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This is Halloween
This is Pumpkin Jack:
He is a dapper dresser, isn’t he? (Once upon a time my father-in-law wore that tux to fancy something-or-others.)
Tonight is a big night for Jack and and his lady friend (we never got around to naming her):
They hold court in our front yard and welcome trick-or-treaters.
Sure, they look cool now, but wait until dark when they have a spotlight shining on them, fog billowing about their, um, feet, and the soundtrack to The Nightmare Before Christmas sounding out. It is a sight to behold.
Can you tell I love Halloween?
So does Kristen. Stop by and see how she and her friends are mistreating their pumpkins this year.
Oh, and if you are in the mood for a true might-have-been-a-ghost story, don’t miss my previous post. Read it here.
The Haunting of Heidi
I’m not sure if I believe in ghosts.
Sure, I have a firm belief in the afterlife and spirits as they are mentioned in the scriptures, but a bunch of malevolent beings moaning and rattling chains? I just don’t know about that.
Even so, I may have had a supernatural experience.
Maybe.
I’m still not sure.
I could have just scared myself into thinking so.
It is entirely possible that the unusual circumstances that happened could have been have been a fluke.
Was it a real encounter with the unknown or merely a coincidence? You decide…
About nine or ten years ago my husband and I traveled to Klamath Falls, Oregon for a family event. My sister and her family were living there at the time so she set us up at the bed and breakfast where she worked: The Black and White Boarding House (sadly, no longer in business). It was a really cute place with cozy rooms, lots of antiques, and cool custom painted murals. And the food was fantastic. I was familiar with the couple who owned the place and Tom, the owner/chef, certainly knew his way around a filet mignon.
Oh yeah, and The Black and White Bording House was haunted.
At least that is what my sister thought. There had been many strange happenings there, to be sure. Guests had frequently remarked on the sound of footsteps in an empty stairwell. Oil and vinegar bottles that were just haphazardly thrown into the pantry would be discovered the next morning in neat rows: oil, vinegar, oil, vinegar. Bicycles parked in the front hallway fell over with no one around, toward the kickstand.
Certainly all of those things could be explained. It was an old building; it had been a boarding house for railroad workers in the thirties. Creaks and pops of a settling old house could have been interpreted as footsteps. Someone might have tidied up a cupboard (in the middle of the night) without mentioning it. And the bikes? Perhaps it was the wind or an uneven flooring that caused them to tumble in a seemingly unnatural way.
But then there were the creepy sensations my sister sometimes got while cleaning a room. She seemed to sense movement out of the corner of her eye, but there was never anything there. Sometimes she felt like she was being watched. Could these sensations only be proof of the power of suggestion? Who knows.
Nevertheless, I was a bit nervous to be staying there. My parents had booked the room across the hall from us and I remember joking at dinner about coming to sleep with them if the ghost came in my room. We all shared stories of the strange happenings at the Black and White Boarding House, enjoying the thrill in the safety of a well lit room. But all too soon it was time for bed.
As is our nightly habit, Mr. Frantic and I said our prayers before climbing into bed. He soon drifted off to sleep, but I lay awake starting at every noise. After awhile, I turned on my lamp and tried to read. That’s when my husband began screaming.
He awoke in a cold sweat, gripped by a nightmare that still felt very real. Though rare, this was not the first time he had had a nightmare. Still it rattled me. And yet, once again he was able to calm down and drift off to sleep before I could.
In order to keep from disturbing him (and terrifying myself) again, I switched off the lamp. So, like a child, I lay there in the dark cursing myself for being so scared. I told myself it was just like all the times when I’d make up creepy stories at a slumber party and end up becoming more scared than anyone else. I guess I have too much imagination.
But imagined or not, I just didn’t feel secure in that room. It’s hard to describe exactly, but I had a terrible feeling like someone was standing at the foot of my bed, staring at me. I couldn’t see anyone there, but it just felt like it.
Finally, I reached the point where I could not take it anymore. I knew that if I had psyched myself into this fearful place, I would just have to psyche myself out of it. I told myself that I am gloriously alive: I have a body of flesh and bone, a beating heart. I have a family that loves me and they were alive, real and all around me. I am a daughter of God and he loves me. I have power.
And then, whispering so as not to awaken my husband (and also because I was feeling incredibly stupid) and calling upon God for help, I addressed the probably-not-real being that was troubling me and told him that he had to leave my room. Now.
Almost immediately I felt better. The presence, if there ever had been one, left. The last thing I remember before drifting off to sleep was looking at the clock. It was 3:15 am.
