Friday, I ambled into Kroger’s just after they had moved a lot of steaks over to the “Reduced for Quick Sale” section and, so, I took advantage of the situation and planned a weekend cookout with Der Bingle and the clowns – er, Summer and Cameron.

Saturday  looked like rain all day and, in fact, it did sprinkle in the late afternoon. We decided to put the grill in the entrance to the garage and have our semi-circular of chairs under the roof. And because we were in the garage, I brought out my ipod player and turned on my infamous AmeliaJake July Playlist: Chattanooga Choo Choo, The Stein Song, Buckle Down, Winsocki, Sweet Gypsy Rose, Scotland the Brave . . .

Well, Summer and I decided we liked singing along to Sweet Gypsy Rose and so we did; we put it on repeat until some people threatened to leave. Then we had to satisfy ourselves with joining in when it came around again in the queue.

Robert wanted to bring out Frank Sinatra but I can’t stand him and everyone knows that. Cameron and Summer were not aware of the extent of my distaste for the man until Der Bingle told them the story that condenses itself into this sentence. Your grandmother was looking at houses to buy in Chicago and went in one that was decorated with Sinatra stuff and walked right out.

Anyway, Der Bingle grilled and the steaks were delicious; I ate my right off of a two-pronged carving fork. (It’s this quirky little rut I seem to have fallen into.)  So we are planning a winter garage grill out when Quentin comes – assuming it’s not 20 below.

Then we dumped the coals into the firepit and started a large fire with actual flames. That was when we remarked that we had noticed the people in the house south of us and beyond the hedge walking back and forth between their back door and the far side of their garage. Back and forth; forth and back. Kids and an adult every now and then.

By the time I went in, it had been dark for quite awhile and they had a fire going too. And the back and forth continued. Eventually, I heard music coming from the gathering I could only imagine on that far side of their garage. I heard snips of words and one clear phrase: “going to the graveyard”.

Alison said she got up at night and heard them still out there. Der Bingle and I are guessing it was some sort of  Day of the Dead thing. I am so glad I did not realize it last night when it would have been fodder for nightmares.