kites

Ten years into adulthood and I still haven't grown out of certain childhood pleasures. I usually end up with a new kite every year until the plastic breaks or it gets stuck in a tree or snaps off and flies away into oblivion.

The African refugees I once tutored told me they made kites in the camp out of plastic bags and string, and in the summers my dad would take us to the soccer field at St. Bridget's, and when I was too old to get an Easter basket, my friends and I would buy cheap plastic ones at Marc's and fly them at Edgewater Park where they looked pitiful next to the swandiving stunt kites and the stunning swirls of the Chinese ones.


A little bit of google-fu and I learned that the Day of the Dead in Guatemala is celebrated in part by flying seriously amazing kites in the graveyard. This is pretty awesome. I think I need to find a cemetery to fly mine in.