In the bright morning sun, it was all too clear that my imagination had been the only thing haunting me the night before. Over a breakfast of delicious pecan pancakes I told my family about how I had scared myself into a near sleepless night. I did not mention the fact that I had spoken to the “ghost” for fear of being mercilessly teased for the rest of my life.
All of the sudden my mom spoke up. “I got scared last night too. I woke up from a fast sleep, feeling like someone was standing at the foot of my bed staring at me. I never could get back to sleep. I’ve been awake since 3:15.”
And before I could even begin to process what that meant, the smoke alarm above our heads inexplicably went off.
Mr. Frantic and I were packing our things before the pancakes finished cooling. And we never stayed there again.
The preceding story is absolutely true. And it still gives me the creeps.
Happy Halloween
100 stories about me #16, I may have had an experience with a ghost. Maybe. I’m not really sure.
A little peek into my life
From an email I sent a friend:
GW has a new found passion for Camelot, particularly Queen Guinevere. Every night at dinner for the last two weeks she has given each of us a role to play.
She is Guinevere, I am Sir Gawain, and her dad is Merlin. We make Merlin tell us about the wonderful inventions of the future while we act incredulous and confused. “So this ‘com-pu-tard’ holds all the world’s knowledge in one tiny box? Fascinating!”
You’ll have to come for dinner sometime. BYOA – Bring your own armor.
(We don’t actually dress up. Except GW, but she is dressed as a cat.)
A Trick and a Treat
Only two more days until Candypalooza! Whoot-whoot!
First the trick: DIY face-paint. That greasy store-bought stuff is just so… greasy. And it never dries, causing it to rub off on and stain everything.
To make your own, mix approximately 2 parts hand lotion with 3 parts liquid tempura paint. Apply with a clean paintbrush. It drys in minutes with no icky mess and at the end of the evening the paint easily washes off with soap and water.
See Rocks in My Dryer for more tips and tricks.
Now for the treat: a true spooky story (suitable for all ages)!
In case you missed this the first time around, I’m reposing my experience with GW’s spooky house. And on Friday, I’ll be posting my one, true experience with “the paranormal”.
Wha-ha-ha-ha!
Poor Tony Originally published, February 23, 2008
Last week, I was sitting on the couch, using my laptop to surf the internet do some really important work on my book while my girl sat at the kitchen table sharing a snack with her friend, Claire. Since I was absolutely absorbed in my, um…work, they ignored me and started having a conversation about ghosts. I quickly opened a word document and transcribed their conversation. Because I’m sneaky like that.
C: My house is haunted. Every morning I feel someone tapping on my shoulder and then when I wake up no one is there.
GW: I wouldn’t want to go in a haunted house.
C: You know the spooky house? I went in there and there was door but it was really a trapdoor and when I put my foot on it my foot got covered in blood. But it was fake blood.
GW: eeewww!
C: Oh, and don’t ever go in the shed. There is a menorah on the ceiling and everyone is trying to get it. My friend Tony went in there and disappeared. He was trying to get it and he disappeared.
GW: What’s a menorah?
C: It’s a light like that one, (pointing to the chandelier overhead) but it is covered with shells.
GW: Did you ever see him after he disappeared?
C: Yes.
GW: Where?
C: In the shed. He got a piece of it: a string that was hanging on it, and it was magic and he disappeared. Everyone was trying to get it but he climbed on the ceiling and got it first. It was his shed.
GW: He shouldn’t have done that. I never would. We say hi to it when we pass by it.
C: Do you take a walk near it?
GW: No.
C: (suspiciously) Then how do you say hi?
GW: Heather and me just say “Hi, old friend” when we pass by on the bus.
C: It’s not your friend. Really. It’s not.
GW: Oh.
I admit it; I was eavesdropping on a private conversation, one that I knew that I would never be invited to participate in. Ghost stories and haunted houses are deliciously real in the realm of childhood, but like a favorite pair of sparkly mary-janes, they are quickly outgrown on the journey to becoming an adult. And though I knew my fully grown foot would never again fit into that fancy little shoe, as I heard them talk, I couldn’t help but admire it.
A nearby spooky house is a ‘must have’ for every successful childhood. It is useful place for keeping all of your fears contained.
An old witch that eats unsuspecting children? Into the spooky house you go.
A terrible monster chained in the cellar? Hope you like the accommodations.
Or one from my own childhood, a disembodied and white-gloved hand? Welcome home.
