same old Ichabod

It was a dark and stormy afternoon.

A perfect afternoon to spend on the couch.  Reading.  And a perfect opportunity to finally pick up the copy of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow that I bought last summer.  In Sleepy Hollow.  I have never read the original story, but as I began the tale of Ichabod, a familiar mental image sprung to mind.

I was surprised by this.  Until now, the version of the story with which I've been mainly familiar is the Disney animated version.   But I expected the original story to bear no more than a passing resemblance.  Disney usually "sweetens" the stories it turns into films, sometimes rendering them unrecognizable.  But as I read the story, I recognized Ichabod immediately.  His mannerisms.  His gait.  His unwieldy arms and legs.  Even his noble steed.  It was all there. 

Disney remained remarkably true to the original text.  And then added the musical stylings of Bing Crosby.  I wonder if Washington Irving would have approved.

haunted by twelve year olds

While on our anniversary weekend in Annapolis Royal,  we made one last stop before going home. We spent an afternoon at a nearby amusement park.  Upper Clements Park has many of the classics that one might expect: carousel, roller coaster, pedal boats, ferris wheel . . . and a haunted house.

I was intrigued. This would compensate for my disappointment over the poor timing of the lantern-lit graveyard tour. And being a traditional sort of amusement park, I fully anticipated a traditional sort of haunted house.  Walking up the long, winding path toward the house on the edge of the park, my hopes were encouraged.  Suddenly a house, quite an impressive stone house, came into view. 

There was a hearse parked in front.   And a suitably spooky sign beside the door.   I was certain that this would be the highlight of the park.  I waited to be "summoned" inside.

The door opened . . .

As we walked inside, we were greeted by several teenagers in park staff shirts.  No costumes.  No make-up.  Nothing creepy.  Or at least nothing creepier than a group of teenagers in t-shirts.  Odd, I thought.  But I wasn't deterred.  They were obviously saving the real creepiness for deeper inside the house. 

We were asked to "take a look around upstairs".  As I walked slowly up the dark, narrow, winding staircase to the second floor, I was prepared for anything.  Costumed actors.  A terrifying tableau.  Vague whispers emanating from the darkness. I wasn't prepared, however, for what I actually encountered.

In retrospect, I believe the house must have been there when the property was acquired for the park. It was a beautiful stone structure. Too nice to have been built solely for this purpose.  And I believe the house sat there, unused, until someone had the brilliant idea to turn it into a "haunted house".  And it would have been a brilliant idea indeed.  If they hadn't turned it over to a bunch of twelve year-olds.  Because that was certainly the impression we got as we "explored" the haunted second floor.  Three rooms.  A blood-splattered bathroom.  And two similarly "haunted" bedrooms. One of which was black-lit with a "ghostly" figure in a wedding dress sitting in a rocking chair.

That was the highlight.  We couldn't actually enter the bedrooms. Only look at them from the doorways.  As we moved along to look for more horrors, we were greeted by an EXIT sign.  Which led us past the haunted kitchen/mad scientist's lab, with various saws and axes strewn around.   And finally the group of teenagers in t-shirts that had greeted us when we entered.  We appeared to be disturbing their conversation as we left.

At least the sign was impressive.

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.

giant

Sometimes a tree just isn't big enough for more than one ghost. Giant tree ghosts: "There can be only one".

READY FOR HALLOWEEN DAY 10: Trapped Soul Mirror

Sawdust and Paper Crafts, you are brilliant--BRILLIANT!



This is a quick, easy way to make your mirror Halloweeny. And if you're willing to do some paint-scraping after the haunting season, you can use it on pretty much any mirror in your home (that can be taken outside and carefully covered)

Somber Pumpkin Centerpiece

It's so hard to remember, but I feel like this time last year I was still worrying over centerpieces a bit.

These would have been kind of perfect for my black-and-silvery Hallowedding, so I must share them with my friends (all of you guys out there kindly reading my sporadic nonsense!): Martha's Glittery Gray Pumpkin Table.

She says the dusty miller is optional, but I rather disagree. You can find the plant at pretty much any home and garden store (at least around here), and it's so soft and ghostly.

The whole table on her project page looks divine. Makes me think that a gray table cloth is the way to go, rather than black, for any Halloween party this year. The stretched cheese cloth is just so haunted-house chic!

