REFLECTING ON THEM

Yesterday was the Hungry Ghost Festival (鬼節 'gwai jit'). No, I didn't take it personally, but I didn't go to my usual haunts anyhow. Because I know it's not about me. The Hungry Ghost Festival is when the spirits can easily visit the mortal world, and it's only an odd coincidence that white people are often referred to as "ghosts" (鬼 'gwai'). Amusing, too.
Boo, little kiddie, boo!

The Hungry Ghost Festival occurs on the fifteenth day of the seventh month, which this year was August 15. The Moon festival is coming up soon (less than four weeks), which is a more cheery event.

You can look up both celebrations on Wikipedia, there is no need to detail them here. Suffice to say that people think of their family and kin at both times, and remember relatives who have passed on.


Not being Chinese, I can safely assume that my ancestors do not expect offerings at any particular time of the year. And, seeing as Caucasian families usually aren't very close after four or five generations, they'd be surprised if there were any.

"Never mind us", they might say, "just keep on doing what you do, because it's so entertaining to watch you spin your little wheels".


One of my ancestors was a gentleman in the Thirteenth century named 'Gompert'.
I try to imagine what he was like. Did he have any teeth left by the time he died? Was he arthritic? Would he have enjoyed the foods that I eat? Was he happy? And what the heck would his late mediaeval dialect of Eastern Netherlandish / Brabantish / Limburgian have sounded like?

Any words of wisdom?

Perhaps someone rather like Dennis in Monty Python and the Holy Grail.
Sneering at kings, sacred swords, and moistened bints lobbing scimitars. Because, as we all now realize, supreme executive power derives from a mandate from the masses, not from some farcical aquatic ceremony.

Other than his name, time, and place, I know nothing about the man.
Facebook, My Space, and other social media don't go that far back.


The same lack of crap all over the internet holds for almost everyone else from whom I am descended, although a little more is known about Abraham Pietersen van Deursen, a native of Haarlem, who brewed beer in New York during the sixteen hundreds. He probably would've sneered at the swill modern Americans drink. Bud, Coors, Corona, Heineken, Miller.
Watney's Red Barrel.


In the main, I am not a beer drinker. Sort of breaking with a long tradition on this. But I am a pipe smoker, as many of my relatives during the past four centuries undoubtedly have also been. And all of those individuals probably enjoyed caffeinated beverages, meat, fowl, spices, condiments. Those who could got vaccinated, and ate GMOs. To the best of my knowledge, I am not related to any Vegans, Shamans, Spiritual People, Crystal Healers, Gluten-phobics, Massage Therapists, or White Buddhists.

Good people. Straightforward.
Burghers.




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