The neighborhood spooky house is large enough to hold them all, even a haunted menorah.
There they sit, safely tucked away from everyday life, but easily accessible whenever needed to raise a thrilling crop of goosebumps.
I still remember the haunted house from my childhood. It was on the next street over, Candlewood Drive. I don’t know how long it had been abandoned, but the children in my neighborhood speculated that the last owner had died in the house over a hundred years ago. And had never left…
There was a story circulating that a boy who had lived in the neighborhood had tried to trick-or-treat at the house. Alone. He was never seen again. His parents had been heart-broken so they moved to California. I wonder if his name was Tony…
The house really was a foreboding place. Darkness seemed to ooze out from behind the jagged panes of glass. At one time it had probably been painted a sage green color, but the years had faded it to a peeling greenish-gray. Oily looking moss grew on the roof while the yard was choked with blackberry brambles and poison oak.
Whenever I had to pass by on my bike I crossed to the opposite side and held my breath until I was safely past. My heart hammered in my chest, but not with fear exactly. It was more like triumph. The house didn’t get me! I felt powerful.
I have heard Girl Wonder talk about her spooky house before. I wasn’t exactly sure where it was located but I knew that her school bus passed by it on the way home. Also, the house has a shed behind it. My funny girl had thought the house was haunted but the shed was nice. And she did refer to it as ‘old friend’. At least until Claire filled her in.
Today was a cold and gloomy day, perfect for looking at a spooky house. I grabbed my camera and had my girl direct me to it. I knew it would look old and maybe even a little creepy, but I was sure the haunted house of my childhood was much scarier.
I was so wrong. This house is far better.
First of all, GW’s house is invisible to grown-ups unless they know it was there. I know because we have lived in our house for nearly three years and I have driven by that house at least a dozen times a week, and yet I had never noticed it. My eyes simply slide over it as I negotiate the curves of the road. When she pointed it out I was surprised that it had been there, in plain sight, but I had never seen it. I felt a little better when my husband pointed out that the house is only visible in winter, when the many trees around it are bare.
It is set back a bit from the road, the same greenish-gray color as my childhood house. There is no driveway, not even a footpath, only impenetrable brambles surrounding the property. A line of trees at the back, just behind the shed, screen a large cemetery. I attended a graveside service there just this last summer.
I stood on the edge of the road holding my camera, wishing I could get closer and yet relieved that I could not. Seconds after my first shot, I was started by a movement at an upper window. Suddenly a large black bird, a vulture, flew from the darkness and settled into a massive tree above me.
I was stunned. “Wow,” I thought, “that was creepy. And cool.” Feeling disappointed that I had been unable to capture the creature with my camera, I turned my attention back to the house. There in the same window appeared a second bird. It observed me from the rotting windowsill for several seconds while I snapped a few more shots. It then few out and joined its dark comrade. I could hardly believe it.
When I returned to the car, I looked back at the house one last time.
And then I exhaled.
Happy Halloween!
The best one yet
I love throwing parties.
From the handmade invitations to the games to the food, I love it all. I try to plan parties that are creative and unique (no Chuck E. Cheese here) but without being expensive.
For the last eight years, my daughter has been the beneficiary of all my party planning prowess. Each year has been fun, but a few stand-out favorites are the pajama breakfast, a nighttime hayride and weenie roast, and last year’s fairy tea party.
So this year we started planning early. GW decided she’d like to have a Wizard of Oz themed party.
We brainstormed.
We searched the internet.
We made a great plan.
And then I procrastinated doing anything about it.
So, with just over a week left to go before the party we sat down to make invitations.
Sidenote: in Maryland invitations should be out at least two week early, if not three, but here in the more casual west, one week is just fine.
Anyway, we sat down to make the invitations and realized that my printer was out of ink. And being a Sunday, we would not be purchasing any more until the next day. We got ready for church instead.
Later that day my girl said, “Kelly didn’t have a birthday party this year. She had a friend spend the night at her house instead. Can I do that?”
What? No party? No table spread with cute food? No perfectly selected little bags of favors? No icing smashed into the carpet? No mountain of plastic toys to find storage space for?
A slow smile spread across my face as I processed the idea.
“Absolutely.”
The next Friday, Leah arrived toting a backpack, a sleeping bag, and several stuffed animals.
They made their own pizzas for dinner and watched Parent Trap (the Haley Mills version). After going to bed the giggling and talking lasted until almost nine pm.
They were out of control.
Monday was GWs actual birthday. And sticking with her new found desire for simplicity, she asked if she could make her own cake.