All-in-all, not a bad balance of spooky and elegant.

Critical Path

Only 6 weeks remain until the house is crawling
with miniature rapscallions clamoring for attention.
Six weeks until summer distractions become
priority number one and business plans, schedules
and soon to be fleshed out sketches collect dust
in the corner. It's time to get crackin!

ghostly meringue

I have only had meringue that I liked once, and then it was surrounded on all sides be varying flavors of chocolate mousse. Mmm...

But these ghosts are just too cute not to share. The picture spread alone is worth it!

Cheers, all.

inflatable memories

I can vividly remember the first time I saw a giant Halloween inflatable on someone's front lawn. I was driving along one evening just after dark, when there, high on a hilltop, sat the largest inflatable pumpkin I had ever seen. I slowed down. My head turned.

I didn't swerve. I didn't hit a tree. I didn't plow into a crowd of pedestrians. But I did admire it. It was bright. It was stunning. It was unique. It was the embodiment of Halloween. I had not seen its like before.

Then, suddenly, I saw its like everywhere.

The unique has become ubiquitous.

Things accomplished over the weekend...

This weekend saw progress!

A ghost centerpiece was made:
The guest book pen holder is complete (oh, and the pen is 1/2 done):


A luminary with Victorian imagery became finito:


Also, the gift card box is 2/3 complete (pictures to come), you saw some of the foggy witch-jar style luminaries already, I glittered a top hat for a skull centerpiece (though I'm thinking it's just not going to look right), I started painting some containers flat black, I bought supplies for all my planned projects, and I did quite a bit of tatting for bridesmaids stuffs.


But the real winner this weekend? I finally went out and got a fog machine, plus with Husband-to-Be's help we whipped up the ultimate fog chiller. Fastest. Project. Ever. I did the first fog machine test on my back porch, much to the amusement of my neighbor and his outdoor dinner guests... I was way to exited to be considerate. :)

(b)Ooo!

I'm totally bastardizing PumpkinRot's Witches' Jars for the wedding. Mine will be cloudy but not bloody (oh the things I do to keep Mother happy), but I have some tests burning right now and they are gonna look smashing outdoors at night.

See the initial results for yourself, but ignore the cutesy ghostly face -- I was testing my options, and I just don't like it:




These are just spaghetti jars with elmer's glue smeared and dried on the outsides. Tealights illuminate them.

The one on the far left had watery white paint swirled around inside, the one the middle had silver and black watered down pain and tissue-paper facial features coating it's innards, and the one on the right is just the glue.

Definitely easy, and really lovely. I recommend this project to anyone in needs of some accent lighting.

[edit: I almost forgot! I was going to mention, I could not have take pictures of this project all lit up without the awesome new camera! Rebel, you have won my heart with your tips and tricks page: Quick Tip: Halloween Photography]

HAPPY HALLOWEEN! The Ghostly Couple

Please forgive the over and underexposure - I'm still getting used to my new camera (which actually, you know, works). Also -- ewww! Our dining table has only been used for storing gifts and making invitations this past month. I moved boxes off to take the picture... dusty, dusty. Husband to Be is gonna hate that I posted that picture.


I found the little ghost tealight holders at ... Target or Wal-mart... one or two years ago? Question mark?

This year I've spotted them in the dollar section at the front of a local Target store, if you are hoping to find something similar. I hot glued a little black ribbon bow to the one on the left to make a bow tie. The 'bride's' veil is cheese cloth and a little decorative flower my mom got in the wedding area of Hobby Lobby.

She wants to put electric tealights in them at set them on the cake table. Cutesy, but fun.



Give me a break - it's a wedding; something has to be sappy or my Mummy will just die (!).

Cheesecloth Ghosts

I have never, ever actually seen someone with cheesecloth ghosts in their home.

The project is one you hear about all the time. In fact, it seems to me that I might even have been involved in a craft project to make some as a small child, but maybe that is just wishful memories on my part. It's all over the internet, but the results are always cutesy or - frankly - they just don't look like ghosts.

Well, Our Silly Family Blog made some last year that I really love. The ingredients are mostly cheesecloth, sharpie marker, and liquid starch. A balloon to give it shape would also be helpful.

