All Saints’ Day

As a child, I was mostly unaware of All Saints’ Day. I was raised Lutheran. From what I can tell, saints are something of enigma to Lutherans. I remember learning about Francis of Assisi, and knowing he was a saint, but his sainthood was totally downplayed.

As such, I have no fond childhood memories of singing Gregorian chants around the All Saints’ tree. I don’t remember the lavish All Saints’ dinner, complete with roasted turnips and venison kidneys. My sad, misspent youth.

But a few years ago, All Saints’ Day was hijacked by a couple of large furry critters in our household and took on a whole new meaning. It is a day of gluttony and frivolity. The day more resembles a Samhain celebration than any modern holiday.

There are games. There is bobbing for kittens: not Max and Spike’s favorite game. There is the mud collecting competition: not Mac and Richard’s preferred sport. Let us not forget the legendary half-chewed food-spewing contest: not for the feint of heart. Give-me-Treating, Drooling Challenges, On-Demand-Dog-Petting. The list goes on and on.

Don’t forget the feasting. There is food being downed everywhere. It’s all Richard and I can do to keep caught up serving the party animals. Next year we may have to hire a professional waitstaff.

By the end of the day, we’re all exhausted. The Saints have already passed out on the bed. There rest of us seem to be out of luck.