fugitives

Dashing into my local grocery store yesterday for some last minute Easter dinner ingredients, I caught a glimmer of bright orange as I passed the potted Easter plants and assorted bunny rabbit images.

Upon closer inspection, I discovered a small collection of jack-0-lantern pots, having obviously broken free from their seasonal restraints.

It warms my heart.

sinking fast

Halloween was followed by nearly a solid week and rain and wind. My intrepid little pumpkins survived, thanks to the shelter of the front porch and the shrubs. And a few blown leaves. Nevertheless, it's clear to me that they are reaching the end of their lives. But I can't bear to say good-bye to them just yet.

happy halloween

Happy Halloween!

pancakes not pumpkins

There is only one day each year on which I eat pancakes for lunch or dinner, rather than for breakfast. And that day is today. Shrove Tuesday.

Every year I remind myself to use the opportunity to get creative and whip up some pumpkin spice pancakes. With cinnamon and nutmeg. Maybe a few pecans. A pancake with Halloween flair.

Perhaps something like this:



Or this:


Maybe this:



Or even this:



And every year, I trudge off instead to a local pancake supper and let someone else whip up the pancakes for me. Minus the pumpkin and pecans. Ordinary pancakes. This year is no exception. I'll be enjoying my pancakes at a local church hall. With no Halloween flair.

Maybe next year, pumpkin pancakes, maybe next year.

halloween house

Each Christmas season, I pass this house and think, "Where were you at Halloween?"

Perhaps it's just me, but the placement of the candles and their distinctly orange glow reminds me of a giant jack-o-lantern. Except for the candy cane in the front yard.

I think I may be suffering from Halloween withdrawal.

two season shimmer

In these tough economic times, money must not be wasted. Each new purchase must be carefully considered. Its value assessed. Now more than ever, multi-functionality is paramount.

Take, for example, this handsome jack-o-lantern, encountered on a shopping expedition in October. Its shiny, feathery garland would undoubtedly add glitz and sparkle to any Halloween celebration.



Then, as Halloween fades into memory, the garland can simply be unfurled and used to adorn December's Christmas tree. Pure brilliance.

Frugality at its finest.

snow

The nor'easter that had been predicted to deliver rain last night chose instead to bring snow. The first snow of the season. The jack-o-lanterns were taken aback by this development.



There were those who greeted the change in weather cheerfully.



While others appeared visibly upset.



The only thing worse than withering away in November is withering away in November snow.

Happy Halloween!

no escape

They sat peacefully in the autumn sunshine. Calm. Content. Unsuspecting.

Oh, they had heard the rumours. Seen their neighbours disappear. Only to see them return mutilated and disemboweled. Some barely recognizable.

But it wouldn't happen to them. It couldn't. After all, hadn't they been sitting here for weeks now? Untouched. Secure. No, they would escape the cruel fate that had befallen others. They were sure of it. Just two more days.

But it seems fate had other ideas.

Sadly, no one is immune.

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.

a path of pumpkins

As the sun set on last weekend's scarecrow festival, the moon rose on the illuminated pumpkin path.

Over 150 jack-o-lanterns. Some gathered around a theme.

Others determinedly independent.

All hand-carved by an industrious woman, proprietor of a local market.

And while I admire the skill and creativity involved, I remain a jack-o-lantern traditionalist. Long live triangular eyes!

neon

I didn't own anything in neon colours back in the 80's. Those headache-inducing shades of pink, orange, green and yellow mercifully passed me by. Unscathed. But in case I have any subconscious regrets, it's not too late. Neon is back. And just in time for Halloween.

did someone say free jack-o-lanterns?

That cheap wench ShellHawk is finally having a give-away. Someone somewhere will be the lucky winner of one of her very own pottery jacks. Now, I rarely enter contests. Because when I do, I never win. Very discouraging. But when the words "free" and "jack-o-lantern" collide, how can I resist?

In the words of ShellHawk herself, here's how you enter:

1) If you're not already a follower of my blog, become one. It's the "Join This
Site" button on the right side of the page.
2) Leave me a comment on this
post. If you're not on blogger, leave the comment as "Anonymous." Just make sure
I can identify you later.
3) Follow me on Twitter by clicking the Twitter
badge above and to the right, then click the "follow" button. Just let me know
you are following because of this giveaway, so I can separate you from the
Twitter spammers!
4) Those of you who ramble on-I mean, blog-like I do,
please make a mention of my giveaway on your blog. (And thank you for spreading
the word!) Come back here and leave me a second comment, and you'll get your
name in the witch's hat a second time.

Fingers crossed.

the first

In the beginning, there were only the three pumpkin houses. Bright and colourful and jaunty in their dollar store cheerfulness. That October, their windows glowed with the warmth of a tealight flame. They were the ceramic embodiment of Halloween.

But by the following October, they were no longer alone. No longer the focus of the Halloween mantle. And with each passing year, more pumpkins arrived in their neighbourhood. More polished, more detailed ceramic pumpkins and jack-o-lanterns began to crowd them out. Sinister trees sprang up between them, appearing to mock their innocence and simple joyousness.

Indeed, their once-bright exteriors were fading. Marks and smudges belied their age. There was no denying that. Perhaps it was time to move on. Time to leave Halloween to newer, classier, altogether more impressive pumpkins.

