All Hallow's Eve

I love Halloween.

I love handing out treats, seeing the costumes, hearing the parents calling out, “don’t forget to say ‘thank you’” to their little beggars. And I love giving two candy bars to each trick or treater. When I was a kid, that was the coolest, getting two treats in our pillow case turned treat bag.

I have, on various Halloween’s, tweaked my appearance in a small way that not all the doorbell ringers noticed. I’ve had what looked like a nail through my little finger wrapped in gauze with fake blood and, one year, two little dots roughly vampire teeth distance from one another on my neck. That year I also had fake blood dripping from a corner of my mouth. I was amazed and amused by the number of trick or treaters who said, “Lady, do you know you’re bleeding?” One little girl, alone on the stoop with her mother standing back by the road, asked about the marks on my neck. I looked up in the sky and said that a vampire bat had swooped down and bit me. She started backing up, looking at the sky, BEFORE she’d gotten any candy. Now it is my aim to actually scare, but only if, a moment later, the kid starts to laugh, realizing it’s all part of the fun of Halloween. This little girl was truly scared. So I explained it was fake, that I hadn’t time to get a real costume like hers. She came back, but she still kept looking at the sky. I gave her THREE treats.

My favorite Halloween was the year I had a broken knife wrapped in cotton gauze dotted with fake blood that looked as though it went through my wrist. Many a male trick or treater, why is it always the boys, asked if they could touch the knife and, when they did, they were thrilled that the knife wiggled on both sides of my wrist. A few of the younger ones asked if it hurt. I told them I was heading to the hospital once I’d finished handing out treats and they’d giggle and run back to tell their parents. Apparently, one child was convinced I actually had a knife through my wrist because he came up to the house again with his parent, a parent who asked if I’d explain that the knife was fake. I showed the youngster how it all went together and told him he was now in on the secret which nobody else knew. If you’ve never seen a three-foot tall pirate with a fake parrot on his shoulder smile a grin so wide that you remember it years later, then all I can say is, you need to start handing out treats on Halloween.

And while you’re at it, hand out two.

I've got to figure this out

I need to figure out how to post links in my blog. All Atwitter has a haiku contest every week, plus her blogs are laugh out loud funny. I found her through Skywriter, a blogger who deservedly keeps winning the "Thoughtful blogger award." She makes you laugh, makes you cry and makes you think.

Anyway, here is my haiku entry. This week's topic is friends.

Shared dramas, laughter,
you are my secret keeper,
kindred spirit, friend.

Plastic fire

I love a good wood fire be it outside or inside. I have a house with a fireplace and it is a delight to light a fire and relax to the sight, sound, smell and warmth of a fire on the hearth. Something about the sound, the crackling or the shifting of the wood as it burns that harkens back to all those fires I knew on camping trips as a kid. I hated camping, still do, but I loved the campfires. All the family around in a circle, popping corn on the fire or roasting marshmallows. I am not an aficionado of the properly browned marshmallow, toasted just right on all sides, a treat for the eyes as well as the tongue. No, I thrust the stick with the bright white marshmallow on the end directly into the fire, the hot orange hollows where the flames ebb and flow like liquid until I’m holding a torch which I turn to make certain there is no area unscathed. Then, I blow out the flame and use two graham crackers and a piece of chocolate to slide off the molten, ash-covered glob. Yum. We used to stay up until arrows of dawn’s light stretched across the sky, feeding the campfire more wood, telling stories, talking, laughing or just listening to the crackle and pop of the fire.

What I don’t understand is the popularity of non-wood fireplaces. Though the gas flames are hot, they are fake fires to me, plastic fire. The argument is always the same, no ashes to clean out, no wood to haul in, not having to get up and add more logs. To me the difference is the same as seeing a picture of a snow-covered mountain and being told this is just like being there. Not the same thing at all. One might as well just put a picture of a fire burning on the hearth on the wall and call it done. I don’t see the point of plastic fire.

So I clear the ashes, haul in the wood and get up from my comfortable spot on the sofa to add more logs to the fire. The cats are usually stretched out warm and supple in front of the fireplace. They twist slightly so their stomachs are available for rubbing once the fresh wood has been added to the glowing coals. Then it is back to the sofa, back to stories and conversation accompanied by the pops and crackling and the soft thud of half burned wood falling onto orange coals.

A good (cuppa) joe

My husband and I carpe diemed this afternoon and drove around the countryside’s winding roads looking at the colors, the meandering road lined with gold(en leaves). Gorgeous oranges, yellows and reds against the greens, against the blue and white of the partly cloudy sky and reflected in the wind-rippled surfaces of ponds and lakes. Trees and bushes dressed up for the biggest party of the season.