Go to the blog for really great, detailed instructions, but here's the quick version:

• soak the cheesecloth in liquid starch
• place cheese cloth over the balloon - shape it (I recommend using a balloon fastened down with tape, so it doesn't try to roll away)
• let dry (overnight preferable)
• color a little face with your sharpie -- eyes are a must, a mouth is suggested, and this is the stage where you ghosts either become disgusting cute or unbelievably angry so pick your pattern carefully!
• pop/remove the balloon
• done!

I think I'm going to try attaching my balloon to various heighted bottles to make some variety in the size and shape of the ghosts. They look so great in the picture, I just can't wait to try it!

twenty years and a ghost

With a 20th wedding anniversary to celebrate, what better time to pack up the car, entrust the teenagers with the house for two whole days, and head off to visit a haunted inn?



The Blomidon Inn was built in the Victorian era by Rufus Burgess, a sea captain who realized he could make far more money by building his own ships in addition to sailing them. And what better way to display his wealth than by building what was then called Perth House, named in honour of his wife's hometown in Scotland. He used teak and mahogany throughout. There were marble fireplaces and gold gilt mirrors. A local German artist was invited to paint a ceiling mural of a ship wreck.

For a time, all was well. The family lived happily and ostentatiously in Nova Scotia. But soon, tragedy struck. Captain Burgess's young daughter became ill and died. Alas, poor Elizabeth. But she was clearly attached to her old home and returned, often on her birthday or on the anniversary of her untimely death, to haunt her old room on the third floor. She would appear in the window or in the third floor hallway. Sometimes holding a teddy bear or a doll. Very traditional was Elizabeth.


But that was then.


Apparently Elizabeth hasn't been spending much time at the inn lately, because when I asked the staff about her presence, I was met with some skepticism at best. I believe one of them actually scoffed. Undeterred, I explored the inn's third floor, always vigilant for a sign of Elizabeth's presence. A chill in the air. A ghostly hand on my arm. A fluttering curtain. Fleeting, unexplainable noises.


Nothing.

I stood outside the inn at night, squinting up at the windows on the third floor, where Elizabeth's ghost is rumoured to have gazed out upon the grounds of her old home. But did she appear?

No. She did not.

It seems Elizabeth has become complacent in recent years, if not downright lazy. She needs to take a little more pride in her haunting. Make more frequent appearances. Smash some dishes. Knock a few paintings off the walls. Maybe try some screaming and wailing. That would wipe the dismissive expression off the desk clerk's face.

campfire stories

The cooler is packed. The bacon is on ice. The marshmallows are tucked away. The coffee and the coffee press are carefully protected against breakage. The plastic tarps are in the car (because we're not likely to get through more than two days without rain). And I'm off to the wilds of New Brunswick for a few days of camping. Honestly, I'm just happy to have lived to camp another day after the unfortunate incident last summer when I accidentally ate the plastic nib off the end of the roasting stick. Who knew those things were supposed to be removed?


But of course, no camping trip is complete without ghost stories around the campfire. So we'll be bringing along at least one of our favourite campfire ghost story books. Originally purchased when my children were in elementary school, this book has accompanied us on many a camping and road trip. The stories are ideal. Brief. Spooky. With creepy little illustrations to stimulate the imagination.


I'm hoping to return, safe and dry and plastic-free, in a few days.

the old burying ground

The Old Burying Ground is the oldest graveyard in Halifax. The first grave was dug the day after English colonists arrived in 1749. That first burial was soon followed by thousands more, with the first 100 years of Halifax history represented here. In this graveyard lie the countless victims of epidemics, storms, shipwrecks, wars, and the more mundane tragedies of daily life. Countless. Because as was common at the time, many of these graves contain not just one, but several occupants. The gravestones pay homage to only the most recent arrival.

It seems inevitable that this place would play host to more than a few ghosts.

The most commonly reported ghostly presence is that of Major General Robert Ross. A British veteran of the Napoleonic Wars, Ross went on to command the British forces on the Eastern Seaboard. His opportunity for further military glory soon arose during the War of 1812 when he led an attack on our then not-so-friendly neighbours to the south and burned the original White House along with much of Washington. Shortly afterward, en route to further destruction in Baltimore, Ross was killed while charging into battle. Ordinarily, his body would have been shipped back to Britain for burial. But the army was busy. Further battle preparations were underway. So they carefully preserved his body in a barrel of Jamaican rum and shipped it back to Halifax for burial. And here he remains. In a raised tomb in the shadow of a forked poplar.

