day 20- facebook memories

 I stole this from my own facebook-
In academic circles it is self-plagiarism- how stupid ... but not getting into that- 
THIS

Shannon Dawn Burnham

August 9, 2018 · 

Last Christmas

Me: Girls, go find that pumpkin you took upstairs.
Girls : What pumpkin?
Me: The one we had to buy at Thanksgiving because I cooked the Halloween one.

They look at me like I'm crazy. Like they weren't the ones who took the pumpkin upstairs and slept with it like it was a stuffed animal. Like they weren't the ones who had taken all the decorative pumpkins and gourds to make a pumpkin family. They look at me like I'm asking them to recite the names of all the people who drown when the Titanic sank.

Me: Girls, I have all the pumpkins and gourds except one. Now go find it before it gets moldy and ruins your stuff.

They go off to their impossible task.
They come back.

Girls : It's not there.

Daniel goes up with them makes them look through every box and bin.
They all say it's not there.
While cleaning my office today I found the pumpkin.

I FOUND THE PUMPKIN!
Grossly mysterious.

day 19 baby cat

Each girl has had an animal name.  From the time they were little babies, it was just a nickname that I called them.
The first one was a baby monkey- her bright eyes and expressive face said "monkey" to me.
The second one was a baby bird- (an angry bird) she was always squawking at me for more food.
The third one is a baby cat- she is excellent at both adoring you and ignoring you. She will curl up next to you with all the love, and she'll knock things off the table just to see what will happen next.

The baby cat has been sick for about a week- for about a week she has been my constant companion.  Whatever she's doing, she's doing it right next to me.  Eating, sleeping, crying, screaming, spitting out medication- by my side all the way.  She will sometimes allow her father to take over- but then back to me.

Since she's been sick, her sleep schedule has been way off- but today she woke up at a normal time, and she was ready for a nap at a normal time- the problem was I wasn't quite ready- so she wandered off down the hall by herself.  I heard her in the bedroom, "Mama! Mama!"  By the time I got down the hall she had climbed in bed, tucked herself in, and gone to sleep.

She's feeling better, but still not 100%.

day 18 another time, jonny

It was another dream . . . a dream of an old friend.  A friend from another time- another century- a time when writing letters was a non-retro form of communication- a sweet time.

So- JonnyReb this is how we met again this morning.  We were at an event- in a way -an event for you.  You were leaving with a group for a medical mission. 

I was part of a support group. We saw each other and wanted to talk, but there were so many people, we didn't have the opportunity.  It's not that we couldn't talk in front of other people, what would we have to say except, "Long time!" "What have you been doing?" "It's good to see you!" and "Have I told you today that you're my friend?" It's been a long time sweet friend.

Finally, just before you left there was a moment for a smile and a hug, "Goodbye, good to see you."
"I've missed you, good luck." And through the exchange, we knew so much more about one another.  We knew so much had changed for each of us.  We were living different lives.  We were so different then- and now even more so. 

What did we have?

That's a sad realization for anyone at any time. 

But it wasn't as sad as it might have been.  Even in the dream, I knew- there's a season for everything.  Some seasons are long, some are short.  A short season of friendship is sweet.  A life long relationship is sweet.  The little one, who spent a miserable weekend with raging ear infections in both ears, still hot with fever, snuggled up next to me in the bed- she's sweet.  The losses and the gains, the wins and defeats, the ups and downs, and all the plateaus- work together to make one sweet life.  Sometimes bittersweet, sometimes hard to swallow- always what's mine and what I can make of it, regardless of what others decide to do, what judgments they make about me or what I do, even the mistakes I make- all together to make life

sweet.

day 17 dream a little dream

Every vacation day seems to have its own reasons to stay in bed a little longer- we got to bed late, my little one had a bad dream and couldn't get back to sleep, but this morning it was a dream that kept me in bed. 

I was dreaming about my little boy.  He was blue eyes and blonde hair.  His little round face smiled at me, he was about three years old and he was beautiful. 

In the dream, I could see him and I could touch him.  I was his mama, but he wasn't mine.  His eyes were bright and his cheeks were flushed- he had a fever.  I needed to hold him, but he wasn't mine.  I couldn't take him home. 

I wanted to give him a gift to keep him company in the place that wasn't home, not my home, not our home.  I wanted to give him a toy to hold, but I didn't know what to give him.  I didn't know what he liked. How can a mother not know what her son likes?  I had to ask his caretaker- a kind sympathetic man.  I had to ask, "Does my boy like trucks? dinosaurs? sharks? What does he like?  Why don't I know?  I should know!  I'm his mother.  I should know what he likes!"

