sketchy bunnies

Last year at this time, I focused attention on the horrors of the visiting Easter Bunny.



Appearing spontaneously at parks and shopping malls across the continent.



Adopting the clever guise of fuzziness and warmth.



While terrorizing the unsuspecting.



Fortunately, I am not alone in my crusade to alert the populace to this harbinger of childhood trauma. Because Sketchy Bunnies has assembled an extensive collection of disturbing images. Guaranteed to deliver fear and a sense of unease along with those chocolate eggs.

Happy Easter.

january's project

Today, March 25, I can proudly say that January's Halloween project is finished. Or at least 95% finished.



It needs just a little last-minute tweaking. The eyes and mouth need to be made slightly more opaque. Another layer of netting should take care of that. I'll probably have the branches emerge from a higher location on the trunk. My basement ceiling wouldn't permit it. And I'm still toying with the idea of extending the branches to have them terminate as hands. Though I likely won't. Overall, I'm pleased with the result. I've been trying to imagine it outside. At night. Illuminated from within. Without Star Wars posters behind it.



I ended up staying with the thin foam for the trunk. Although I thought at first it would be disastrous. I discovered, however, that adding a layer of cheesecloth dipped in glue mitigated the damaging effects of spray paint. Who knew?

It remains to be seen how well the tree withstands the wind and rain of October. But experience has taught me well and I have several cement blocks standing by to anchor the frame and provide stability. So far, it's been holding up well in my basement. Despite the best efforts of my assistant.




I was so pleased with the cheesecloth-on-foam effect for the trunk (thanks to Mike C. for pointing me in that direction) that I went ahead and made another one. Which means that I will have at least two trees come Halloween. One for either side of my porch steps. At this point, I am not sure whether I will attempt to realize my dream of creating several more to line the driveway.



For now, it's on to April/February's project.

the end is near

Putting the finishing touches on the Halloween tree this week.

survival

Okay. It has been a solid week of mild temperatures, often double digits, and warm sunshine. With no end in sight. The snow has melted. Perennials are beginning to push their way through the cold hard ground. It's all beginning to persuade me that spring might actually have arrived. Albeit early this year. Normally, I try to resist the deceptive lure of early spring warmth. I fight the urge to venture outside into the backyard for some garden planning and general clean-up. Lest my optimism triggers a devastating spring snowstorm. But day after day after day of beautiful weather has finally convinced me.

So yesterday, I opened up the backyard/deck/workshop for the season. A little raking. A little arrangement of deck chairs. A little analysis of winter's prop damage. Because, due to my unfortunate and well-documented lack of storage space, some props (those that aren't disassembled after Halloween) are forced to live outside all year. Stoically braving the elements. Withstanding the rain and wind and snow. Suffering silently through the long cold months.

And intrepid though they may be, there is a price to be paid. As I learned when I examined the graveyard fence. Last November, the fence was the prop chosen to winter outside. Too large for an indoor home, it was judged most capable of surviving the winter weather. Positioned carefully between the side of the house and the garbage container. And survive it did. But it didn't emerge completely unscathed. No, there was damage. Nothing particularly life-threatening, however. Broken slats. Twisted post caps. Chipped paint. All of which, I believe, just adds to its charm. Overall, it held up quite well. For a fence constructed from plastic venetian blind slats and leftover styrofoam bits. A good long stretch in the sun and a fresh coat of paint in the fall and it should be ready to face another Halloween.

Some props simply thrive on adversity.

a dollar store halloween

My Halloween costume box consists of an accumulation of masks, capes, and other assorted costume components that have been gathered over the years. Each year, many of them find new purpose as part of a prop. Or as part of a family member's costume. While others languish at the bottom of the box, patiently awaiting their turn in the spotlight. And each year, I sort through the collection with a critical eye, deciding what should stay and what should go. There have been numerous casualties over the years. The flashing devil horns. The foam wizard hat. The cheerful pumpkin costume my daughter wore when she was eight.

But regardless of the ruthlessness of my intentions, I can never seem to part with these masks. These valuable dollar-store acquisitions were among my earliest Halloween purchases. And with the exception of the skull, most haven't been given a home within my haunt in many a Halloween. Yet I find myself unable to let go. Unable to say good-bye. Even though I could replace them for a handful a Loonies.

Perhaps one year, my theme will be "A Dollar Store Halloween". And they will finally be given their chance to shine.

coffin bank memories

Somewhere. Sometime. Recently. On someone's blog. I saw an image that instantly transported me back to my childhood. Then when I tried to find it again for this post, I couldn't. So I finally settled for the above reasonable facsimile.

As a child, I could never resist the lure of cheap novelties. Especially cheap, creepy novelties. One of my favourites was my skeleton-hand bank. A small metal bank. Black and somewhat foreboding. In the shape of a coffin resting on its back. Similar to the bank in the photo. Although I'm certain mine had a metal lid rather than fabric. But no matter. The concept was identical.

Once activated, the cover slowly rose to reveal an eerie skeleton's hand inching its way out of the coffin to grab the coin that had been placed, conveniently, on the target, and pull it back. Back into the hidden depths of its eternal resting place. Never to be seen again. I loved that bank. I amassed a fortune with it. Or at least as many coins as I could persuade my parents and other assorted relatives to part with. I never tired of it. Coin after coin. Again and again. The hand emerged and then retreated. Emerged and retreated.

