questions, questions, questions . . .

So it seems I've been tagged by The Spooky Vegan. With eight questions. Although "Number Five" is missing. But it's okay. No one's judging your counting ability. I'll play along anyway:

1. If you could get away with one illegal act in your life, what would it be and why?

Stealing. Pumpkins from a local pumpkin patch. Just one year, I'd love to have dozens of jack-o-lanterns on my front porch. Without having it cost me a fortune.

2. What is your all-time favorite Halloween costume that you've worn?

Okay. This may destroy my credibility. But in my early twenties, my roommate made me a Sylvester the Cat costume which I wore that year and for several years afterward. Loved it. It was warm and always got a great reaction at parties.

3. What are five movies from your childhood/teen years that define you?

I didn't see a lot of movies as a child. It was back in the days before the VCR and we didn't go to the theatre often. So I'll modify this question as "TV shows". Night Gallery (It may have been the show that made me afraid of the dark. And many other things.) ; Batman (I wasn't old enough to watch its original run, but I watched it in re-runs throughout the 70's. I credit it with initiating my love of superheroes. ); Star Trek (I wasn't old enough to watch its original run, but I watched it in re-runs throughout the 70's. I credit it with initiating my love of sci-fi. ); Which brings me to . . . Battlestar Galactica (The original. Back when Starbuck and Boomer were men.); And finally, The Bionic Woman (Again, the original. Back when Jaime Sommers really was the first bionic woman.)

4. What character in a movie/book/TV show/etc. do you identify with the most and why?

At the moment, I feel like Linus, hoping the Great Pumpkin will grace his sincere little pumpkin patch.

6. What's your favorite Halloween-themed movie to watch around Halloween?

The only one I watch consistently each year is The Nightmare Before Christmas.

7. Who is your favorite horror movie villain/monster?

No contest. Lon Chaney Jr.'s Wolfman.

8. What is one "luxury" product you can't live without?

Hmmm . . . although I would like to choose something Halloween-themed, I've got to pick my MP3 player. It's my constant companion.

I'm going to remain true to form and not tag anyone. But if anyone reading this is intrigued by the questions and wants to run with them, I'll look forward to your answers.

halloween countdown

Midnight tonight marks the beginning of another Halloween blog countdown. My third. I don't know which is more challenging: trying to create a post each day in October or trying to keep up with other bloggers' posts. It's going to be a busy month.

uh-oh

So it would appear the reports of a pumpkin shortage were true. Luckily, I have one can of pumpkin in my cupboard, purchased weeks ago. This will require selective baking.

it's not what it used to be

I picked up a copy of Martha's October issue yesterday. Without even opening the cover. I reasoned that, with no new Halloween issue this year, it would certainly be packed with creativity and inspiration.

But no. It wasn't. In fact, the most interesting part was the Grandinroad advertising insert. So then I began to ask myself: "Am I expecting too much?" "Am I being unduly harsh in my judgement?" "Am I the problem?"

For the answers, I turned to my kitchen shelf, where amongst the various cookbooks, I keep Martha's old Halloween and October issues. And I took a walk down memory lane. And I came to the conclusion that it's not me, Martha; it's you. It's definitely you. Ah well . . . there's always next year.

foamy

I like camping. But I will admit to being a fair-weather camper. I enjoy it most when it doesn't rain. And when the campground is equipped with running water and flush toilets. Otherwise, my needs are simple. A tent and a sleeping bag. Nothing extra.

My husband, however, does not share this view, and on every camping trip, he complains incessantly about his discomfort and his desire for a camp trailer. Or a fold-up camp cot. Or an air mattress. Anything that might fit between his sleeping bag and the cold hard ground. Being a reasonable and accommodating person, I offered a compromise. I bought foam camp pads to be placed under the sleeping bags. Problem solved. Or so I believed.

These foam pads were the most useless objects I have ever encountered. They ended up everywhere in the tent. Except under the sleeping bags. So the complaining continued and the foam pads were banished. And in the interest of future complaint-free camping trips, I may be required to reconsider the air mattress.

But back to the foam pads. It seems camping's loss is Halloween's gain. Because rather than live out their days at the bottom of the camping-supplies box, lonely, despised and forgotten, the foam pads have found new purpose. An opportunity to redeem themselves. As lovely flower petals in a haunted garden.