The man said, "He will like what you give him.  He'll like anything you want to give him."

I woke up, but I closed my eyes again.  I needed to see him again.  I needed to give him something to hold- because I can't hold him.

I wish I could have held him- even in a little dream.

Day 16 not evil hair

My seven-year-old was chattering to me the other day. She jumps from topic to topic like a squirrel on crack, so sometimes I give up on following the flow of consciousness she's producing.  I heard her say, "I like your hair." 
I said, "Thanks."
She said, " ... chatter, chatter, chatter, but it doesn't mean you're evil."
Me: "Wait, what?  Did you just say I was evil?"
Her: "No, I said you're not evil, because of your hair."
Me: "Why would my hair be evil."
Her: "Well, you have the white stripe."
Me: "Yeah- I do."
Her: "The evil people on TV have a white stripe in their hair."
Me: "They
do?"
Her: "Yeah, but you aren't evil.  You are nice, except when you are mean to me."
Me: "Wait, what? ..."

day 15- 10,000 bees not in the greenhouse

In my imagination, I'm a gardener.  I grow tomatoes and peppers, sunflowers, and rather ambitiously I even grow (in my very fertile imagination) loofas.  I just found out a few years ago that you could grow loofas in a garden.  I had previously thought them to be a rather unfortunate sea creature who had given its life in the name of exfoliation.

In my reality, I'm a serial plant killer.  Every year I either plant seeds or buy a few plants.  My seeds sprout dutifully, then the carnage.  I occasionally coax a plant into flowering. I very rarely manage to convince a plant to produce fruit.  I generally end the summer with a 'crop' of two small tomatoes and a shriveled up (single) okra finger.

I bought a composter a few years ago.  I composted all kinds of stuff.  I wasn't a good compost master.  I would forget to add 'browns.'  I would forget to add water. I would put in large bits of stuff.  (I kind of wanted to know what would happen to them.)  There were maggots in my compost- I don't know if that was good or not.  I should have given it a starter, I should have given it worms.  I should have cared ... meh.  I'm a terrible composter.

I bought a small collapsible greenhouse this spring.  We got it put together and placed neatly outside my kitchen window where I could attend to it more easily than the composter (which was inconveniently out in the back yard.)  I had a few dead plants in there.  It was made out of plastic canvas, and metal rods.  It was very tent-like.  It had been blown around in the wind a few times, so it was anchored down with two cinder blocks.  I hadn't used it much in the spring, as we were late in getting it ready, but I thought surely I'll have use for it in the fall when the temps start dipping and I need a place to keep my not-dead-yet plants covered.

Last week I learned there was a beehive of probably 10,000 bees living in my composter.  While I don't know the exact date of my last interaction with the composter, I know it was between 6-8 weeks ago.  Bees can swarm and start creating their hive in a matter of days- so even if it hadn't been that long this could have happened when I wasn't looking.  Once we realized the bees had moved in I called a bee remover (and keeper).  When he saw my composter he said, "Oh, those are good little composters, but they are even better bee hives!"  and "this is probably the 8th removal I've made from models just like that."  and "I can take the bees out, but most likely other bees will move in, since they will smell the last bees and figure it is a good place."  Ugh!  For $50 and the cost of the composter, my bees have been moved to a nearby farm to live happily ever after.

The story of the greenhouse is less redemptive.  I went outside this morning after a 'microburst' wind storm last night.  and I saw a cinder block in the place where my greenhouse used to be.  Just one cinder block, and no greenhouse.  It wasn't blown over, or broken, or blown out of place, it was straight up gone.  My husband drove all over the neighborhood looking for my greenhouse.  It was not in our yard, the neighbors' yards, the street, the drainage ditch, it was not here, it was not there, NO! it was not anywhere!

What this means to me is that either 1. I should give up gardening or 2. find a way to get a better greenhouse and a better composter.  (And figure out a way to stop murdering my plant babies.)

DAY 14 SHORT STORIES

Many years ago I bought a book called Zombies vs Unicorns.  I bought it because it was called Zombies vs Unicorns. I was sure that I needed that book on my bookshelf regardless of its content.  The title was enough for me.  The cover is pretty great too.  Not so long ago I decided I should read this very amusingly titled book.  I opened it up to find it was a collection of short stories which alternated between zombies and unicorns.  Well, short stories have never been my favorite sort of reading, but I started in any way. Each story is prefaced by a note from the editors commenting on which side of the zombie/unicorn battle has a better chance and briefly commenting on the merit of the content of the story as it supports one side or the other. 

