So, come New Year's Eve, my foursome was pretty done. Well done. Put a fork in all of us; we'd spent enough vacation time together. However, stuck together for another 36 hours and in need of an activity, I recalled that at a party on NYE 2016, our delightful hosts had a Burn Board on offer. Guests were invited to add via sticky note all the shit from 2016 they might wish to see burned at the stroke of midnight. And then, at midnight, we burned it all. Fun.

I don't know that anyone actually thought 2017 would be better than 2016. I mean, crap, the Evil Yam hadn't even been inaugurated yet. Oh, the good old days. But despondency over November 8th had taken root, and so we tried to burn, burn it out.

This past Sunday, I suggested to the children and Tom, all pyromaniacs to varying degrees, that we make our own such burn pile. It was all too easy to create a dissertation-length text of 2017 horribleness. In fact, we stopped ourselves halfway through a ream of paper out of eco-guilt. But it was fun and a bit liberating and a nice bonding experience, and heck, the pictures are great for posterity and all.