the horror of poor spelling

I made a shocking discovery at Michaels last weekend.

A shocking discovery regarding clowns. Not only are they creepy.  That much is undeniable.  But there's more. 

Their spelling is atrocious.

It seems there's never a Spell-Check around when you need one.

the countdown begins

Having a weakness for any magazine with a pumpkin on the cover, I tend to amass quite a collection between August and October of each year.

And when there are no magazines left to buy, I know it must be October.  And the Countdown to Halloween can truly begin.

of fishing towns and crystal skulls

I had long since given up on the possibility of finding the elusive crystal skull of vodka at my local liquor store.   I had buried the resentment I felt that vodka made in Newfoundland was unobtainable just one province away.  I had overcome my bitterness that Dan Ackroyd, Canadian Dan Ackroyd, had not stepped up to ensure that this product with which he was associated, was readily available to all of his fellow countrymen.
 
And then I walked into the liquor store in Digby.

I found myself in Digby on a recent fall weekend road trip. And as on any road trip, a visit to the local liquor store is an absolute necessity. When I saw the display standing prominently in the centre of the store, I was surprised.  But merely assumed that it was finally being made more widely available.   Not so, said the clerk.  This vodka would not be found at any other liquor store in the region.   It was obtained specifically for this location.  So what makes Digby special?   The occasion, each Labour Day weekend, of the Wharf Rat Rally.    Apparently there's nothing bikers love more than crystal skulls of vodka, and a supply is ordered especially for the event.  I suppose I should feel fortunate that there was some stock left over.

And now, I am gradually working on emptying my new possession.  Nothing quenches the remnants of bitterness and resentment like vodka from a skull-shaped bottle.

All is forgiven, Mr. Ackroyd.

candy apples revisited

I have made no secret of my disdain for candy apples. Beginning with my earliest childhood memories, I have never understood their attraction. Nor the esteem in which they are held by so many. It always seemed that, once you managed to penetrate the thin, sticky, tooth-shattering exterior, you were left with simply a mealy, half-chewed apple. What was so wonderful about that?

In later years, I tried re-creating candy apples myself.  Believing that my own creations would be far more delectable.  They weren't.  So I dismissed the idea of candy apples entirely.  Oh, they were out there.  I saw them.  I witnessed their continued inexplicable popularity. But they no longer had a place in my life. 

And then a co-worker began to wax eloquently about the joys of candy apples from the Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory.  Possessing a lifelong interest in chocolate, I am of course familiar with this store. And I pass their display of candy apples each time I enter the store, en route to the chocolate and fudge.  I've never had any interest in trying their candy apples, however.  They could dress them up all they liked; at their heart, they remained . . . candy apples.

But she insisted.  They were delicious, she said.  Unlike any other candy apple.  And they used their own chocolate.  And maybe that was the word that weakened my resolve.  Chocolate.

So I broke down and bought one.  The Skor Apple.  With caramel and chocolate and Skor toffee bits.  It was huge.  And pricey.  And likely enough to feed six people.

And it was indeed delicious.  The small slice I had was more than enough.  Working alone, it would take me days to finish this.  And as I savoured the layers of caramel and chocolate and toffee, I reflected upon the success of this particular apple.  Why had it succeeded in pleasing me when so many others had failed so miserably?

 

In the end, I came to the conclusion that the secret is in the candy-to-apple ratio.  Thick, thick, thick layers of candy surrounding an average sized apple.  Maximum candy; minimum apple.  Clearly the secret to success.  That, and an absence of red sticky coating.

that's no baby

I would have to place these in the same category of creepiness as dolls and puppets.

Wal-Mart has taken a decidedly disturbing turn.  Or maybe it's just me . . .

monster cookies

It was beginning again.  Blog after blog after blog.   Heralding the return of autumn and Halloween-themed foods to store shelves everywhere.  Everywhere except here.  Apparently, "out there", there exists a plethora of  Halloween and pumpkin goodness at this time of year.   Pop Tarts.  Ice Cream.   Flavoured Coffee.  Cereals.


And here . . . ?   Here I get to pass displays of Pillsbury slice-and-bake cookies in the grocery freezer section.

Until now.

Because this week, staring out at me from a store shelf was none other than . . . "Monsters" cookies.  Box upon box upon box of Monsters cookies.  With the all-important selling features of real cocoa and zero trans fat.  No longer did I have to lament the absence of Halloween-inspired food products in my life.  No longer did I have to eat vicariously through the posts and photographs of others, more fortunate than I.   Now I, too, could partake in the goodness of seasonal treats.

I grabbed a box and took it home.

Yes, the cookies were dry.  And bland.  And barely recognizable as the monsters they represented.  And I never would have suspected the inclusion of "real cocoa" had they not promised it on the box.  But all of that is beside the point.  What matters here is that my autumn dreams have finally been realized.  As I kept reminding myself while I choked down a second and third monster cookie.

These may require an extra-large cup of pumpkin tea.

pumpkin chai

It may have been the cover photo on the brochure that drew me in.

