Seasonal

 Morbid. That's the word that comes to mind as I look back over the past few days. And this glass from my mother's cupboard came to mind. It was part of a series of William Steig-designed cocktail ware Back in the day, we served my parents' gin and tonics in those glasses. This was part of a lifestyle that embraced certain elements of "morbid" that could be mined from pop culture. Like the "sick humor" of Lenny Bruce or riddles such as "what's green and red and goes ninety miles an hour?" 

It was an acquired taste, and given the number of Charles Addams cartoon books found in my childhood home this alone should have given casual visitors a clue as to what sort of morbid things were going on inside. In the summer there was a regular listening to CBS's Radio Mystery Theater, and plenty of Edgar Allen Poe to supplement our mildly twisted outlook on life. By the age of eleven I had mastered the pronunciation of the word "macabre." 

Horror wasn't confined to the Fall, but autumn certainly brought my family's aesthetic to the fore. Our house was an early adopter of what has become a much larger trend toward decorating for Halloween. This set me up for a bit of sweet karma when my college friend and roommate died in a car crash the week before All Saints Eve. The Halloween party we had been planning for weeks prior became his wake, coinciding interestingly enough with Oingo Boingo's release of their album "Dead Man's Party." 

Morbid fascination. 

Fast forward a lifetime give or take, and our beloved main dog passed on in the middle of October. 

A decade passed. My mother went to heaven in the middle of another October. 

So a few nights ago I was staring at the desktop on my computer and I noticed a folder that I hadn't opened for quite some time. It was labeled "David - English." When I opened it I was confronted by the advanced directive I had begun composing the last time I was feeling both particularly responsible and mortal. There were plans for my corpse. There were suggestions for music to be played. Mostly there were instructions for how I wanted to be dealt with when my number finally came up. 

The highball glass eventually found a home in my younger brother's cupboard. I got mom's piano. I want to find some time to sit down and really play it. Nothing morbid. 

Something of the season.