Gramma,
Happy Halloween. Saturday night's annual Witches Ball was a success. The bike club and some of the Christmas cookie exchange group were in attendance. My floors are covered with leaf litter and footprints. Despite rain much of the day, the guys were able to get a bonfire going with a blow torch.
Blood spurted from a steak stuffed into the neck of the headless guy. I warned him to step away from a quilt that had taken months to make. The flasher's interpretive dance included a stuffed pantyhose appendage, which Freddy Krueger tried to filet. The priest and nun were unsuccessful at saving souls.
Two zombie girls spent hours in the upstairs bathroom doing their makeup. They didn't even take a break to refresh beverages. I checked on them to make sure they weren't locked in. The temperamental door intermittently requires someone from the outside to open it. That can be scary in an unfamiliar house with a haunted reputation. The noise coming from the Halloween village on the main floor drowned out the screaming and door pounding coming from upstairs.
One of the cookie exchange girls showed up late, drunk and disorderly. A big joint was hanging out of her mouth. She is not a big pot smoker, but thought it would be cool to ask people for a light. Her ex-husband-to-be had been a club member, but was kicked out for causing too many mandatory meetings with the Hell's Angels, Girlfriend did not help his cause. It is bad form to criticize another club when you are at a party on their turf.
She decided to kiss all the guys around the fire, claiming it was her birthday and she could do as she pleased. She was also dancing around in dark corners with a member who was there with his girlfriend. This too, is bad form. She will not be invited to anymore events where club members are present. I was glad when her driver dragged her out to the car. I would imagine she is still recovering. Drunkeness and diabetes is not a good combination.
Family drama kept another couple away. The evil drunken mother of two grandchildren threw the family dog out of a moving truck. Then she tried to choke her ex-husband, threatening to kill him and get custody of the kids. This is while he was driving. The kids were screaming. They told the police they never wanted to see her again.
One of the cookie exchange girls and her husband were headed to North Dakota to support the pipeline protest. Otherwise, almost everyone showed up. Two of the dogs were dressed as wieners. Two were sent to their boxes for trying to mark guests as their territory.
As witches arrived, I was just getting out of the shower. There wasn't time to put on some Christmas music. I should have gotten up earlier, but we were out late the night before celebrating at a surprise birthday party.
A friend spent the night and helped put food away. It had taken me all month to prepare for this event. Sunday was spent on the couch watching bad t.v. Then the Packers lost by one point. I shouldn't have chosen to watch NatGeo after that. Seeing the planet destruct from global warming is the stuff of nightmares.
The gates are open for brave trick-or-treaters, It is over fifty degrees here in the northwoods. As I can't keep candy in the house without it disappearing, the kids are getting mardi-gras beads. The grandkids will be here next weekend to help take down the mess. Their next visit will be to install Christmas, much less involved than Halloween.
Showing posts with label Witch. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Witch. Show all posts
Monday, October 31, 2016
Monday, May 9, 2016
Happy Estrangement Day
Gramma
It's the day after Mother's Day. My favorite Facebook post included a clip from the movie Mommy Dearest and a toast to all the brave kids who broke up with their toxic moms. After my sisters and I saw the movie, we referred to our mother as Mommy Dearest. There should be a Happy Estrangement Day for us.
Coincidentally, my mother's name was Joan. Late one night, Joan took me for a ride to the Ember's where she worked. We didn't go in. She was probably stalking someone. On the way there, she told me not to call her mother, but to call her Joan. I never called her mother after that. It was meant as a barb on my part, but I don't think she noticed or cared. I was eight and my parent's were divorcing. Joan often said I was just like my father. It was meant to be demeaning.
My birth receptacle died on Cinco de Mayo. I love that beer drinking holiday. When I learned of her death, I called my favorite sister and sang, Ding Dong the Witch is Dead. I didn't have to say who had died. We did not attend the funeral. I hadn't seen Joan since the 70's. Until then, we had a relationship based in fear.
