"Halloween is the one night of the year when
the veil is lifted between the living and the realm of the dead. The
dead walk the earth and we have to dress up in scary costumes so they won't drag us back to Hell with them..."
Yesterday was spent on a big farm in rural Virginia..
My kid, after browsing a giant field full of orange pumpkins, found two tiny white gourds and said,"I'm ready!" and trudged back down the hill alone with a gourd in each hand...and got back on the tractor. He knows what he likes, apparently.
When I was growing up, we spent many years living in an old farmhouse amidst the West Virginia countryside...we had no cable and we cooked our meals and heated the house with an old wood stove in the kitchen. This place was very desolate and very quiet, and I remember an hour-long bus
ride (at least) to get home after school. My mother worked a lot during this
time...and my brothers were older, with vehicles and lives of their
own...leaving me (4th grader) to come home to an empty, old farmhouse in the middle
of nowhere by myself. We also had two options when it came to getting from the 'main' narrow, back country road to our house...you either crossed the creek by foot or you crossed the old swinging bridge that hovered across that creek. I hated that bridge (4th grader), it always seemed to be ominously towering over the dark water below...and it always seemed ready to snap at any moment. When I saw this photo of the bridge, if it weren't for the lack of an old,
white house standing in the trees across that creek, I would have been
certain it was the bridge that led to this childhood home of mine.
But every weekend, when we were all home, my mom would usually rent a movie from the local video store and we'd all huddle around our little 12" t.v. to watch it. Once, near Halloween, she rented an old silly movie entitled 'The Hand'...and I will never understand why that movie bothered me the way that it did...but man, did it bother me...haunted me (4th grader). For weeks I was convinced that I would lose a hand during some horrible and traumatic childhood experience and that severed thing would come back to murder me and my family...for whatever reason a hand would want to commit such atrocities. I can even remember there being a old leather glove in the weeds next to the field where my horse resided...and I made excuses about how I couldn't feed my horse for weeks because I believed an old evil hand was in that glove, waiting to take hold of me (4th grader).
One day after school, I staggered across that swinging bridge...and as I reached the end I looked across to the front porch of that old, dark house...and there was something different...on the handle of that old screen door was perched a hand...a hand without a body. On that cool autumn evening, I crumbled into a terrified heap at the foot of that bridge (4th grader)...I sat there sobbing as the sun left the sky at an early hour and there was not a soul for miles to help me in my situation. I remember how cold it was on that bridge, the feeling of the air swinging around it, and hearing its old cables creak as my home, my solace was guarded by some disembodied appendage. I was stuck between two evils, but I chose the lesser of the two.
I'll never forget seeing the headlights of my brothers jeep thrashing across the creek as he drove into the yard, I was absolutely certain that in his haste, he was coming to rescue me from that God-forsaken hand. He disappeared for a moment and I heard his evil, maniacal laugh as he approached me with that stiff beast with 5 fingers. As I stood there shaking and wiping tears from my cold face, he stomped onto the bridge and threw that hand at me...I quickly grabbed it, realizing it was rubber... while my brother violently pushed me toward the house saying, 'get inside, stupid'
Finally got some cornstalks from a local farm today and put them out front. We are the only house on the entire street (and possibly neighborhood) with Halloween decorations up...I'm going to give these people the benefit of the doubt and assume that the past week of rain has simply pushed their holiday spirit to a later date.
Hoping this isn't the way it works around here...but I'm happy with our little porch.
I feel as if October has been eluding me, so we decided to carve a pumpkin tonight.
I asked my other half if he carved pumpkins as a child...
his response was, 'I don't know...I don't really remember...' to which I replied, 'if you don't remember carving pumpkins, then it never happened'
I believe this sin against nature is called a 'Huntsman spider'...and it's one of the many reasons why I will never travel to Australia.
That, and my being banned from the country due to my underground Kangaroo boxing circle.
The next time someone asks me what my 'tat' means, now I can just direct them to my blog...after I punch them in the face.
'We feel the elation of Salome as she kisses the
lips of the dead prophet whose mouth she has likened to 'ripe fruit' and
'a pomegranate cut in twain with a knife of ivory,' as if his lips
truly were meant to be feasted on. Beardsley brilliantly captures and
shares the ardor of the moment just after Salome had acquiesced to her
necrophilic appetite and in his illustration we see her literally
floating in the air, lifted to a state of suspended rapture above a
puddle of blood...
In the upper left-hand corner of the picture we are reminded of the
'clusters of black grapes' to which Salome previously compared
Iokanaan's hair in the text, again speaking of his body as something to
be devoured, ravaged, thus reversing the traditional roles of woman and
man in regards to sexuality'
Once I stayed the night with a friend and during an obscure conversation she explained to me how she insists on cooking eggs until they are slightly brown (which I believe to be a sin against all things edible)
That morning I awoke to great hunger...and of course, to my friend stating she would be making omelets for breakfast. In my panic, I made up a ridiculous excuse as to why I couldn't consume eggs (for fear of being served a slightly browned omelet) and I sat at the kitchen table and ate a tomato for breakfast.
Click the photo for a hilarious, omelet related tale.