Monday, October 31, 2011

October 31st

Picture it, your heroine at age 18, long red curly hair in her face much like all the lead singers of all the death metal-heavy metal bands,  her left arm from wrist to elbow encased in bracelets of all kinds - some black rubber, some thin silver hoops, some charm - but no matter, her nails painted black with actual paint because nail polish in black was only available in October, and clothes in all shades of black.  Mostly tees for bands like Sepultura, Pantera and Motorhead. Skirts were pencil skirts worn to the knees with flats or - god hold the phone- sneakers.  Always with a leather jacket, sometimes one with velvet fringes. 

Your heroine cringes as she writes about her own fashion misery all these years later. But she was a product and victim of her musical tastes.

So dressed like she should have been an extra in a bad horror movie, she lived her life on the daily like that.   Hallowe'en being the ultimate revenge so to speak.   Only we didn't see it that way.  For us, myself and my scattering of friends back then, we treated Hallowe'en with the respect it deserved; and gave each other gifts and flowers.  Yes, even the men did. 

Slightly improved fashion,  your heroine turned a common Rocky Horror Picture Show party with her sister and friends into the first of many years to come dinners.   Midnight drinks and dinners.  We treated it like a mix of Thanksgiving and New Years combine.  Which by the by it should be. Check your Pagan handbook on that one.

As the years progressed and people started to get married, the dinners became less involved and the drinks singles.  Disappointment more then crept in, it ran rampant through the house for years. Finally, your heroine just gave up on the tradition.

It's once again Hallowe'en morning and I find myself battering the usual mundane stuff that happens at the end of every month - bills, cleaning, mother's doctor appointment etc-  instead of getting ready for the holiday. 
I also find myself very much missing the whole thing.  Missing the vibes of a proper holiday with the spooky movie while we cook supper, the wine, the getting dressed for dinner in proper dresses and such.  Miss the family of it. 

The emptiness of the holiday echoes.