It's unlikely that my parents derived quite the same level of enjoyment from the skeleton bank as I did. Perhaps that's the reason it disappeared one day. Never to be seen again. Likely to the same location as my hand buzzer and my whoopee cushion.

dark and spooky and Irish

While I will be observing the time-honoured tradition of drinking green beer on St. Patrick's Day, it likely won't be Guinness. First, because green food colouring would be barely noticeable in a pint of Guinness. Second, because my tastes do not lean toward darkness. At least not in the realm of beer. However, if these coasters were available at my local pub, I might have to change my mind.

exploded pumpkin

So on the warmest day of the year thus far, I opened my mailbox and there inside lay a copy of a favourite spring planting catalogue. Coincidence? I think not.

I was leafing through the catalogue, as you do. Deciding whether to order something. Thinking about what new plants I'd like to try this year. Even though I had promised myself that, having a small yard, I would first divide and re-arrange current plants before making any new purchases. But who was I kidding? Of course I'm going to buy something new. Probably several "somethings".

Anyway, I was leafing through the catalogue. Looking longingly at old favourites and new additions. When suddenly, my gaze fell upon the words, "Exploded Pumpkin". My first thought was that it doesn't look much like an exploded pumpkin. Not with all that pink inside. But perhaps the photograph doesn't do it justice. Perhaps I would need to see it in person. And then I began to reflect upon how stunning it would look in front of my black elderberry shrub. If only I could get that thing to thrive . . .

Finally, I arrived at the words, "Buy $50 worth and receive $25 off". Well. How can I ignore a deal like that? I think I hear an order form calling to me . . .

it's a beautiful day

I woke up to yet another mild and sunny late winter day. It makes me wonder how long this warm spell can last. And whether I should risk triggering a snowstorm by doing some clean-up work in the garden.

But the weather wasn't the only happy occurrence this morning. I also discovered that I have had an award bestowed upon me. Courtesy of Moonwolf at Howling at the Moon. Blog awards always make my day.



But with great awards come great responsibility. As always, there are rules:

1. Thank the person who gave you this award.

Thank you Moonwolf. You've made my morning!

2. Share 7 things about yourself.

Hmmmm . . . okay. If you really want to know.

1. I once tried to fly by tying rhubarb leaves to my arms. And luckily lived to tell about it.
2. I have been known to eat sweetened condensed milk right out of the can. But only occasionally. Really.
3. I've tried, but cannot make myself like pumpkin seeds. They nauseate me.
4. I've tried, but cannot make myself like roller coasters. They nauseate me.
5. I'm a huge fan of golden age comics (1940's/50's). So simple and sincere.
6. I used to close my eyes during the opening of The Six Million Dollar Man because it disturbed me when it showed his skull x-ray.
7. I still close my eyes during horror movie previews. Especially the gory ones.

3. Pass the award along to 15 bloggers who you have recently discovered and who you think are fantastic!

This part may be difficult. I follow many blogs. Last time I checked, I was approaching 100. But most of them are old favourites. Very few have been added recently. All are fantastic. So I'm going to risk the wrath of the blog-award gods and postpone this part until I begin following more blogs. Or perhaps indefinitely. We'll see.

the best laid plans . . .

It has been an incredible week so far. Weatherwise. Temperatures approaching double digits. Bright sunshine. Crisp breezes. The sense that spring is truly just around the corner. I've begun going for longer walks, enjoying the warmth and beauty of the mornings.

And then I remembered.

Didn't I make New Year's/Halloween resolutions back in January? Or rather, one New Year's/Halloween resolution? One resolution in the hope that it would be easy to achieve. One Halloween prop per month. Which would guarantee an impressive display come October. One per month, that's all. One in January. One in February. And on and on.

Here it is March. And I'm still working on January's prop. Which really shouldn't surprise me. New Year's resolutions have never been my forte. Even when connected to Halloween. Granted, there were setbacks and glitches and new discoveries along the way. And the tree is almost finished. It will certainly be complete before the month of March is. Probably.

But I feel compelled to at least begin my next project. Even though I am not entirely sure what it will be, it will at least allow me the illusion of adhering to a schedule. And I do have a starting point.

Sometime last winter, I did some experimenting with papier mache. Different materials, different thicknesses, different pastes. Just for fun. No real purpose in mind. I made several similar objects to compare techniques. Small masks. Jack-o-lantern masks. It was an interesting process, although I had no immediate use for them.

They found their way into a storage container. Until now, that is. When they will again see the light of day and hopefully find new meaning as February/April's prop. Or something.

inspiration

As part of my daughter's exploration of potential universities for September, I accompanied her to an open house at a local school this morning.

After the preliminary welcome remarks and lukewarm coffee, parents and potential students were separated. Students were whisked off to learn about academics and the university pub, while parents were given muffins and escorted around the library and the campus art gallery. And that is where my story begins.

One of the gallery's current exhibitions is the work of Canadian artist Diane Landry. In the words of the gallery's introduction: "Landry’s installations, sculptures and performances often contain an assortment of recycled and mass-produced objects drawn from our everyday world. Employing subtle combinations of sound, movement, light and shadow to transform these ordinary things into unpredictable, seemingly organic entities. . . "

A portion of her exhibit involved umbrellas.


Maybe it was the lighting. Maybe it was the accompanying sounds and movement. Maybe it's just me. But this was one of the creepiest exhibits I've ever seen. And it gave me an idea.

Twisted, broken, and otherwise re-imagined umbrellas might fit in nicely with a theme I'm considering for this Halloween. Quite nicely indeed. And living on a hill beside an ocean that delivers abundant wind and rain means that I'm no stranger to broken umbrellas. I just need to start saving them instead of throwing them away in disgust.

So what began as a morning of bitterness resulting from cold coffee and a lack of acceptable pastry ended in an afternoon of new ideas. And the free lunch was good too.