When we lived on the West Side of San Antonio, we would go see the altars honoring loved ones on El Día de los Muertos. The one I remember best was simple: a hawkbill pruning knife, a Zippo lighter, a pack of Camel cigarettes and a coffee mug, the kind with thick ceramic walls that hold the heat.
The hawkbill? The man, a beloved father and grandfather, had been a gardener.
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