Boris and Lon Jr. and me

Every year at about this time, my attention turns to my seasonal movie viewing. I like to give the month of October over completely to Halloween-themed or otherwise creepy viewing. And for me, creepy viewing means horror movies pre-dating 1960. Before the blood and body parts began to flow. During the past two years, I've devoted myself to the classic Universal monster movies. Now, having exhausted most of those, I need to look elsewhere. But where?

And then, suddenly, serendipity struck.

I was in my grocery store, en route to the milk which we always seem to be out of, when I passed a clearance rack of DVD's. No particular genre. No theme. No connecting thread. Other than that they were all DVD's the store wished to be rid of. And there, below Season 1 of Ellen and above the collectors' set of Bonanza, two DVD sets caught my attention.

A set of five Boris Karloff movies that I've never before seen. And . . .

. . . six Inner Sanctum movies with Lon Chaney, Jr. My favourite wolfman. Together with one of my favourite old radio shows. I had no idea there were Inner Sanctum movies.

So in that brief moment of chance, I solved my movie dilemma for October. And possibly for November as well. And I even remembered the milk.

coneflower's last stand

I sometimes think there's nothing creepier than a dry withered coneflower on a cloudy day. One of these years, I might just leave the remains of my garden intact until the end of October, toss a few jack-o-lanterns around and call it a yard haunt. It could work.

old paper

Last winter, I did some experimenting with papier mâché. Using different paste formulations. Different materials. Wondering how the results would differ. Testing and comparing. Using old rubber masks as the base. No astounding discoveries were made, and I had no immediate use for them, so they found their way into the deep recesses of the basement storage area. There to remain for months and months and months. Until last month. When it occurred to me that they might make lovely flower centres.

400

The Blogger dashboard tells me that I am about to make my 400th post. That seems a large and significant number, so I searched for something appropriate. Something memorable. Something truly worthy of Post #400.

Hmmm . . . 400 . . . 400 . . . I could think of nothing. So, instead, I've decided to go with something neither memorable nor worthy.

In honour of my 400th post, the acknowledgement that I've probably eaten well over 400 miniature bags of Halloween chips in my lifetime. A number that continues to grow annually.

I'm a winner

I was surprised and intrigued to open my mailbox and see there, amongst the bills and pizza coupons, a small square box wrapped in brown paper. So naturally, I hurried home and tore it open.

And there inside I discovered a votive holder and four Dark Candles from fellow blogger, PumpkinBrain. I cast my mind back. Back to a month ago when I casually entered his blog giveaway. Never dreaming that I would actually win. I never win anything.

As the aromas drifted upward from the open box, I examined each candle in turn and inhaled deeply: Haunted House, Bonfire, Autumn Harvest, Dark Carnival. I have heard of Dark Candles many times before but have never ordered any. After all, I reasoned, I can purchase scented candles at any one of a number of shops close to home. Why bother with on-line ordering?

How naïve I've been. These are no ordinary scented candles. Choosing a favourite from among the four was incredibly difficult. In the end, I opted to begin with Dark Carnival.

And now I'm addicted. Thanks, PumpkinBrain.

pumpkin-less

So this past weekend, I made my annual apple-picking journey to the Annapolis Valley. Typically, this is also a pumpkin-picking journey. An occasion to forage through a local pumpkin patch. In search of two or three prize specimens. Potential jack-o-lanterns.

But not this year.

No, this year, I traveled straight past the pumpkin patch. Stopping only briefly to gaze enviously at their impressive size and number.

I walked past the bins of pre-picked pumpkins.

Past the pumpkin wall.

Past the collections of assorted squash.

This year, I returned home pumpkin-less.

Because this year I will be carving my own pumpkins. Small though they may be. Pumpkins lovingly cultivated in the clearly inadequate soil of my front yard. Because with each passing day, the survival of at least a few of them seems assured, despite the recent unexpected death of one of the larger ones. Two more little pumpkins will likely be ready for harvest this week. They remain small but sincere. Small but sincere . . .

pumpkin pie

This weekend I made my annual apple-picking journey to the Annapolis Valley. Which included my annual stop at a farmer's market for pumpkin pie fudge. The only place I've ever seen it.




