Last Monday, J and I made a day of the dead altar for my grandmother, Bee. I have been telling him about her lately because our fair city has gone Baseball Crazy, and  I always remember her life as being bookended by the Red Sox:  she was about a year old the last time they one before the next time, and she died the year they one the next time. She always said she wasn't much interested in Baseball, and really, who could blame her. But now, what with watching games every other night with an ever-widening circle of neighbors, and with Giants t-shirts bestowed upon him by superfans,  J is an affirmed Baseball fan. He wants to learn how to play, pretends  everything is a baseball stick, calls the stadium "Baseball's house", "Where Baseball live" (I should send that into the Giant's, right?).

So we've been talking about my grandmother, and drew some baseballs for her, and covered our alter in pink tissue paper roses. She loved pink, and always pretended to hate roses... so she wouldn't be disappointed  when they didn't come. She was a bit perverse,  a tough old lady, a proud New Englander, and I  still miss her.

Unfortunately, I didn't take a photo of the alter before we took the cookies to the procession,  before J tore the papel picado,  but we enjoyed having it on the table on Monday, and talking about our memories of her.