But, after considerable reflection, they chose to remain. To stand proudly despite their perceived inferiority. To hold their ground in the midst of a growing pumpkin population. The others might be more attractive. More vivid. More intricate. But the little pumpkin houses had history. They were Halloween veterans. They were the first.

and so it begins

Sure, pumpkins started appearing a week or two ago. But now skulls and bats and crows and jack-o-lanterns are creeping in beside them. Just waiting now for the bin of styrofoam heads to appear at Value Village.

lost and found

I've been distracted lately. Not making many blog posts. Not spending much time on-line. Not reading much. Not keeping up with yard work. Or housework. I've been struggling with an addiction. But I think I've got it under control.

I don't watch much television. True, it's not so long ago that I lived for Battlestar Galactica on Fridays. But those days are gone. Recently, my viewing has consisted of the 6 o'clock news and Coronation Street. And I'll sometimes stop by to see who George is chatting with on The Hour. But that's it.

But then one day, I was listening to a favourite podcast and amongst the chatter, the subject of Lost came up. This is a show I had never seen. Partly because of the aforementioned lack of television watching and partly because I understood it to be the sort of series you can't just weave in and out of. You have to have been there from Day One. So I thought, why not. Most of the series is on DVD. I could start at the beginning. Perhaps watch an episode or two a week and have caught up on the plot by the time the final season arrived in 2010.

Serious mistake.

Because, much like potato chips, you can't have just one. With four episodes on each disc, my planned one or two a week quickly became two or three a day. And no sooner did I finish one disc than I found myself at Blockbuster renting the next one. Yes, it is truly an insidious addiction. I had to have more. I had to know. What is the smoke monster? Who are The Others? Why is Hurley not losing weight? I no longer worry about watching every episode before 2010. I'm approaching the end of Season 3. I'll have seen them all before the end of June.

But I'm confident that I now have it under control. I've begun to pace myself. To force myself to do something else. Anything else. And so far it's working. I will not be visiting Blockbuster today. Really.

But if I contemplate carving Hurley's face into a pumpkin, I'll know I've passed the point of no return.

a new face

A new ceramic jack-o-lantern. Thanks to another successful Saturday morning of yard sale-ing.

But with great joy comes great regret. I usually come home from yard sales wishing I had purchased something that I passed up. This time the items in question were two monster head candles. Generic monsters. Had they been anyone recognizable, I would have grabbed them immediately. But these looked like they had been through some tough times and had some type of pet hair stuck to them. So I just bought the ceramic jack and turned toward home.

And then, as I spent part of the afternoon removing cat hair from my furniture, I regretted my decision. Perhaps they would have fit in nicely after all.

corked

Back when I created a collection of ornaments for my shiny new Halloween tree, I intended it to be the first of several. But as with many of my projects, those good intentions ended up on a back burner. Then up on a shelf. Then in the back of a dark, dusty, cobwebbed closet.

But one day, as I was finishing off a bottle of wine, the cork beckoned to me. "Halloween tree ornament," it whispered. Perhaps it was the wine talking. I prefer to believe it was the cork.

And indeed, it was the perfect size for a tree ornament. So out came the paint, and it was transformed into a wine-cork-o-lantern.

Another bottle of wine; another cork-o-lantern. Another bottle of wine; another cork-o-lantern . . . You get the idea.



Two thoughts come to mind. The smell of burning cork is not among my favourites. And I seriously need to reduce my wine consumption.

J - e - l - l - o

There is something inherent in the arrival of spring that inspires me to rejuvenate my surroundings. To organize. Simplify. Prioritize. Purge. A major component of this yearly cathartic process involves throwing open cupboards, drawers and closets and exposing their contents to the cold light of a March day. And making some harsh pronouncements upon their fate.

And so it was that the emptying of a rarely-used kitchen cupboard revealed this:

A pumpkin-orange plastic Halloween Jello mold. Unused for a few years now, but once an integral part of the Halloween festivities at my house. Originally acquired "free", with the purchase of several packages of Jello, this humble piece of plastic provided faithful service throughout many Octobers, producing countless Jello jack-o-lanterns and ghosts. But anyone who has shared a home with two small children will immediately recognize the problem here. Only one ghost among all those jack-o-lanterns. One ghost. The trigger for all-out war. A powder keg waiting for a match. So what to do?

Sure, there are reasonable solutions. The ghost mold could simply remain empty. But that creates the additional problem of leftover Jello.

Or one ghost could be cut in half. But accurately cutting Jello is no easy task and two uneven pieces would just result in a renewed battle.

Perhaps each person could take a turn claiming the ghost, alternating with each successive package of Jello. Sadly, this is a solution that works so much better in theory than in practice.

Ultimately, the easiest solution to the problem of the lone Jello ghost presented itself. I would eat the ghost myself. Jello is a long way from being my favourite dessert, but it's a sacrifice I've been willing to make in the pursuit of peace and harmony. Especially when accompanied by ice cream.

But that was then.

Still, as I stood with the plastic mold in my hand, poised over the garbage bag, I was overcome with second thoughts, fond memories, and an inexplicable desire for orange-pineapple Jello and French Vanilla ice cream. And despite my devotion to my spring cleansing ritual, I relented. The Jello mold will live to see another Halloween.

pumpkin pi

Two mathematical holidays in one month! It doesn't get much better than this. Happy Pi Day!

More pi here