I stopped carving pumpkins and giving out candy. These days, I spend Halloween honoring the dead.

• Elena Karplus, 79, used to celebrate Halloween with her kids, but now prefers Dia de los Muertos.
• It was during a trip to Mexico with her late husband that she first witnessed people honoring the dead.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with the editor's mother, Elena Karplus. The 79-year-old retired childbirth teacher now holds creative writing workshops for seniors in Miami, Florida. The interview has been edited for length and clarity.

I don't have any childhood memories of Halloween. In Argentina, where I grew up, it wasn't celebrated. Our dress-up time came during Carnival, which falls in early February. Years later, after starting a family of my own in the 70s and moving to New York, we happily adopted the holiday. My four children loved the combination of dressing up in their spooky outfits and the sugar rush from all of the hard-earned trick-or-treating candy.

These days, it's my 10 grandchildren who are carving out pumpkins and getting into costumes, but my celebration style has shifted. When witches and black cats start decorating the streets, I'm reminded that it's time to prepare my Mexican-inspired altar, honoring Dia de los Muertos, or Day of the Dead, which takes place on November 1 and 2.

A vibrant celebration of the dead in Mexico City

Twenty years ago, my husband — who has since passed away — and I took a trip to Mexico City.

There, I saw families preparing altars to honor their ancestors and loved ones who had died. The altars ranged from simple wooden tables with embroidered cloths to elaborate installations. They all had offerings of food and indulgences that had brought people joy during their lifetimes, but now, they were presented in honor of their passing.

Some had a bottle of mezcal, while others had tequila or beer. A cigarette or cigar to satisfy the cravings of those who had smoked, a piece of their favorite fruit, and a slice of "pan de muerto" — a sweet bread decorated with small pieces of dough to represent bones and skulls — completed the offerings. The scene was vibrant and filled with color.

While some friends have told me they get freaked out by this all-out celebration of the dead, I feel it makes perfect sense to mark remembrance of friends, relatives, and even pets who are no longer with me.

I set up an altar in my living room

I was so taken with the idea that a few years ago, I started doing it myself.

Last week, following the tradition, I pulled my wooden box of photographs from my bookshelf and began arranging them on a table in my living room.

I placed a black-framed photo of my husband chatting with his mom next to a picture of my brother-in-law playing with his son. My nephew Fernando, forever the intellectual, is shown reading his book. The picture of my parents on their wedding day fills me with love.

Displaying them in my home allows me to honor their contributions to the richness of my life.

As I hold the pictures of my "muertitos" — "little dead," as Mexicans refer to their ancestors — in my hands I gaze at each one and remember. I see my husband's clear blue eyes looking straight at me. I see relatives who were an important part of my life next to friends who meant so much to me. Pictures of my cats and dogs thread their way around the altar.

Seeing all those photographs reminds me of the parties in my house that all these people enjoyed with me and each other. I like to remember them like that. On November 2, I will set out pan de muerto, marigolds, incense, candles, cookies, and fruit for their enjoyment. I've already set out a bottle of tequila for them.

The strong smell and bright color of marigold — the flower of the day — is said to lead souls to the altar where they are being honored, so they can enjoy the offerings and be celebrated accordingly. For me, there is nothing spooky about this. I have only love and fond memories. Dia de los Muertos gives me a chance to honor each one.