The first story, "Highest Justice," by Garth Nix is about a unicorn which can bring life back to the dead.  At first, the dead person seems whole and hale, but as time passes the blessing is reduced and the dead begins to fall back into decay becoming a zombie. I thought that was a pretty clever start.  There was a virgin princess, a dead queen, and a cheat king- all great stuff- and it wrapped up nicely at the end.

It was in the second story when I started to remember that I never really liked short story collections.

"Love Will Tear Us Apart," by Alaya Johnson was about a young zombie who was only partially infected- he wanted to eat people, but he could control his hunger for a time-- ok.  The descriptions of the zombie hunger were clever.  Since he was a lucid zombie (good twist) he could talk about his feelings and desires.  The zombie character was well developed. The love interest and disapproving dad combo a bit week.  I was disappointed by the ending. The ending could have been the beginning of another
story or book, but I wouldn't have committed to reading it. 

"Purity Test," by Naomi Novik was a tongue-in-cheek story about a modern day unicorn who went to NYC to find a virgin to help him rescue the kidnapped baby unicorns, which were being held in the basement of a brownstone.  She kept trying to tell the unicorn she wasn't a virgin, but instead, she was a down-on-her-luck, drunk, veteran.  "La-la-la!"  shouted the unicorn.  Not knowing is half the battle. It didn't require much investment.  The story was funny and short, the characters were sarcastic and piquant.  The ending was not unexpected, but it did wrap up the story satisfactorily. 

"Bougainvillea" was a really good read about an island population which was ruthless in its attempts to keep the community alive and keep the zombie hordes out.  The characters and setting are well developed and I thought, 'I would read a book of this.'  So, when the ending came I was disappointed not because the story was lacking, but because I wished there were more.

"A Thousand Flowers" by Margo Lanagan would have certainly been my favorite if I had not read the preface. I felt betrayed by one piece of information- which if I had not known would have made a beautiful surprise ending. I will say no more so as not to ruin it for you if you want to read it yourself.

"Children of the Revolution" - meh. I mean the writing was okay the generalizations may be more appealing to a younger audience- but the storyline was expected and the ending was a big disappointment to me.  I was reading the story to find the answer to a different question than the one the ending provided.

I'm halfway through the book.  I just finished "The Care and Feeding of Your Baby Killer Unicorn."  I enjoyed this story.  The author puts an interesting twist on the unicorn myth. The world is one I would like to see explored in a novel form.  The story ends as if it were the beginning of another story.  UGH!  Come on Diana Peterfreund!  You left me hanging! 

And I can finally articulate why I've never enjoyed reading short stories.  The ones which aren't good or even mediocre have wasted my time.  Why did I  invest my time in this story with underdeveloped characters, a predictable storyline and an unsatisfying ending?  I feel disappointed.

The good ones draw me in quickly.  I feel involved and invested in this story.  I love the character development, the story is interesting, the setting is unique.  When I get the end I want more!  I feel disappointed because it is over.

The great ones have witty, full characters, a storyline which keeps me guessing, a setting that is beautifully described, and a twisty- unexpected, fulfilling and perfect in its completeness ending (which nobody has ruined by pushing out details in the preface.)

And for me- these stories are very difficult to find- I'm not sure it is worth wading through an anthology of short stories to discover the one which I find great.

Day 13

A conversation with my preschooler about black history month (before I knew it was a conversation about black history month)

Her: My teacher said I could be Rosie Barker.

Me: Who’s Rosie Barker?

Her: She was a woman who got in the wrong lane.

Me: She got in the wrong lane?  What does that mean?

Her: She was supposed to be in the black lane, but she got in the white lane.  Then the police arrested her.

Me: Do you mean Rosa Parks?

Her: That’s what I said.  My teacher said I could be her, and I got a cookie because I was paying attention.

Me: Oh- that’s good.

Her: Conner got to be the other one.

Me: What other one?

Her: The first one.

Me: I don’t know what you mean.

Her: He lived in the white house.

Me: You mean the president?  George Washington?

Her: No.  My friend Trinity was going to be him.  She got a cookie for paying attention too.  But she didn’t want to be him.  She wanted to me Michelle- because she’s a girl.

Me: Trinity was Michelle  . . . . Obama?