We wondered how best to toast this escape into the blazing autumn. Ice cream or coffee? The ice cream shops my husband frequents on summer motorcycle rides were closed for the season. Coffee, then? There is a coffee place that overlooks the lake, but as we pulled into the parking lot, we could see the CLOSED sign in the window. We drove on until we chanced upon a small coffee shop a mile away and across the road from the lake. I’ll be polite and say there was little charm in the decor of the place and not a lot of choices though there was a reason for this last part which we had not yet grasped.

Two regular coffees (house blend) and a cinnamon role to split between us from the owner who seemed alternately ready to talk us to death and leave us to sit in peace. We expected little though the coffee cups were a nice weight and were of a height that meant we’d have plenty of room for cream as well as coffee.

It’s always when you have no expectations that you’re truly surprised. Best cup of coffee we’d had in ages, possibly even surpassing our own house blend which we think is pretty good. And the cinnamon roll, heated and dripping with a cream cheese icing that made us scrap every bit off the plate, was the perfect compliment. When we paid, the owner would only take $2 because, he said, it had been so nice to have someone there to talk.

It was nearly 3:30PM when we rose and made our way to the door and on the door, we saw the sign, OPEN 6AM to 3PM. Profuse apologies on our side, smiles on his as he waved us good-bye. As we drove home along curving backroads, we agreed about the coffee and the cinnamon roll we’d had. And we agreed about the owner of the coffee shop. He was a good joe.

Haiku

If I could figure out how to link to the blog having the haiku contest with pets as the theme, I would. Here’s my entry.

Warm furry bundles
curled in the crook of my arm,
the crook of my heart.

Brit Speak #2

A few more that I think are wizard.

Bollocks (apparently I misspelled this one before)
Old Bean
Gobsmacked
Rubbish
That bloke's a right git

No wonder I want a pool

I have recently been diagnosed with Reverse Seasonal Affective Disorder or Reverse SAD or Summer SAD. I’ve always had it and didn’t know. I also didn't know there were others out there like myself, over a 1.5 million Americans who are affected. In short, we go against what is considered “the grain” and have trouble coping with all the sunshine and heat in summer. Trouble coping as in depressed. Trouble coping as in loathing that the sun is up before 5:30AM. Trouble coping as in no energy in the summer. We (that’s me and my Summer SAD homies), prefer the darker, cooler days of the year. Prefer is too mild a word; love, adore, come alive, feel as though we can finally breathe. Maybe all that was wrong with Dracula was that he had an extreme case of Summer SAD and quite literally (or literaturely) could not stand the sun. Makes me wonder about Bram Stoker.

The way I manage summer is to turn up the AC until I can etch my name in the frost on the inside of the windows. Or I would do if my husband also had Summer SAD. I’m in shorts and a t-shirt and he’s in long sweat pants, two layers of socs, the hood of his sweatshirt pulled up over his head and neither of us is happy with the temperature.

SAD is an appropriate acronym for both those who need the sunlight and those who abhor it. Sad is how you feel. I am unbelievably grateful for air conditioning. And I am unbelievably grateful the hours of daylight are lessening and the temps are, mostly, getting cooler. Now, bring on enough cold so I can see my breath in the air. I will smile then and be SAD no more.

Guilty pleasures #1

Blogging
Naps on the sofa with my cat sleeping between my ankles while an old movie plays
Freaking cold weather with air that feels sharp when I inhale
Snow, snow, snow, snow, snow and blizzards. And not watching it go on somewhere else, either, but right outside my own door.
Leftovers
Dark, quiet mornings
Tab and raw chocolate chip cookie dough
Black and white movies
Baking
Making truffles, especially new flavors or coming up with new coatings
Floating on my back in a pool in the sunshine which is the only way I can stand summer
Getting to hear other people who are excited about what they’re doing
Creating

Mine are mostly odd. I imagine that most guilty pleasures are odd. Wait a minute, does that mean I’m normal? Oh, the horror!

Advice on pissing off the universe

Don't do it.

Brit Speak #1

I love it, I can’t help myself.

That’s put a spanner in the works
Rubbish
He looks such a pillock
I’ve got a dickey back
Fog in the Channel, Europe cut off
Wanker
More tea, Vicar?
Summer hols
Daft
‘Cor blimey
Bollix

The moment before everything begins

For a week or so, I’ve had the feeling, a bit of anxiety mixed with a bit of excitement, that I’m on the verge of taking big steps, a phrase I prefer to “on the cliff’s edge waiting to jump believing the net will appear”(yada yada).