No one could have done it better.
After dinner, GW’s “bestest friend” and his family (which just so happens to be my bestest friend’s family) came to sing happy birthday and enjoy her baking skills.
Over the past year, I have been trying to live more simply, more mindfully. Trying to spend my time on the things that really matter.
But this one, it was all on her.
Meaningful. Simple. Perfect.
Heidi Finds Her Bliss
The contest is now closed. Congratulations to Jennifer, Tara, and Kristinia!
Quarterly Bloggy Giveaway Carnival sponsored by Bloggy Giveaways.
Stay tuned until the end for the giveaway.
Once upon a time there was a Heidi.
The Heidi family had a husband…
a daughter…
Sidenote: Girl Wonder really can spell school. Teacher? Not so much.
and a dog.
Another sidenote: India Elephant was reluctant to play Shasta again. She was afraid of becoming typecast. Today, the role of Shasta will be played by Gumby.
Heidi loved spending time with her husband.
Heidi loved spending time with her daughter.
Heidi even liked spending time with Shasta. Usually.
But sometimes Heidi missed spending time with Heidi. Alone.
She tried retreating to her sanctuary, but…
unfortunately it was not soundproof.
Heidi wanted some alone time, not much – just some, to…
or…
or…
The Heidi family is busy, busy, busy, but Mr. Frantic is a great guy. He is working on a plan. A good plan. A plan that includes weekly daddy/daughter dates.
In the meantime Heidi just may have to invest in a pair of…
Pure bliss.
And now for the giveaway:
Compliments of Chex Mix Bars, the Basket of Indulgence!
Including a box of Turtle Chex Mix Bars, chocolate candles, caramel lotion and spa essentials like a loofah, hand massager, nail brush and spa towel.
Earplugs not included.
I am also giving away one hour of time alone. If you win, I will personally email your family and ask them to please leave you alone. (That should work, right?)
I have three of these to giveaway.
Contest is open to anyone with a valid email address.
To enter, leave a comment answering at least one of the following questions:
- Where is your sanctuary?
- What do you do when you have time alone?
- When was the last time you used the restroom without someone yelling through the door?
I will choose three winners on Saturday. Good luck!
PS: Heidi has many more adventures to share. Don’t miss out!
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Commentary on the Current Crisis
There’s no doubt about it. These are hard times.
I’m definitely feeling the pinch.
It’s time to make some changes, to cut back.
In a few months, I’d like to look back and say that I have successfully tightened my belt and that I have made a dramatic impact on my bottom line.
These issues have been in the back of my mind for months, but yesterday I had an experience that illuminated just how big this crisis really is:
I went to the doctor and stepped on the scale. And this time, it took a bit more work to bring my numbers into balance.
People, I am not talking finance here, I’m talking about the fact that I have gained thirteen pounds in the last year!
These numbers are spiraling out of control and its time to do something about it.
Maybe Joe the Plumber and I could start working out together…
Doesn’t a Mother Have Any Say in the Matter?
I don’t remember signing a permission slip.
I’m quite certain I did not say, “Sure Sweetie, go ahead.”
If fact, I don’t believe I was consulted at all.
And though I’ve made my feelings about the whole situation quite clear, if seems as though there is nothing I can do to stop it.
Sigh.
Goodbye seven. You were a good year.
I’d like to keep you around a bit longer, but my girl…she insists on turning eight.
Whether I like it or not.
Happy birthday to my
funny
smart
adorable
sweet
loving
creative
snuggly
brave
imaginative
compassionate
beautiful girl.
I love you oh so much!
I guess I’ll learn to live with eight, but do your mama a favor, let’s not try for nine for a few more years yet.
M’kay?
Please?
[crickets]
Sigh.
Kind of like the ant and the grasshopper
So…I haven’t posted in 16 days.
I’m ashamed.
I’m sorry.
And I’m exhausted.
Here’s why:
40 pounds of these:
Turned into so. many. jars. of this:
30 pounds of fresh picked these:
A little bit of this:
And wah-lah! We have a gallon of dehydrated apple rings and nine jars of oh-so-good apple butter:
And then there was today.
120 ears of these:
led to this:
and then to this:
Eventually becoming 41 quart bags of yummyness (split between me and my BFF).
(Sidenote: Thanks to Shasta, there was not a single kernel on the floor when I swept up.)
I’ve got a full pantry and freezer.
And a messy kitchen.
I’m ready for winter.
Or at least a long winter’s nap.
Once upon a time there was a Heidi…
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