November opened with compatriots paying homage to family members who have gone the way of the ancestors. Flowers and candles covered the graves of loved ones. Sandy contributed by increasing the number of requiem masses sung on All Souls Day. Today’s presidential election has relatives and friends crossing their fingers and biting their nails. The future and the past sit on a scale. In just a few hours everyone will know which one weighs more and which one the wind will carry with it.
November opened also with Fèt Gede: a celebration for the baddest spirit of the pantheon–the one who laughs at death and travels freely between this life and the other. After days of trying to clean up the mess Sandy made, revelers delighted in offering their best gouyad hip-rolls in Gede’s honor. Unlit cigars hung from their lips. White flour or talcum powder covered the sides of their faces that were not painted to look like skulls. Some wore dark sunglasses to symbolize how blinding the world above ground can be.
4th of November: lack of electricity sparked the raging fire of creativity in many writers, painters, chefs, and musicians. Everyone composed masterpieces by candlelight and with scant supplies. Memories of my recently deceased grandmother danced in my head. In the aftermath of a storm like Sandy, she would have made a pot of pumpkin soup to share with neighbors . . .
November 5th: A certain woman whose husband belongs to the ________ political party turned her house into a swing state. Her dining table became a stage. The herbs in her garden were still alive; she brought in fragrant rosemary and sage. The peppers must have been too hot for Sandy to touch; exactly twenty-one remained on a frost-bitten plant. The lady brought those into her house, too. (Gede likes to play with hot peppers. He is an unabashedly raunchy trickster. He likes to put peppers in strange places. Don’t let him near you when he has hot peppers in his possession.)
The lady in the swing state house divided the lot. She and her husband had ten peppers each. They would go to a polling station, cast their ballots, run back home, and wait. The extra pepper would go to the winner.
The husband knew his wife would fall asleep while watching the news people talk and talk. He would wake her, if his choice for president won. If the other guy made it, he would go to sleep, too.
By morning, both would agree on this one thing: much will change. Much will remain the same.