I've been needing to replenish my tea supply for a while now, and Davids' new fall list gave me the motivation to do just that.Pumpkin Chai is described as tasting of "Cinnamon, cloves, cardamom, plus the sweetness of caramel and pumpkin candy."  I can attest to that.  This tea may surpass pumpkin ale (of which I have found few that I truly enjoy) on the list of my autumn beverages of choice.

But it still lags slightly behind pumpkin spice latte.

Motha

So yesterday evening, I sat down and leisurely explored the pages of Martha's new Halloween magazine.  Ideally, I would have done this at home with my feet up, with autumn scented candles burning and with a mug of pumpkin spice latte in one hand.  But real life intervened.  So instead, I found myself at my daughter's softball game.  Where hordes of angry mosquitoes forced me off the bleachers and back to the safety of my car.  Fortunately, I had thought to bring Martha along for company.   I did have my feet up however.  Up on the passenger seat beside me.

But now back to Martha . . .

I was moderately pleased with my purchase. Even if the "Martha as Mothra" cover creeped me out a little. I have issues with moths' wings.  But that's another story.

This year's Halloween offering is not an entirely new one.

But it is mostly new.  And while not up to the level of  past years (which makes me wonder about staff changes amongst her minions) there are a few ideas that caught my eye . . .

. . . including the section on classic B-movie-inspired costumes.  Which I'm sure hasn't influenced my opinion of the magazine in the least.  My personal favourite is "The Vanishing Man".  Clearly a relative of "The Invisible Man", who must have been too busy for the photo shoot.

Yes, this year, Martha is all about classic images and B-movies.  And pistachio cupcakes.

I will most definitely be trying the pistachio cupcakes.

she's back

There she was.  Right in front of me as I waited in line at the grocery store.  Staring at me from the cover of her new Halloween issue. 

And I have every reason to believe it is a new issue this year. I didn't notice the words "best of " or "highlights" anywhere on the cover.  But I haven't gotten past the cover yet.  I'm waiting for a break in my day so I can sit down and savour it.  Perhaps with the accompaniment of a hard apple cider.

something old, something new

It's that time of year again.  When I begin to scan the magazine shelves regularly, looking for that first smiling jack-o-lantern staring back at me.  So far, there have been only a couple of autumn offerings to tempt me.  And then, as anticipated, the first true sign of Halloween.

I greet the appearance of this magazine each year with mixed emotions.  I know it's filled with cutesy crafts and recipes recycled and modified only slightly from year to year.  I couldn't begin to count how many versions of the Rice Krispie jack-o-lantern I've encountered in my lifetime.  But as I stand there in the grocery aisle, it is unfailingly the first glimpse of a Halloween magazine that I receive every summer.  And I can't resist it.

So maybe it's just me.  Maybe this summer's incessant rain is making my brain soggy.  Or maybe it's simply a result of my diminished expectations.  But this year's offering seems to be a modest improvement over recent years.  Particularly in the beverage section. 

This cider is at the top of my list if the Valley's apple crop survives the summer.

And if September's weather turns out to be warmer than August's (as it sometimes does) I may opt for a cold smoothie instead of hot cider.

Yes, as I eagerly turned the pages, I was impressed with several of this year's recipes.  Maybe there has been a conscious effort on the part of the magazine's producers to add some variety and freshness to their standard repertoire. Or maybe I'm still giddy from that first glimpse of orange.

antidote

After all the complaining I've done about the cold, wet, miserable spring and early summer we've had, I'm happy to say that the weather has done a complete reversal. The past week has been almost unbearably hot and humid. So I still get to complain about the summer weather, just for different reasons.


And the perfect antidote to all this heat and humidity?

A journey to Michaels to wander through their emerging autumn merchandise.

So far, it still appears that glitter will be dominant this season.  But there also appears to be an abundance of feathers . . .

nightmare

While the combination of starting a new job and getting hit by the worst cold in memory has left me with little time or inclination for any activity that hasn't centred around lying on a couch clutching a box of Kleenex and a mug of tea, I managed to drag myself off the couch and downtown on the weekend for some Christmas shopping. Because I'm not sure how this happened, but Christmas is suddenly a mere two weeks away.

My retail wanderings led me into a local comic book shop in search of a Wonder Woman action figure for a friend. I didn't find the action figure. But the trip wasn't wasted. Because there in the shop, propped up on a side table, was a game. And not just any game. Nightmare Before Christmas Monopoly. I stood there. Mesmerized. Sure, I'm familiar with the countless "-opolies" out there: Horse-opoly, Beer-opoly, Nintendo-opoly, and their ilk. But I had not previously encountered this version.



I love The Nightmare Before Christmas. And the sight of the game reminded me just how much. It beckoned to me. With its colourful board and its character games pieces. I picked it up. Turned it over slowly in my hands. Perhaps an early Christmas present, I reasoned. For myself. And then I remembered . . .

I hate Monopoly. In all its incarnations. I've hated it since childhood. Everyone seemed to own it. Including me, after it was delivered one Christmas by a misguided Santa Claus who was obviously influenced by popularity and advertising. Everyone seemed to love it. Except me. Everyone seemed to always want to play it. Except me.

