)

Going door to door, begging for cakes ("souling") was the precursor to children dressed as ghouls on Halloween and asking for candy.  The beggars would stop at a cottage and bargain for a soul cake, agreeing, in return, to pray for the souls of the recently departed in that household.  

A soul! a soul! a soul-cake!
Please good Missis, a soul-cake!
An apple, a pear, a plum, or a cherry,
Any good thing to make us all merry.

Soul Cakes were a raised dough filled with spices (nutmeg, allspice, cinnamon) and sometimes currants and marked with a cross on top to show they are Alms for the poor. They would be set out on graves on All Hallows Eve (October 31st) for the dead to consume.  (Along with a glass of wine!)  They would also be handed out to beggars and children on the Feast of All Saints (November 1st) and the Feast of All Souls (November 2nd). 

Soul, soul, an apple or two,
If you haven't an apple, a pear will do,

© Times-Picayune NOLA

One for Peter, two for Paul,
Three for the Man Who made us all.

In New Orleans, the Feast of All Saints and the Feast of All Souls is still a time to honor the dead and celebrate their lives.  The tombs in the "Cities of the Dead" are white washed, armloads of flowers (traditionally Chrysanthemums) are brought to gravesites, and milk (or something stronger!) is poured on the grave as an offering. 

New Orleans Cemetery on the Feast of All Souls © Owen Murphy

And at night, throughout some of the cemeteries,

there are hundreds of candles flickering on the graves. 

Soul Cakes (modern variation)

• 1 cup butter
• 3 3/4 cups flour
• 1 cup sugar
• 1/4 teaspoon nutmeg
• 1 teaspoon cinnamon
• 1 teaspoon ginger
• 1 teaspoon allspice
• 2 eggs
• 2 teaspoons cider vinegar
• 6 tablespoons milk
• powdered sugar, to sprinkle on top

Cut butter into flour. Blend in sugar and spices. Beat eggs, vinegar and milk together in another bowl. Add milk mixture to flour mixture and blend well. Roll dough to 1/4" thick and cut with 3" biscuit cutter. Place on parchment paper on a baking sheet and bake for 20 min. at 350 degrees. Douse with plenty of confectioner's sugar while still warm.   [Recipe from food.com] 

 

Naming Heartbreak

I spent much of the past weekend as many people on the East Coast did: battening down hatches, moving every piece of garden paraphernalia into the shed, tying arbors and pergolas down so they wouldn't sail off into the wild blue yonder as projectiles, climbing ladders and emptying gutters of leaves against the predicted heavy rains, emptying the rain barrel and readying it for a deluge.

Indoors I had to make sure I had the necessary supplies for what could potentially be a weeklong incarceration, sans lights, television, telephone, and stove.  As I was charging my cell phone, I pondered what sort of vat of something-or-other I should prepare to keep on hand to keep body and soul together.  Soup?  Stew?  Casserole?  Fritata? Quiche?  In my infinite wisdom I finally settled on Apple Crisp.  Perhaps not the most practical or gastronomically nutritious choice, but typical of my whimsical approach to "food I would like to be stranded with in a power failure".

There are numerous candles around the house, so having some kind of light wasn't an issue. And a friend had recently dropped off a huge shopping bag of cast-off magazines which, in addition to the two books I'm currently reading, would certainly keep me occupied.  (If not a little blind given that candles aren't the best light by which to read.)

As it turned out, the electricity wavered once but never went off. There was quite a bit of rain for two days although it was more of a constant splattering and never very heavy. Temperatures remained at 60 degrees throughout the storm, combined with a sticky humidity that made it seem more like August than October. And while the winds were ferocious on Sunday afternoon, they were eerily mild with only the occasional gusts throughout that night and on into Monday.

All in all, a merciful consolation to see the sunlight on Tuesday afternoon compared to what I'd anticipated.  And a jarring counterpoint to the horror I watched unfold on television for three days.

© Washington Post

The devastation that occurred in New Jersey and New York throughout the hurricane's journey over sea and land was heart-rending to watch in real-time. And each hour it seemed to go from bad to worse until it reached nearly biblical proportions.  Rain and flooding that combined with rising tides to engulf the lower East Side, the subway system, most of Long Island, and the entire Jersey Shore.  Devastating winds that uprooted trees, turned tree limbs into weapons and moved houses off their foundations. Imploding transformers that generated wild fires and levelled an entire community, destroying a neighborhood and its residents' belongings in a night-long inferno.