Belts hung in all the looped window openers. It was a tacit threat. On the rare occasion that someone was coming over, they were removed. Joan got rid of our Collie dog because Dundee would not let her hit us. I was often grounded to my room for one ridiculous thing or another. This included no TV, no electrical devices, such as a radio or hot curlers.
Thank God for the weekly bookmobile that stopped in front of our house. I would sneak out the window, make a dash and exchange one pile of books for another. Books were my escape to other worlds. I hid them under the bed. One of my favorite series was Little Women. For the life of me, I could not understand why our household was not like that.
I wanted to be Anne of Green Gables, sent to live with kindly people where there was no screaming and yelling, no beer bottles rushed to the floor with one angry swipe of the hand. Joan was always charming and kind to other people. She could turn it on and off like a light switch. When I was eighteen, Joan kicked me out of the house. Until then, I had been college bound.
Joan had kept us so sequestered and isolated that I had no support system. I moved in with my boyfriend at his parent's house, became pregnant and got married. I lost the baby before the wedding. Joan was approached by the county nurse regarding the miscarriage. Joan told all her family and friends that I had an abortion. I walked down the aisle feeling hopeless. It turned into another eighteen years of pain.
Between Joan and my husband, I ended up in therapy. The therapist I saw validated me. He said I should cut ties with my toxic mother. I had spent years poring over phone books looking for my dad. Joan had cut him out of our lives. When I found him, he had married a saint. My dad's wife became the mother and friend I never had. For that, I am eternally grateful,
It's the day after Mother's Day. My favorite Facebook post included a clip from the movie Mommy Dearest and a toast to all the brave kids who broke up with their toxic moms. After my sisters and I saw the movie, we referred to our mother as Mommy Dearest. There should be a Happy Estrangement Day for us.
Coincidentally, my mother's name was Joan. Late one night, Joan took me for a ride to the Ember's where she worked. We didn't go in. She was probably stalking someone. On the way there, she told me not to call her mother, but to call her Joan. I never called her mother after that. It was meant as a barb on my part, but I don't think she noticed or cared. I was eight and my parent's were divorcing. Joan often said I was just like my father. It was meant to be demeaning.
My birth receptacle died on Cinco de Mayo. I love that beer drinking holiday. When I learned of her death, I called my favorite sister and sang, Ding Dong the Witch is Dead. I didn't have to say who had died. We did not attend the funeral. I hadn't seen Joan since the 70's. Until then, we had a relationship based in fear.
Belts hung in all the looped window openers. It was a tacit threat. On the rare occasion that someone was coming over, they were removed. Joan got rid of our Collie dog because Dundee would not let her hit us. I was often grounded to my room for one ridiculous thing or another. This included no TV, no electrical devices, such as a radio or hot curlers.
Thank God for the weekly bookmobile that stopped in front of our house. I would sneak out the window, make a dash and exchange one pile of books for another. Books were my escape to other worlds. I hid them under the bed. One of my favorite series was Little Women. For the life of me, I could not understand why our household was not like that.
I wanted to be Anne of Green Gables, sent to live with kindly people where there was no screaming and yelling, no beer bottles rushed to the floor with one angry swipe of the hand. Joan was always charming and kind to other people. She could turn it on and off like a light switch. When I was eighteen, Joan kicked me out of the house. Until then, I had been college bound.
Joan had kept us so sequestered and isolated that I had no support system. I moved in with my boyfriend at his parent's house, became pregnant and got married. I lost the baby before the wedding. Joan was approached by the county nurse regarding the miscarriage. Joan told all her family and friends that I had an abortion. I walked down the aisle feeling hopeless. It turned into another eighteen years of pain.
Between Joan and my husband, I ended up in therapy. The therapist I saw validated me. He said I should cut ties with my toxic mother. I had spent years poring over phone books looking for my dad. Joan had cut him out of our lives. When I found him, he had married a saint. My dad's wife became the mother and friend I never had. For that, I am eternally grateful,
Wednesday, May 4, 2016
Be Very Very Afraid
Gramma
The new renter is already displaying his weirdness. I have never rented to a guy before. Larry and his wife are not getting along is how he put it. Over twenty-five years, I have rented to three couples. The rest have been victims of domestic violence or divorce.