Her: Yes, and Conner was the other one, but he didn’t get a cookie.

Me: Conner was President Obama right?

Her: Yeah- that, but he’s a boy.

day 12 the perfect day

Today is the perfect day to stay in bed.  I got up this morning to take the girls to school.  I noticed the very winter weather of 33 degrees and raining.  There was a light film of ice on my car, and beautiful, crystal drop-cicles forming on the tree branches.  I considered a little exploratory shopping- but settled on going home and getting back in bed.  I slept for another 3 and a half hours and when I got up the winter rain was still pattering on the windows and roof.  The tree branches are still weighed down with a thousand little prisms, the temperature is still just above snow.

Today may be an excellent day to try out one of those curbside pickup services at the grocery store tool.  Truly, when one has no agenda- every day holds all the promise you could desire.

DAY 11 Megalodon attack

I could call this day two of vacation bed ...  but let's move on. 
Here is a conversation between my 5-year-old and 6-year-old girls while in the car yesterday.  Unfortunately, I do not have visuals to accompany this post.

6:  What's that?
5:. It's an  'X.'
6: No, it's not.  an 'X' does this, that is a 'K.'
5: Oh- I wanted to make an 'X'
6: What's that?
5: That's my friend Journey.
6: What happened to her?
5: She got attacked by a shark. (very matter of fact storytelling)
6: (excited by this news)  What kind of shark?!
5: A megalodon.
6: A megalodon!  Did she cry?
5: No.
6: NO!  What? What did she do?  (seems pretty concerned about this situation)
5: She just called her mom.
6:  Called her mom!?  No way!  She would have died!  She has to go to the hospital! 
5:  Nope, she just called her mom.
6:  That's not real. Anyway, megalodons aren't alive anymore. (somewhat perturbed by this story)
5:  (nothing to say) (totally indifferent to her sister's rollercoaster emotions)
6: What's wrong with Journey's eyes?
5: Shark bite.
6: What kind of shark? Was it the megalodon again?
5:  No, I don't know,  just a shark, a grey and white one.
6: Grey and white?  Maybe it was a GREAT WHITE SHARK! (very excited about this idea)
5: Maybe, yeah- it probably was a great white. (willing to concede)
6:  What's that?
5: It's a 'Y.'
6: I don't think so, 'Ys' so down like this.  That's an 'X.'
5: Oh, ok. I thought it was a 'Y.'

My question as I was driving was first, "Megalodon? really?" and second- what the heck kind of picture did my child draw?  I know it clearly included another child who had endured multiple shark attacks and a few misshapen letters of the alphabet, but what else was going on? Most girls just draw rainbows and flowers!

Imagination is wonderful. :)

DAY 10 vacation bed

I had a really hard time getting out of bed this morning.  There were a lot of factors at work.  The biggest factor being I AM A LAZY PERSON.  Sure, I've been sick (with a cold) for a while.  I'm tired in general, I'm on vacation, I totally lack motivation, I knew there was nothing I HAD to do, my bed was so warm and comfy.  So, after I did get up at 6:00 and bundle the kids all off to school and daycare, I went back to bed at 7:30ish and didn't get up until almost 11:00.  But, it is still morning, so I can claim I got up this morning . . . 
Sometimes I think I would like to be a housewife- then I have days like this and I think, I wouldn't be so good at it after all- I would just be in bed all the time. :) Now I'm up- I have a list, and here we goooo!

Day 9 work clothes

Did I come to work today wearing blue monkey socks, black sweat pants, a purple tank top under an orange blouse, with a pink scarf and a blue sweater?  The answer is yes. 

The reason is that I just don't care.  I am experiencing my yearly cold/allergies-  which if left unchecked will turn into a respritory infection. 

I'm coughing and snotting, I'm hot and cold, I'm tired and I have a sore throat.  I've lost my voice, which is bad news for a teacher- and I just have to make it through next week to recieve my much anticipated break. 

** counting the days **

day 8 Thanksgiving 2018

Worst 30-day

challenge blogger ever!

I actually totally forgot about my 30-day challenge.  That’s how I am.  (*squirrel*) So easily distracted. 

I had 24 people over for Thanksgiving.  1- 13 pound turkey- fried, 2 racks of ribs-smoked, 1- 12 pound ham- precooked- barely warm-  74 rolls,  3 kinds of cranberry sauce, carrots,  mashed potatoes, broccoli rice (cheese) casserole, spinach casserole, candied sweet potatoes, roasted brussels sprouts, cornbread dressing, and ‘frog eye salad’  all before be started  on the 2 pumpkin pies, pecan pie, apple pie, pumpkin bread, and cookies. All made possible by a bottle and a half of wine- shared by only my sister-in-law and me.