Pumpkin pie fudge and a hot cup of tea. No indeed. Life doesn't get any better than this.

Ripsters

A year or two ago, I was walking through downtown Halifax with my son, a fellow Halloween enthusiast, when we saw a bright red Volkswagen Beetle zip past. On the side, in large white letters was the word, Ripsters, and beneath it, Halloween Shop. We both became giddy with excitement. And promptly Googled this new discovery. We discovered that it was primarily an Internet business, but that it did offer limited "walk-in" hours of service. On weekends. So bright and early one Sunday morning, we drove off in search of its physical location. The directions led us to a long deserted driveway in a quiet residential neighbourhood. No sign. No business-like entrance. No other cars. No indication that it was anything other than a private home. We both felt hesitant to drive up and to begin pounding on doors and peering through windows in search of skulls and cobwebs on a weekend morning, so we chose to return home and call ahead first. And then, distracted by a nearby Dairy Queen, we procrastinated and then forgot all about it. No more was seen or heard of Ripsters. Until now.

It appears the owners have opened a bricks-and-mortar location outside of their home. Likely to appeal to more reticent customers, like myself. And it worked. Because this time, I didn't hesitate to walk through the front door. That's the good news. The bad news is that, upon walking through the front door, I felt like I was in a smaller version of Spirit Halloween. Sure, there were a few exceptions. Notably a nifty little "brain" mold that I may pick up. But other than that, nothing spectacular. Nothing particularly interesting or unique.

On the bright side, however, it is a small local business, which I try to support whenever possible, and it's open year round. So I can take some comfort in the knowledge that, if I'm seized with a desire for a plastic chainsaw or some fake blood in the cold bleak days of March, I can satisfy my craving while simultaneously supporting the local economy.

further caramel apple betrayal

Anyone who was reading my blog at this time last year may recall my misadventures with candy and caramel apples. We have a long and checkered history together, candy apples and I. And it's clearly not over yet. Because when I entered a local Second Cup recently and approached the counter, intent on ordering a pumpkin spice latte, my eye caught something. Something new. It seems my beloved pumpkin spice latte is now sharing it's promotional space with the new latte in town. The Caramel Apple Latte. Caramel apples. I hate you, and yet I can't turn away.

So I ordered one. And I carried it to a table facing Spring Garden Road to people-watch and rediscover the joy of the caramel apple. Alas, it was not to be. This caramel apple latte contained no hint of caramel, other than the somewhat artistic swirl that graced the top of the foam. Nor did it contain the flavour of apples. I was profoundly disappointed. Once again, the caramel apple has let me down. Betrayed my trust. Never again, caramel apples. Never again.

first harvest

With days and nights getting cooler and bins of clearly superior pumpkins appearing all over town, I find myself forced to acknowledge that my pumpkins will likely not be growing any larger. They remain small, but sincere. And my prize pumpkin, the first to make its appearance back in those heady days of mid-summer, has turned a bright shade of orange. The time has come. Time for the first pumpkin harvest of 2010. The first pumpkin to leave the patch. The first pumpkin to sit on the veranda, to watch the falling leaves, to feel the increasingly frosty temperatures and wait for its time to shine.

The first pumpkin of 2010 never grew much larger than a cantaloupe. But no matter. It's large enough to carve. And certainly an improvement over last year's crop yield of zero pumpkins. And there are more. I've counted seven more pumpkins, at varying stages of maturity. Equally small. But equally carve-able. If they all survive, they'll form a happy little group come Halloween. A small but sincere little group.

If the cat doesn't get them first.

spirit

So I was driving along, deep in the heart of "Big Box Store - land", when suddenly the clouds parted and a ray of sunshine emerged and illuminated . . . this.

Finally. After years of hearing about it. After years of listening to others mention it ever so casually, as if every city has one. As if everyone has been there. After years of wondering and wishing and hoping, a Spirit Halloween store has finally opened in Halifax. So of course I immediately pulled into the parking lot, narrowly missing the startled driver ahead of me. I rushed through the front doors, eyes scanning the walls and floor displays, trying to absorb it all at once. Stepping carefully over boxes as the staff attempted to set up. Up, down and around the aisles. Exploring every corner. Every shelf.

