As many of you know, the Halloween holiday is my favorite one of the year. It’s a time when it is socially acceptable to dress up, appear in public, in garb that is otherwise inappropriate for everyday wear. This year, when it comes to costumes, I saw many new firsts.
I have many favorites, some pretty extreme. One outstanding outfit was a woman wearing a cape and shroud covering her face, and wearing nothing else but heels. It took me the longest time to figure out who she was. My favorite was going to work and sitting beside a co-worker as a full-blown witch, decked out in black and orange, tall pointed hat and matching shoes with the toes curled up and over the top of her feet. She wore foot-long fingernails and a hoop skirt. I can’t envision what it must have been like sitting behind the steering wheel of her car.
In case you’re wondering, I took on the persona of a speak-easy bartender from the 1920’s, including the garter sleeves keeping my white shirt out of the way when pouring drinks. I don’t wear a bow-tie too often, in fact, not much at all, but it was fun all around.
The holiday is now over, and I’m taking down my decor. The outside of my house joined the rest on the block as a drab, unremarkable home, utterly different from the haunted house look it was last week. I miss it already, but you know what? It’s a lot of work to set up, which would be easy if my neighbors appreciated it.
Unfortunately, it appears that they do not. I moved to this house a year and a half ago, and this is my second Halloween. Except for people putting pumpkins on their front stoop, only I decorated my house. The rest went through the season without even noticing its passing. I find it sad.
In my old neighborhood, I was one of the several homes on the block which decorated. Over time, my displays became much more outlandish. In case you haven’t figured it out, I’m not into cutesy decorations. I like the terrifying, horrendous displays that get people to talk about it to their friends and family.
In the past, I had a fishing theme, where skeletons fished in a pond, catching mermaids too hungry to ignore the tantalizing meal dangled in front of them. I’ve had a human meat market where a rotisserie roasted an entire human body with a smoke machine imitating the cooking process as fat drips onto hot coals and packaged meats available for purchase out from a meat counter. To a functional guillotine using a realistic blade dropping fast onto the neck of its victim strapped to the infernal machine.
Alas, those days are over. No one comes to the house to gaze upon the presentation, chat with the creator (me) and mingle among the elements of the display. It’s my own fault, I suppose. I now live in a 55+ community, and I do believe, I’m the youngest living here. I love my house, don’t get me wrong, but I do not like the neighborhood. But for now, I’ll deal with it. Besides, that means less work to set up my displays and more time to other endeavors, such as writing another chapter in my next book.
Speaking of which, I need to get back to it. In the meantime, have a great day and a better tomorrow.