Actually, it was all potluck style- which in my opinion is the only way to host Thanksgiving.  

day 7 tiny shoes

My niece recently lost her son.  He was born way too soon.  He lived only a few hours and passed to heaven from his mama's arms.  She grieves deeply for him.  She grieves in a way only a mother who has lost a baby can understand.  Fathers grieve, and grandparents grieve, siblings, aunts, uncles, and cousins all grieve.  Friends and other family members grieve with a mother- but a mother's grief is a hole that can never be filled.  It is literally an emptiness inside of her.  It is empty in her womb and empty in her breasts.  Her arms are empty, but her heart is so full to bursting.  It is full of indescribable sorrow that makes her forget to breathe, it is full of anger, and questions and it is so full of love for the tiny person she carried inside her body.   She loved him because he was.  She loved every moment of him.

Then he was gone.  He shouldn't be gone.

He shouldn't be gone.

Today I was at the thrift store.  I saw a tiny pair of baby boy shoes.  They looked new, but they were stiff with age. I wanted to buy them, but I put them back on the shelf.

They broke my heart.

I had a son who never wore shoes.

My grief lives in me.  It's not always raw- as it was at first.  It can still take me down.

He shouldn't be gone.

Michael Eugene Burnham 2.8.16

Day 6 Advent boxes

When all the school supplies were on clearance I had this great idea.  I should get all the kids crayons, markers, colored pencils, pencils, a drawing pad, glue etc and give them an "Art Advent" box for Christmas.  I tell you I am full of excellent ideas that require quite a lot of prep work.  So, I spend much of my weekend sorting tiny buttons and pompoms into project size containers.  I think it will be fun for the kids, and me as I'm *planning* on making instructional videos for most of the projects.  I think each video will be less than five minutes. 

There are many things to do this time of year- I would like to find a good Santa for pictures- ASAP after Thanksgiving so that I can get them some pictures printed and send out Christmas cards earlyish this year.  I always get about halfway through and say 'screw it- I don't even care anymore.'  But- baby's first Christmas and all- gotta make the effort.

Soon it will be time to get out the Christmas tree(s) and nativity sets.  I've got a thing about trees.  I resist getting a big tree (it's always little people with little fingers wanting to touch things and pull them down- I might be able to do it next year.) So- I have full on collection of little trees. It's like a mini forest up in here by the time we're done.  I also collect nativities- I think there were a dozen plus up last year.  I'll clear off the bookshelves and the mantle for them.

I've already got my Christmas socks on.  I start legit Christmas shopping in July.  This is what it's all about.

day 5 FAIL

So- 30 day challenge- who said it had to be 30 days in a row?  Well- probably me.  That was the intention. 

The other day when I realized that I had forgotten to write, after I had snuggled into my bed, before I closed my eyes,  I thought, 'Some people would get out of bed and grab the computer and get to writing. . . some people would do that ... not me (close my eyes).  Never me.'

Then the next night when I realize again that I had forgotten to write again, after I turned off the light, before I had gotten in bed, I though 'Some people would turn the light back on and go grab the computer and get writing  . . . some people would do that . . . not me (get in bed). Never me.'

Oh what would I have written? 

I should have a list so I don't forget my ideas:
Being the dummy in the room
My burden of stuff
Gill Village and government cheese

I'll need to think of more, because at it turnes out, not every day is an adventure.

day 4 midterm elections

Voted.  Talked to the girls about voting.  Maybe they will grow up to be more politically active citizens than their mother.

Going to bed- gotta go to bed- politics wear me out.

Palpable not the same as a papal bull.

day three: pumpkin spice chai latte

I was wandering through the grocery store the other day when I saw on the shelf "Pumpkin Spice Chai Latte Concentrate."

It has natural AND other flavors. 

Now- I'm not always a pumpkin spice gal- but I am a chai latte gal, and this chai concentrate was marked as $1.00.  I thought, 'for $1.00 I'm willing to try pumpkin spice chai.'

So, I brought it home, I poured myself a glass, and I latte-ed it up.  I walked into the living room and announced, "This is a pumpkin spice chai latte." 
My husband said, "You are so white."
I said, "Yup!"
I sat down and took a sip. 
I immediately questioned my whiteness.  I mean, I know what the DNA tests said and all, but this pumpkin spice thing seemed like a pretty legit test of white-middle-class-American-ness.