The guest house is a maze of exercise equipment. There are lots of windows. The views are awesome here, woods, pond, a treehouse, a playhouse and a gypsy wagon for kids to play in. There are no neighbors in sight and the property is fenced and gated. You need a code to get into my sanctuary, but Larry has all the blinds drawn. What is he afraid of.
Larry has a seven-year-old. His wife won't let him visit my wonderland because she doesn't want him to know they are getting a divorce. Dad works road construction and the story is that he will be staying down in the cities for the summer. Yeah right. I have a couple of seven-year-olds. They are not that stupid.
There is the creepy aspect here. It is Halloween all year round. Some of the grandkids do not like my toilet collection of many colors with the skeletons sitting on them. They look like they are laughing and having a good time drinking beer and talking on the phone.. Some have skeleton dogs on a leash.
Then there is the coffin I found for free on Craig's List. I will be planting a daisies around it. The fancy innards are purple satin and lace. The guy had a ton of them. I also took a topless one for an animal water tank. It has molded horses on the sides. Last winter girlfriend and I went on a road trip to pick them up. I expected to be pulled over, but that didn't stop us from smoking weed and laughing our asses off all the way there and back. I think I will put my silver skeleton in it.
My favorite installation is the three large rubber balls made into bloodshot eyes mounted on old fake trees. They are Papa, Momma, and Baby Cyclops. I used Great Stuff foam painted fluorescent green to hold them in place. I am working on a bigger than life mosaic sculpture of the Wizard of Oz witch and a flying monkey. Right now the monkey is holding a super-sized empty bottle of vodka.
A giant gargoyle on top of the tower oversees my utopia. It took about a case of beer for me to haul it over the 12/12 pitch roof and bolt it in. So, maybe in light of all this, the renter is not the weird one, or he is afraid of something. Screaming peacocks? Braying donkeys? A llama looking in the bedroom window? Be afraid, very, very afraid.
The new renter is already displaying his weirdness. I have never rented to a guy before. Larry and his wife are not getting along is how he put it. Over twenty-five years, I have rented to three couples. The rest have been victims of domestic violence or divorce.
The guest house is a maze of exercise equipment. There are lots of windows. The views are awesome here, woods, pond, a treehouse, a playhouse and a gypsy wagon for kids to play in. There are no neighbors in sight and the property is fenced and gated. You need a code to get into my sanctuary, but Larry has all the blinds drawn. What is he afraid of.
Larry has a seven-year-old. His wife won't let him visit my wonderland because she doesn't want him to know they are getting a divorce. Dad works road construction and the story is that he will be staying down in the cities for the summer. Yeah right. I have a couple of seven-year-olds. They are not that stupid.
There is the creepy aspect here. It is Halloween all year round. Some of the grandkids do not like my toilet collection of many colors with the skeletons sitting on them. They look like they are laughing and having a good time drinking beer and talking on the phone.. Some have skeleton dogs on a leash.
Then there is the coffin I found for free on Craig's List. I will be planting a daisies around it. The fancy innards are purple satin and lace. The guy had a ton of them. I also took a topless one for an animal water tank. It has molded horses on the sides. Last winter girlfriend and I went on a road trip to pick them up. I expected to be pulled over, but that didn't stop us from smoking weed and laughing our asses off all the way there and back. I think I will put my silver skeleton in it.
My favorite installation is the three large rubber balls made into bloodshot eyes mounted on old fake trees. They are Papa, Momma, and Baby Cyclops. I used Great Stuff foam painted fluorescent green to hold them in place. I am working on a bigger than life mosaic sculpture of the Wizard of Oz witch and a flying monkey. Right now the monkey is holding a super-sized empty bottle of vodka.
A giant gargoyle on top of the tower oversees my utopia. It took about a case of beer for me to haul it over the 12/12 pitch roof and bolt it in. So, maybe in light of all this, the renter is not the weird one, or he is afraid of something. Screaming peacocks? Braying donkeys? A llama looking in the bedroom window? Be afraid, very, very afraid.
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