At some point today, I should hear back from the person who will tell me what is needed to have a kitchen in which Seductions Chocolates can be made and, then, legally sold, shipped to people who will, we hope, love them. I will find out if this can be done in our house or not. Not = anxiety. In our house = excitement.

In two days, I have the first writing group meeting I’ve had in years. A meeting at which I will share some writing, hand out a short story and actually look for criticism. What I truly want, of course, is for these strangers to love my short story as well as give me needed feedback. Nothing good to say = anxiety. Love the writing and here’s some help to make it better = excitement.

This past weekend, I saw a group of artists in whose company I would love to find myself. Their talent and imagination is something to which I aspire. My feeling that I’m not good enough = anxiety. My feeling when I look at the whimsies I’ve already created = excitement.

I have had a few moments this past week when I am immobile, when the sheer cosmic weight of all I’d like to do with my life feels impossible to shift. Then I remember that all I’d like to do with my life isn’t a burden I need to push before me up a hill, and a steep hill at that, it’s a journey to fantastic places and fantastic people. The weight is joy and accomplishment. And I’m already at the top of the hill. I got here doing all the things I didn’t want to do with my life. The work, a lot of it without joy, that I did in order to pay the bills. The co-workers who made life more of a misery than was necessary with their complaints and their attitudes. Bosses who made more work than I would have had to do if they’d just stayed away. My journey now surrounds me with all the things I want to do, not have to do. It is a gently rolling path down the hill with a view of the amazing landscape stretching before me and all around me. And I’m not alone on the journey.

Fraidy cat and Scaredy cat

As observed in my earlier posts or by simply looking at the calendar, one can't help but note that Halloween is getting closer. Our two cats, Tigger (Tigs) and Boswell (Boz), do not care for this most fun of holidays. Since the rumble of a truck passing by makes both of them stare around wide-eyed, certain that DANGER is somewhere near and the first far-away sound of thunder sends them disappearing beneath the sofa, one can imagine how the frequent ring of the doorbell brings them from deep slumber into full on panicked intruder alert.

However, they are not guard cats. When the doorbell rings and an intruder is sensed, Tigs and Boz head into another room where they sit with their necks craned toward sound of the fearsome beasts at the door as though they’d like us to believe they are brave. No amount of gentle talk and coaxing can entice them back to their spots on the backs of the sofas or curled up on a cushion next to one of us. Not until the danger is well past. Not until every ghost, every ballerina, every Star Wars’ character, every lamb so little they must be carried by a parent has gained a chocolate tribute and left. We have about 40 trick or treaters on the average All Hallow’s Eve, not a lot, but just enough to keep our little ones in a constant state of stress.

Once the porch light is turned off and the candles in the jack-o-lanterns extinguished, our brave little felines creep back into the living room. They sit near us, not entirely relaxed, and always with at least their paws touching us. Later, they jump on the bed and sleep nestled against us, wanting the security, feeling safe at last.

This, to me, is as good as chocolate. Halloween has perks.

Oops.....

My favorite ghost movie is The Uninvited, not the Univited.

Cat People

The original “Cat People” is one of my favorite films.

Ha! And you thought I was going to write about the two felines who share our house. The two furry brothers who think everything we do is for them. Well, they might be right about that.

No, this is October and I’m going to talk about the suspense and/or scary movies I like. To start with, almost everything Val Lewton produced; Cat People, Curse of the Cat People (which has to be the oddest sequel ever while still being a good movie), I Walked with a Zombie, the Leopard Man and the Seventh Victim. My favorite ghost movie, The Univited, for the amazing house, Windward, if nothing else, but there is so much else. The Ghost and Mrs. Muir, my second favorite ghost movie and another great house, Gull Cottage. The Others which I found surprisingly good and is the only one of my selections not in black and white.

There are also the classics, The Wolf Man, which I perversely love in spite of Lon Chaney, Jr. And the original Frankenstein which I have yet to see all the way through. When the monster is lying on the table and his hand moves, somewhere deep inside me a shriek starts and I have to look away (run away) or I know I’ll scream. I do not have this trouble with Bride of Frankenstein with Elsa Lancaster, and Son of Frankenstein with Sherlock Holmes, I mean Basil Rathbone. The abstract sets of Frankenstein’s castle in Son of Frankenstein are totally strange, I doubt anyone could be happy with the staircase in their house, but this film is the basis for most of the spoofing in Young Frankenstein so it’s worth a look.

Halloween is coming and I need to get into the mood. I think I’ll turn off the lights and watch Cat People again.

In reference to

....the last post. "October" is why I don't call myself a poet.