But play it, I did. Despite my objections. Despite my desperate attempts to direct attention to other and, in my opinion, far more enjoyable board games. Despite my best efforts, I was always voted down. Inevitably, I would succumb to the pressures of playing Monopoly. And I would always lose. Always. Which I'm sure has absolutely nothing to do with my lifelong disdain for the game.

So as I stood there in the comic book shop, game in hand, these conflicting emotions surged through my mind. And I quietly placed the game back on the table and stepped away. Even Jack and Sally and Oogie Boogie couldn't help me overcome a lifetime of negativity. There would be no "Nightmare Before Christmas -opoly" in my home. Never. But maybe I can find a nice Nightmare Before Christmas version of Uno. Or Operation. Or perhaps Scrabble . . .

it's not what it used to be

I picked up a copy of Martha's October issue yesterday. Without even opening the cover. I reasoned that, with no new Halloween issue this year, it would certainly be packed with creativity and inspiration.

But no. It wasn't. In fact, the most interesting part was the Grandinroad advertising insert. So then I began to ask myself: "Am I expecting too much?" "Am I being unduly harsh in my judgement?" "Am I the problem?"

For the answers, I turned to my kitchen shelf, where amongst the various cookbooks, I keep Martha's old Halloween and October issues. And I took a walk down memory lane. And I came to the conclusion that it's not me, Martha; it's you. It's definitely you. Ah well . . . there's always next year.

I'm a winner

I was surprised and intrigued to open my mailbox and see there, amongst the bills and pizza coupons, a small square box wrapped in brown paper. So naturally, I hurried home and tore it open.

And there inside I discovered a votive holder and four Dark Candles from fellow blogger, PumpkinBrain. I cast my mind back. Back to a month ago when I casually entered his blog giveaway. Never dreaming that I would actually win. I never win anything.

As the aromas drifted upward from the open box, I examined each candle in turn and inhaled deeply: Haunted House, Bonfire, Autumn Harvest, Dark Carnival. I have heard of Dark Candles many times before but have never ordered any. After all, I reasoned, I can purchase scented candles at any one of a number of shops close to home. Why bother with on-line ordering?

How naïve I've been. These are no ordinary scented candles. Choosing a favourite from among the four was incredibly difficult. In the end, I opted to begin with Dark Carnival.

And now I'm addicted. Thanks, PumpkinBrain.

Ripsters

A year or two ago, I was walking through downtown Halifax with my son, a fellow Halloween enthusiast, when we saw a bright red Volkswagen Beetle zip past. On the side, in large white letters was the word, Ripsters, and beneath it, Halloween Shop. We both became giddy with excitement. And promptly Googled this new discovery. We discovered that it was primarily an Internet business, but that it did offer limited "walk-in" hours of service. On weekends. So bright and early one Sunday morning, we drove off in search of its physical location. The directions led us to a long deserted driveway in a quiet residential neighbourhood. No sign. No business-like entrance. No other cars. No indication that it was anything other than a private home. We both felt hesitant to drive up and to begin pounding on doors and peering through windows in search of skulls and cobwebs on a weekend morning, so we chose to return home and call ahead first. And then, distracted by a nearby Dairy Queen, we procrastinated and then forgot all about it. No more was seen or heard of Ripsters. Until now.

It appears the owners have opened a bricks-and-mortar location outside of their home. Likely to appeal to more reticent customers, like myself. And it worked. Because this time, I didn't hesitate to walk through the front door. That's the good news. The bad news is that, upon walking through the front door, I felt like I was in a smaller version of Spirit Halloween. Sure, there were a few exceptions. Notably a nifty little "brain" mold that I may pick up. But other than that, nothing spectacular. Nothing particularly interesting or unique.

On the bright side, however, it is a small local business, which I try to support whenever possible, and it's open year round. So I can take some comfort in the knowledge that, if I'm seized with a desire for a plastic chainsaw or some fake blood in the cold bleak days of March, I can satisfy my craving while simultaneously supporting the local economy.

spirit

So I was driving along, deep in the heart of "Big Box Store - land", when suddenly the clouds parted and a ray of sunshine emerged and illuminated . . . this.

Finally. After years of hearing about it. After years of listening to others mention it ever so casually, as if every city has one. As if everyone has been there. After years of wondering and wishing and hoping, a Spirit Halloween store has finally opened in Halifax. So of course I immediately pulled into the parking lot, narrowly missing the startled driver ahead of me. I rushed through the front doors, eyes scanning the walls and floor displays, trying to absorb it all at once. Stepping carefully over boxes as the staff attempted to set up. Up, down and around the aisles. Exploring every corner. Every shelf.

My initial reaction? Meh. Sort of an extended version of Wal-Mart's Halloween department.

the colour of fear

Glittery AND pink. Now this is truly terrifying.

halloween comes to dollarama

There's something about the arrival of Halloween merchandise at my local dollar store that warms my heart.

Although there is a rather disturbing emphasis on severed limbs this year . . .

all that glitters

In my recent retail travels, I've noticed an excess of Halloween glitter this season. Clearly, it's not just vampires that sparkle.