I don’t like Halloween. I don’t like masks and have nightmares about people who take their face off and they’re someone else. I don’t like things dark and scary. I hide from trick-or-treators.
I know I’m in the minority, but I don’t care. My pumpkins go in pies and don’t have faces. So there.
While hiding from trick-or-treators 24 years ago, I met my wonderful husband, and that is the one thing I do like about Halloween. Now, I don’t have to hide from trick-or-treaters alone.
Anyway I did this journal page today because I got thinking about costumes. I don’t like costumes either.
It all started in my bathroom.
I always hang my clothes to dry because they are cotton and I don’t want them to shrink. You can tell when I do my laundry because there are clothes hanging all over the place – on doors and towel racks, on hooks and in crannies.
You know a lot about me when you see this laundry hanging. You know that I am NOT a fashionista. You know that EVERYTHING is either black or blue. You know Steve Jobs wasn’t THAT original with his fashion statement. You know I have multiples of the SAME black and blue things.
OMG, I’m boring.
Let me digest that for just a moment . . .
OK, so, it all started in my bathroom where I inadvertently hung one of my black shirts over one of my pairs of jeans because there happen to be two hooks on the back of that door.
I felt like I ran into myself as I was leaving that room. It was especially unsettling because I had just run into myself in a mirror in that room. Maybe there are more than one of me after all.
I looked at that door and thought “hmmm . . . that’s me, but I’m not in there.”
I hooked my reading glasses on the hanger and put my flip-flops on the floor below.
I brought Mark into the bathroom, and said “Look – it’s a self-portrait without me in it!”
He gave me one of “those” looks (you know the ones where one eyebrow goes up and the other one doesn’t?) and said, “You know, you really should start using the dryer.”
I don’t forget about these “Aha” moments so easily, however. I started thinking about how our “costumes” really do define us, and also how they don’t.
I won’t put you through all that, but think about it. If you hung your clothes on a bathroom door, would people know whose bathroom door it was? A bathroom door that isn’t in your house of course, because then it wouldn’t be much of a contest. Especially if you are the only female in your house, and your husband’s not a cross-dresser. But I digress.
I thought about having a clothesline, but with the wind and dust here, the clothes would just cycle between the washing machine and the clothesline, and there would be no time to wear them.
I needed an imaginary clothesline for all of this, so off to my art journal I went. Because it was imaginary, I got to add my bird to the self portrait and make the poles more interesting than ordinary poles (see above).
One of my friends, who will remain anonymous, is dressing up as Mother Nature tonight. (Let’s see . . . which of my friends is a nature lover? Hopefully, no more birds chase her around.) She doesn’t like costumes either, but she is being forced into this.
She’s off at a spiritual retreat.
“Why on earth would they make you wear costumes at a spiritual retreat?” I asked her.
“Because it’s Halloween maybe?” she asked.
How would I dress up like Nature if somebody made me? . . .
No, I have not been drinking any wine.
Maybe I should.
Yes. I’m going to.
Just one more Halloween thing to say.