I think I was first introduced to the celebration in a Ray Bradbury short story, "The Next in Line," from The October Country, one of those linchpins of my life (along with Alice in Wonderland, Shrieks at Midnight and the Mary Poppins books). Living in Tejas for the last few years, we were more easily steeped in the celebrations. There seems much to value in this attitude toward death. No one really wants to think about its inevitability, but the silence more common in our culture seems to fuel our grief rather than relieve it.
Tonight our college will feature a bad poetry reading to celebrate the day -- what could be more appropriate?