Happy Halloween

I love to read.  Not quite an earth shattering revelation.  When I think back about favorite books, there is A Man Called Ove (making a recent appearance on the list), The Screwtape Letters and The Narinia Series (C.S. Lewis is timeless), Starship Troopers (the book, NOT the movie), and World War Z, an Oral History of the Zombie War.  Now you can see why I can never quite answer the question of what type of books I like to read; it runs the gamut.

WWZ was a surprise addition for me.  It didn't sound like my kind of book.  The whole concept of zombies is ridiculous to me:  dead is dead and living dead is more moron than oxy in my humble opinion.  Actually, I hate the whole zombie fascination, which is one reason I refuse to see the movie, Brad Pitt notwithstanding.  (For the record, I love WWZ for the writing style and the sociological commentary the book delivers.)

But it is that time of year when attentions are turned to the gross and disgusting, or at least the fanciful and fall festive.  There are some Halloween traditions that I have perhaps chronologically outgrown.  Actually, that's not true.  They are just traditions that should be enjoyed in a traditional way - that is, WITH someone.  I find it difficult to find someone my own age who would like to join me.  Luckily, there are grandboys around to humor me.  Carving a pumpkins falls squarely within this diatribe.

Bryce and Tyler were coming for dinner last week, so I made sure to have a pumpkin at the ready.  I even cut the top so if they backed out on me, I would still feel obligated to carve the orange orb. Bryce will be turning 10 in a few days, and I'm never quite sure where the too-old-to line is for any given activity.  I am aware, however, that it is a moving target.  I'm all about target practice.

Tyler was totally non-plussed at the idea of carving a pumpkin.  Bryce was equally disenfranchised at the thought of scooping out pumpkin guts.  Problem solved - Granma got to play in the goo.  Apparently, though, just-shy-of-ten is the perfect age for playing with a (safety) knife.  I'm happy to report that Bryce not only did an excellent job of carving, but he was having too much fun to let me take a *stab* at it.  I am old enough (just barely) to let him keep all the carving fun to himself.  The final product, I'm sure you will agree, is spook-tacular.  (I agree, that was even too corny for me, though I didn't apply the delete key...)

Knowing it had to be a blog, I asked Bryce to pose with his creation.  THIS is what you get when he says, "nah," and I, with my best Granma puppy eyes, says, "Ahhh, come on."  Here is a zombie I can love unequivocally.

Happy Halloween, Bryce!  Thanks for the play-date!  I love you!