I wasn't passing the pumpkin spice test.
This stuff was so bad. 
It made me think that possibly everything I thought I knew about myself was wrong. 
But the crazy thing was -I kept drinking it.  I drank it to the halfway point thinking- 'Maybe it will get better,' 'I need to finish this or else I've wasted a glass of milk,' and 'This tastes like a chemical pumpkin threw up in a cup of liquid that was trying really hard to be Indian chai.'

Then- miraculously at the halfway point (maybe because some discerning brain cells and taste buds died) I started thinking, 'It's not that bad.'  'It's only as bad as regular chai concentrate.' 'Pumpkin spice, you don't un-define me!'

Then I thought, 'Wait, what just happened to me?  Who am I?  Who was I before?  Who have I become?  I certainly was not born into pumpkin spice latte concentrate.  Or was I? '

I question now if I can go through all that again for another glass.  Maybe it should be named "Emotional rollercoaster of undefining everything you ever thought you were, then turning it around and reasserting that original assessment of self, but leaving questions about self-identification pumpkin spice latte concentrate."

FYI I am a chai snob, sometimes I gotta slum it. I usually regret it soon afterward.

day 2- the ketchup of God

Little known facts about ketchup- it was originally a Chinese fish sauce- made from the brine of pickled fish.  It migrated to England where the main ingredient became mushrooms-  Later in the American colonies, tomato ketchup became the in thing.  Recipes until the 1850s included anchovies.

Ugh!

Of all things- I have to say anything even remotely fish is kryptonite to me.

Fortunately for me and my fries, ketchup is now blissfully fish free.  But this does answer of my old questions as to why some packaging says "tomato ketchup"  as if there were another kind of ketchup.

How very American of me.

To the point---

My church asked that we bring some nonperishable foods to service today to share with a family in which both parents had recently lost their jobs.  I was looking in the pantry this morning to see what I could share that wasn't too weird, or out of date.  The "New England Clam Chowder" from  2012- nope.  Saurkraut- nope.  Keylime jelly?  Probably not. 

I pushed the ketchup aside.  I picked out some green beans, some pineapple, moved the ketchup out of the way again.  I asked myself-"should I put that ketchup in?" 
Then I answered myself with, "No, I need that ketchup, I'll find something else for them."  I put in some macaroni noodles, pushed the ketchup aside, a few cans of soup, pushed the ketchup aside.

Then I looked at the ketchup again.  It was looking back at me, as if to say, "I think I should go."
I said, "No, you're my ketchup.  I need you.  I'm almost out!"
It said, "You don't need me, you need to learn to give away more than what you don't want.  You need to give things that others need."

I'm all, "Ugh!  Fine!  Get in the bag, ketchup!"

Did that family NEED ketchup?  I'm going to tell myself yes.

More importantly, I NEEDED to be reminded to do what I tell my children to do daily.  LISTEN and OBEY.  I know that if I had a strong, inexplicable urge to do/not do something- it's not really inexplicable.  It's God saying- LISTEN and OBEY.

Even when it's "just" ketchup.

30 day challege

I decided to give myself a thirty-day challenge starting November 1. Obviously, it's already been challenging, since it is now November 3 and I'm just now starting my thirty-day challenge.   Since November is 'write a novel' month I thought a great thirty-day challenge would be to write a blog entry every day for thirty days. 

Thirty days can start any day- so here I begin.

On Halloween day Eowyn said, "Tomorrow is the Day of the Dead."
I said, "Yup."
She said, "So, what are we going to do about it?"
I said, "Nothing."
She said, "Why not!?"
I said, "Because We're not Mexican."
She said, "But, I speak Spanish!"
I said, "Oh- right, so what do you think we should do about it?"
She said, "We'll need orange flowers, some special food and I think we should watch Coco."
I said, "Oh, so what kind of special food should we get?"
She said,  "Tacos."
I said, "I think I can deal with tacos and Coco. Is that enough?"
She said, "Yeah!  That sounds great!"

And so it was- tacos and Coco. 

Then I talked to my students about Day of the Dead they said, it is really two day, November 1 and 2.  So, last night we had a second movie night and watched The Book of Life. 

Maybe next year we can be more on top of things- do a little more research- get some flowers, go to a graveyard- make some sugar skulls. 

Someday we'll go to Mexico to see the celebration.