And on moonlit nights, the general can still be seen, in full uniform, brandishing a sword and charging at those who encounter him. He may make an appearance tonight, given the significance of the date. Perhaps in an attempt to finish what he started.

Happy Fourth of July!

ghostly

One of several new little ghosts for my Halloween tree. And this time, I remembered to poke the holes for the hooks before they dried. That's real progress.

rain

It started raining on Saturday and it still hasn't stopped. At first, this wasn't a bad thing. With no sunshine to beckon me outside, I went out and rented all of the remaining available Lost DVD's and spent most of Sunday immersed in a Lost marathon. Yes, I had resolved to pace myself more slowly with these. But that resolve crumbled under two days of incessant rain.

So my Lost viewing was complete for now. But still the rain continued. I searched for another indoor activity. I could engage in intensive house-cleaning. I could clean out my closets and storage spaces. I could browse in a bookstore.



While at Chapters, a few books caught my attention. The graphic novelization of Agatha Christie's Halloween Party is one I've had my eye on for a while. But I've read every mystery that Agatha Christie wrote, and Halloween Party doesn't stand out as one of my favourites. Despite the victim and method of murder. An obnoxious pre-teen has her head held under water in an apple-bobbing bucket. Interesting to see in a graphic novel format, but not interesting enough to persuade me to part with almost $20. I came much closer to buying On A Raven's Wing. A collection of short mystery stories inspired by Poe or by some aspect of one of his stories.




And I likely would have gone home with it had I not spotted another book. Halifax Haunts. I hadn't realized it, but this is the book I've been waiting for.




I love historical "true" ghost stories. Especially those that take place in my own backyard. But detailed local ghost stories have been surprisingly difficult to find. I've been able to gather bits and pieces. A ghost walk here. A cemetery tour there. A Halloween event. A vague chapter or two within a broader collection of stories. But well-researched, detailed stories about the ghosts who inhabit my city? Not really. Until now. Steve Vernon has kindly collected, researched, written (and perhaps slightly embellished) 33 Halifax ghost stories. Some I've heard before. Some I haven't. The author ". . . decided to write the book as a Halifax ghost tour." And that's how I've decided to read it. He's even included maps if I need them.

So it appears I've got a good chunk of my summer activities "mapped out". Hilarious. I think the rain is getting to me.

when good ideas go bad

I was searching through a favourite recipe book recently. Looking for an old favourite to send to Mr. Macabre. I found the recipe. And on a nearby page, I found this photo.





There was a time when I saw this photo as the solution to a Halloween costume dilemma. My daughter wanted to be a ghost. Nothing elaborate or grotesque. Just a standard, basic, white- sheet ghost. In retrospect, she may have watched It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown a few too many times that October and was feeling inspired by the costumes. But no matter. A ghost was a traditional choice and certainly an improvement over Barney the dinosaur or a giant M&M. So I was happy to oblige.

My sewing skills are almost non-existent. But then I saw this photo (and accompanying instructions) and felt that this was a costume that even I could handle. I excitedly purchased a white sheet, white gloves and white make-up.

And that's when things began to go downhill.

My daughter has never liked the feel of Halloween make-up on her face. Nothing. Not even a little. She could not be persuaded. The white face make-up was out. But luckily, she had a back-up plan. She would simply put the sheet over her head and cut holes in it. (There was that Charlie Brown influence again.)

On went the sheet. Out came the scissors. Holes were cut. But not nearly big enough to walk safely through a dark neighbourhood. A little bigger. A little bigger. Perfect.

And that's how a simple yet brilliant costume idea ended up like this.

She was thrilled. And that's all that really matters. Right? Charlie Brown would have been proud.

ghosts of halloween past

Torn from the family archives . . .

Well, not exactly torn, but in my attempt to complete the numerous incomplete projects around the house, I've been working at updating scrapbooks. And I can't simply update them without taking time to look through them. Which may explain why so many projects remain unfinished.

While updating one of the scrapbooks of my son's life and times, I found this drawing. Expressing an early love of Halloween. With a definite affinity for grim reapers brandishing sickles.