You should have heard the shriek of terror on that night

When we got our Halloween photos processed, we found some eerie images.

(For purposes of this post, let us just ignore the reality of digital photography, shall we?)

Care to venture what you are seeing in this image? Ectoplasm particles? Electrical disturbances? Ghostly artifacts ?
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Terrible guesses, all.



Matt and I made cupcakes to take with us to a Halloween party. They were frosted with an absurdly delicious whipped meringue icing to look like brains. Some with vasculature and some without (for the squeamish).


I am not terribly practiced at piping icing with a pastry bag, so it took me a lot of time to make our macabre little morsels. I was pretty pleased with how they turned out.
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You know where this story is going, right? You surely have to know.

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Oh yes.



This story ends up with brains splattered everywhere. It was very much like a scene from Pulp Fiction. Poor Marvin.

Yum!

Did anyone else get super carried away after watching Pan's Labyrinth?

Kindred Spirits!

Last year I posted this Halloween story about my first grade witch's brew whose rather macabre recipe was published in the local paper - much to my mother's horror.

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If you don't feel like going back and reading this year-old post (though you should, it would make me happy), I will just recap the primary ingredients:

• hair;
• cobwebs;
• lizards and spiders; and
• little kid's kidneys

The last item being the ingredient my dear mother found unacceptably weird and abhorrent for a young child.

Nearly twenty-four Halloween seasons later, we picked up a great book for Max. The book is called Frankenstein Makes a Sandwich by Adam Rex.

Love it! It is a fantastic book.

Anyhoo . . . there is a poem in this book called "The Middlewich Witch-Watchers Club."

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Witch watchers hide in trees and shrubs or settle deep in ditches

And when they spot a witch, they look to see which witch it was

They check inside the Witch Watch Book by Mitchell & von Fuzz

~

Today they saw a Speckled Crone

which shrieked while eating files . . .

And then a Frazzled Warthag baking kid and kidney pies.

That's right! KID and KIDNEY pies !!! I am not alone! I am not the only weirdo creating imaginary confections made from tender young organ meat. Thank you, thank you, a thousand times, thank you Adam Rex for make me feel like less of a freak show.

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An embarrassment to my mother

I still remember celebrating Halloween when I was in first grade (ah . . . the golden age of Trick~or~Treating). That year we got to develop our own Witch's Brew.

I focused on conjuring the most sinister and frightful elixir imaginable for my brew. Especially since some of my more manby-pamby classmates were listing ingredients such as marshmallows, crayons, and ham in their pithy concoctions.

Unfortunately, my overambitious recipe horrified and embarrassed my mother when the local paper published our brews in the news.

I suspect it was the "little kid's kidneys" part that she found to be objectionable.

We were sitting at the breakfast table before school when mom burst out, "LITTLE KID'S KIDNEYS?! Why would you want to put little kid's kidneys in your witch's brew?! People are going to think I have raised a ghoulish little girl!"

I suppose -- as phrased -- it is rather chilling, particularly where the recipe calls for both kidneys from a singular kid. I can't remember if that is a misplaced apostrophe or if I saw fit to completely eviscerate the renal system of just one particularly rotten child.

In all fairness, though, how is that worse than that Kyle kid who would commingle eyeballs with his chili? SO much more stomach churning than my brew.

It's genetic

I came across a story this morning about a woman who died on her own plot at the cemetery.

Woman Dies Next to Own Grave

That story made me me think fondly about a visit home I had a couple of years ago. I was in the car with my parents when my mom turned excitedly to me and said, "Hey! Wanna stop by the cemetery and see the plots your father and I just bought ourselves?!"

She was excited because a number of plots in the oldest portions of the cemetery had escheated back to the cemetery because those who had purchased them many, many, many years ago never got around to using them. Given the amount of time that had passed, it was safe to assume that the original owners must have made other arrangements by now. Anyway, being in the oldest part of the cemetery means being laid to rest amongst huge established trees and other scenic amenities.

We pulled into the cemetery, and I have to admit, the folks had scored themselves some prime real estate.

There was a brief moment of awkwardness when the three of us fell silent, thinking about the sad days that would eventually bring us to this spot out of solemn obligation.

My mom spoke up, "well this is kind of depressing, isn't it?" Then she grinned, leaned forward, and suggested, "We should dance on our graves!"

My dad and I needed no encouragement, and for the next 30 seconds the three of us laughed, and danced with our arms in the air.

We finished up and got back into the car, still chuckling. My mom sighed, and said "Now won't that be a funny memory when you come back here to bury us?!"

That's right. The silliness runs deep in this kid's veins.

Battle of Wits

It is somewhat ridiculous how much I love Halloween. I was just relishing in the season when I remembered an interesting conversation I had with my niece Jordan last June.

She had just finished up with the first grade and was pointing out the gross inequity that is a nine-month academic year compared with a paltry three-month summer vacation.

The resulting discussion was something of a battle of wits in which she clearly came out on top.

JORDAN: I don’t think it is fair that summer is only three months.

KERRY: How long do you think summer should be?

JORDAN: I think we should only have to go to school for three months and then summer would be nine months long.

KERRY: Don’t you think nine months is too long for summer to last?

JORDAN: No. No, I do not.

KERRY: But if summer was nine months long then it would run into wintertime.

JORDAN: That’s ok. We could have fires and drink hot chocolate; and it would be fun because it would be during summer!

KERRY: So would you have Christmas during the summer, then?

JORDAN: Yes. And it would be fun.

KERRY: Good point.

JORDAN: Thank you.

KERRY: But what about Halloween?

JORDAN: What do you mean?

KERRY: Well if you get your nine-month summer, then you wouldn’t be in school at Halloween.

JORDAN: So?

KERRY: So, Halloween parties at school are the best! You get to wear your costume to school and eat candy in class.

JORDAN: Uh . . .

KERRY: See! You don’t really want a nine-month Summer.

JORDAN: Yes-huh!

KERRY: Nuh-uhn!!

JORDAN: No! Because Halloween would be in the summer, then I could wear my swimsuit!

KERRY: A swimsuit is not a costume.

JORDAN: Yes it is. I would be Barbie for Halloween.

KERRY: Barbie is a terrible costume. That is not scary at all.

JORDAN: (Pauses for effect) I would be . . .

. . . DEAD B A R R R R R B I E !

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At that point, there was nothing for me to do but concede the debate.