My initial reaction? Meh. Sort of an extended version of Wal-Mart's Halloween department.

productivity or the lack thereof

If there was one thing I had been looking forward to about last weekend's hurricane, it was the time it would give me to work on Halloween props. At least one full day, perhaps two. Stuck inside. Nowhere to go. Nothing to do except focus on Halloween. My productivity was going to be astounding. Simply astounding. And it began well. While the sun was still shining, I got a start on a few flowers for my haunted garden.

But then the storm arrived. And I spent the weekend watching live coverage of Earl on the weather network and eating junk food and drinking wine. And rum. And hard lemonade. While my good intentions languished in the basement amongst the flowers and trees and grasshoppers. All in various stages of completion.

But now another weekend has arrived. One that I am determined to devote to prop building. Rain or shine. I know my productivity will be astounding. Simply astounding.

a good idea . . . in theory

Earlier this week I picked up what will likely be my last of this season's Halloween themed magazines. Unless Martha delivers something truly wonderful in her October issue. I buy Country Living only once a year. (Okay, maybe twice. I have a weakness for Christmas magazines as well.) And I invariably find a couple of ideas or recipes that I'm anxious to try.

This time, it was the "witch silhouette" cupcakes that caught my eye. They seem easy enough. Bake some cupcakes and add icing. I can do that. Then . . . paint stamps with food colouring and apply to fondant circles, filling in any missed spots with a paint brush. It sounds simple. But knowing myself as I do, I have no doubt in my mind that, as hard as I might try, my cupcakes would in no way resemble these.

Mine would undoubtedly be more along the lines of "blob silhouettes". Which might be an interesting variation on the theme.

tooth and cork

Sometime last year, I began saving the cork each time I finished a bottle of wine. I had been creating ornaments for my Halloween tree and discovered that wine corks make wonderful little jack-o-lanterns. The cork-saving, however, soon took on a life of its own and continued long after jack-o-lantern ornament production had ceased. After all, how many ornaments does a 3-foot tree need? Needless to say, the corks began accumulating. I decided that it might be time to begin disposing of them.

But then I discovered that they make rather impressive grasshopper teeth.

local pumpkins

They appeared today. Right beside the entrance to my local grocery store. Where I'll have to walk past them at least once a week.

I think the jack-o-lanterns on the box are mocking me.

goodbye Earl

Earl has come and gone. And while I feared for the lives of my pumpkins at more than one point, they seem to have been spared an early death. Although I can't say the same for many of the leaves and vines.

its name is Earl

So it seems there's a hurricane travelling up the Eastern Seaboard on its way to Atlantic Canada. Earl isn't expected to arrive until tomorrow morning, but we've been hearing about him for more than a week. In my experience with major storms, the greater the warning, the less dramatic the actual weather event. The worst storms have been the ones that crept up on us.

But okay. I'll play along. I've got plenty of candles. I've stocked up on liquor. And I picked up a couple of Halloween magazines.

I'm ready.

prize pumpkin

It was going to be my "prize pumpkin". The first to emerge in mid-summer, it grew rapidly. I was ecstatic. I was certain that, come September, it would be massive. Perhaps a record-breaker. Competition for Howard Dill's giants. I checked its progress daily. But then, it suddenly stopped. And it never started again. Never growing much beyond six inches. Never reaching its full pumpkin potential. I was dismayed. My dreams were shattered.

But now, as its green skin gives way to orange, I've come to terms with its small stature. Embraced it, even. It still holds a special place in my heart. And as long as the various neighbourhood pests don't destroy it, it will remain my prize pumpkin.

Merry Christmas

There are few experiences more joyous, more truly heart-warming, than to open the front door on a hot and humid and hazy 35C day, to step out onto the veranda hoping for the merest hint of a breeze, to look down as your eye catches something amiss, and to see this.

All is not snowflakes and Santas, however. It seems that for a small investment, your entire family can ring in the holidays in true Transylvanian style.

it begins

It was just another hot and sunny day in what has been an unusually hot and sunny summer. I was reclining on the back deck. Book in one hand. Glass of rum in the other. Feeling the warmth of the sun on my face, I tilted my head back and gazed up into the canopy of branches above me.

And that's when I saw it. There in the middle. In stark contrast to the green surrounding it. A first orange maple leaf.

It won't be long now.