Happy Day of the Dead! Or, Days of the Dead. I think it was technically yesterday, but my acute self-involvement and habit of staring off into space frequently prevent effective time management. Did you do anything to celebrate? I did. I made a calavera, not from sugar, but from papier-mache (add your own accents where required). Witness the beauty of the calavera!

CALAVERA

Mine is the one on the left. As everything in my world must have an elaborate back-story, I envisioned it as a poignant mermaid skull, floating about the sea eternally in search of some crabcakes. Perhaps she is also in search of the rest of her skeleton. I would be.

The calavera on the right, the scary, electric green one with eyes that bore through you and cause nightmares, was created by my mother. (Extrapolate to draw conclusions about my childhood and ensuing lingering emotional issues.)

Some of the folks present did not enjoy to paint calaveras with us, citing religious beliefs, specifically, that the painting of said calaveras went against said beliefs. I'm uncertain how the Mexican day of remembrance of the dead can be construed as Satanic--any hints from the audience? My calavera was very much not Satanic, with its soothing blues and greens (although the red coral could be taken by the religiously sensitive as kinda pitchforky). I mostly concentrated on the beauty of the sea, the sea, the glorious sea, and also glitter, which I applied with a liberal hand. I think the dead would want to be remembered in the most sparkly way imaginable. I know I would, and so if and when I ever do die, I hope someone makes a Violet calavera, with false eyelashes and glittering with tasteful sequins and perhaps a pale pink fox fur collar. (The departed are beyond the boundaries of political correctness as it applies to the wearing of fur.) I hope that they also spritz said calavera with a generous amount of Herm�s 24 Faubourg, but that is not within my control.

I also celebrated by shopping with Sweetheart for appropriate clothes to wear to tomorrow night's gig. We were experiencing similar levels of angst about the matter, with no clear vision of what we wanted, so it was unproductive yet entertaining. We ended up in a new store on the end of Main Street, where a cute salesgirl with braces applied superhuman pressure in an attempt to get us to buy a variety of garments. I opted not to purchase the metallic gold and bronze halter dress I tried on, but only because it is slit to the waist, the waist, I tell you! and I am not prepared to show that much skin. Not until we play the Super Bowl, anyway.

I ended up with a couple of necklaces and two Irish linen dish towels, each bearing a recipe for Irish coffee. (Those, from the thrift store.)

The Keelhauler is due home today, and I was disappointed when I realized I'd left my phone at home, because I'd be unable to receive his traditional "On land" text message of romance. ("On land 10 min.," it generally reads.)

I was at my desk when the phone rang, and when I answered it, heard a fuzzy ambient sound, so assumed it was the Keelhauler calling from the sea. "May I please speak to Violet White?" the voice asked, a voice I recognized as the Keelhauler's. I don't know if he hadn't recognized my voice, or if he was amusing himself, but I liked hearing his polite tone. It was like I was eavesdropping on him, and it reminded me of the first time he'd ever called me, when I lived in Tucson. ("Hi, I don't know if you remember me...") Oh, I remember you, Keelhauler! Have no fear.

He was calling to say that his replacement, a shady character we'll call Spike, wasn't expected to show up for a couple of days, owing to car trouble or detainment by the law, or something. The Keelhauler was calling to discuss options--stay on the boat until Spike arrived, whenever that might be, and miss my show tomorrow, but earn more money; or, get off the boat, come to the show. I'd just written a big check for our property tax, and gone over the upcoming bills, so money was on my mind, and my mind on my money. Still, when he suggested staying on the boat, I felt a slight welling-up in the eye area, and said I would vote for him coming home.

"I would vote for that, too," he said, but I got the sense that he'd do the dutiful thing if I'd thought it was a good idea.

I say, forget dutiful and focus on entertainment, at least for this week. And that is my advice for all of you, as well. Enjoy it in good health.

Star of the day. . .Frida Kahlo