And then on Tuesday, I watched as the dark side of humanity revealed itself.  People whining and complaining that they had to walk to and from work and cross bridges on foot because the transit system was so crippled. At least you have homes to go to, I thought to myself, watching as those who once lived barely 8 miles away wandered in a daze, looking over the rubble they used to call home.  And there were the petty fights that broke out at bus stops as people pushed and shoved to get on board, when they should be thankful they hadn't lost the entire contents of their lives in wind, fire or flood.

Through it all, of course, the news and weather channels vied with one another to come up with the flashiest and most dramatic masthead.  Frankenstorm. Superstorm. Sandy's Wrath.  Super Sandy. Anatomy of a Superstorm. But how do you put a name on the heartache this force of nature has caused?  And should you even try?  It's impossible to capture within the confines of a pithy commercial title the true horror that has descended on these lives.

People laugh at New Englanders for being so twitchy when a hurricane or blizzard is forecast.  We make our requisite trips to the store for "milk and bread" and fill our bathtubs with water. And then we laugh at ourselves when the storm comes and goes, feeling a bit silly for having been so nervous, and glad that we dodged another meteorological bullet.  But sometimes the slug hits home.  It certainly found its target in New York and New Jersey.  And no amount of preparation can truly stop nature from wielding her heavy hand against you.

I admit that I felt terribly guilty looking out the window into the sunlight on Tuesday while yards away on the television there was so much suffering.  I felt guilty for being able to reach for a light switch or the knob on the stove and get immediate light and heat, knowing that people were surrounded by raw sewage, standing water, and darkness.  And I felt guilty that with Halloween only a day away I was concerned whether I had enough candy on hand, when so many people had few if any belongings left.

I am keeping everyone who sustained damage, heartbreak, and loss in my thoughts and prayers.  And to me, the only 'name' for what they've experienced is unfair. 

The Cone of Uncertainty

 So help me, if this beauty .....

 makes THIS beauty fall onto my cottage .....

 

I'm just gonna open the door and walk out into traffic.

Favorite thing No. 123b

There's no way around it.  Where I live is one of my favorite things.

I am a coastal dweller. I could never NOT  live near a coast.

(Or at least near enough to be able to be there in under 40 minutes.) 

 Lakes are certainly beautiful. This is a lake near my brother's home.

But they are not the same as an ocean coastline.

For one thing, there is a boundary visible in the distance.

(Unlike the seeming limitless sprawl of an ocean.)

 And barring the occasional swell from a motor boat, a lake has no tide. 

And I am a person who needs a tide.

I need that pulling and pushing and the sense of being drawn away

into something far greater than myself.

I need the scent of salt air now and then when the breeze is just right,

and knowing there are boats at the ready not far from here,

going off in the night or early morning to ply the waters,

bringing bay scallops and other treasures to the markets.

See that little break in the horizon behind the trawler's cottage?

The one between the island on the left and the jutting coast on the right?

That is the pathway I need.... directly into open waters.

Sometimes wandering along the waterfront in one of the nearby towns is enough.

Just knowing that the seawater lapping at my feet is on its way into the Ocean's trough.

(And hours later it may return with stories to tell....

or it may journey on to somewhere more exotic.)

There are the long walkways that stretch outward over the water,

a perfect vantage point for watching Cormorants dive and hide under the waves.

And there are the shingle beaches where I find lovely shells and rounded stones,

worn by countless tides that tumble them in and out of the ocean, over and over again.

 

 And no rocky coast would be complete without its lighthouses.

 There are quite a few just south of here, some on the mainland
and some on neighboring islands, shining outward over the sea.

 Kindly Lights that have saved so many lives,

impervious to the seas that erode the very rocks that hold them.

"Even at this distance I can see the tides, upheaving... 
a speechless wrath, that rises and subsides."

—H.W. Longfellow

I cannot imagine living anywhere else.

Put on a shawl and walk up the coast with me to Claudia's place.