Ichabod Crane. Dark knights. Must be that time of year again. Achieved a pumpkin-free zone. No gourds, dried stalks or Indian corn either. Okay. Cheap candy for kids. Trick or treat. All Hallow’s Eve. Once. Not an entire week.
Orange is the old black. I’ll be the usual. Rhymes with witch. Yeah. I rehearse all year. So. Just no. Crinkly Hillary cleavage. Ebola hazmat suits. Headless horsemen of Isis. Not too soon. Never. Make it stop. Is it Kranky Kristmas yet?
Dear Faux Amis,
Annual oversharing tidings! So much to tell. The year was mostly serene. Our carefully curated Facebook page filled with montages of selfies in canoes. Portraying our truly rich life. Then in August we all went Osage County.
Moonbeam joined the 21st Century and discovered Candy Crush game. No time for global causes now. Living in the basement, he clicks away all day while malevolent Mephistopheles the cat jumps on his head. Moonie only leaves his lair to meet me upstairs nightly for gluten-free snacks and quite a few high balls.
I’ve given up naked Pilates. Drugs seem more convenient. Purple pills, blue pills, pink pills. Pretty to look at every morning. And they go down easy with my protein shake. I have contracted tuberculosis, leprosy, and my head is falling off as the result of side-effects. But, there are pills for that, too. So.
Haven’t seen Zelda in a few months. Moonbeam and I get facetime calls periodically from Vegas. Her credit card seems to have gone dry. What with so many sparkly jumpsuits, it’s no surprise. Lots of zippers. But, she is off fulfilling a dream. Pole dancing for men in brocade vests and cowboy hats. You go, girl!
As Town Manager here in Silent H, Mass., I proudly succeeded in banning nuts from our schools. Nobody left in class. But, hey. Tomorrow is a latter day.
Happy Thanks Kristmakkah,
Hi. It’s me again. The Halloween-hater. It is over yet? A month of spooky plots on every show. Even the news. Women trolloping around in low-cut getups. Men strutting superhero suits. This is scary. A different kind of horror. Little zombies, goblins, witches. Fine. I’ll give you KitKats and KandyKorn. On Thursday.
Orange pumpkins can stay in the fields or on farm trucks. None at my house. They’d clash with resolute pink roses in our October garden.
Under the Thunder Full Moon, on the last day of Cancer, July 22, Prince of Cambridge arrives. His Daddy Wills was born on the first day of the Sun sign, June 21. Kate a bit late in changing the weekend mood on the links in Scotland. But, baby was smart enough to emerge on a famous GemQueen’s royal birthday.
Name roulette. Francis is Kate’s father’s middle name, as Frances was Diana’s. Pope beat them to it. I’m going with George William Philip Windsor.
Happy Birthday, Catherine JeanJean, PromQueen.
Vintage 1959 Gown: $5 at Goodwill.
2012 Photo: Priceless.
You look mahh-velous.
In ten years will there be? Add your own…
Churches, religious schools, books, libraries, land lines, answering machines, princess phones, snail mail, stamps, mailmen, greeting cards, stationery, movie theaters, cemeteries, tomb stones, large office buildings, money, men’s suits, briefcases, files, rolodexes, secretaries, soap operas, watches, panty hose.
10- People on TV. Cover your cleavage, freckles, arms. Sleeves. Pleez.
9- Rabid FoxyLoxy in our yard later found bludgeoned next to a croquet mallet.
8- Tea Party Bags obstruct. Debt Ceiling Debacle.
7- Cancellation of Human Target. Miss Mrs. Pucci and torture guy Guerrero.
6- Restaurant quality. Even old standards fell. Blue Heron. Gotham B&Grill.
5- Last Harry Potter movie. Cute kids became creepy old characters.
4- Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. Suicide for sale. Who would watch it. Um.
3- Still in Afghanistan. Bring troops home. Build roads here.
2- Amy Winehouse. Wasted. Life, talent.
1- Weather. Blizzards, tornadoes, hurricane. Wreaked regional, personal havoc.
mAdBen’s Crazy Great Year. NYU accolades. New view. Career
Mama & 3 bears in the yard
The Night Circus
Ocean House, Watch Hill- 60
People on TV. Cover your skin. Sleeves. Pleez.
Amy Winehouse. Sad
And so it begins. Saturday. Picked out, paid for a very big tree. Son Ben wants a big tree. Dr. Husband hates Kristmas Trees. Really hates big trees. More with every passing year. This year especially, since Ben taking exams at NYU. Not here to help. Bad.
Sunday. Dr. Husband gets home late after picking up tree and tying on top of car. Bad. Not happy. Long weekend of hospital rounding. Lots of ‘Jesus’ and ‘Maria’ Christmas babies born a week early. Very tired. Very bad.
Puts big wide-trunk tree in stand. Watered. Good. Okay. Comes downstairs to finally relax in hot tub. Good. Oh no. Tree tilts. Goes down. Pokes Dr. Husband in the eye. Hurts. Bad. Big mess. Boehner-esque melt-down. “Tree is evil. Christians’ revenge. Wrecking our house. Water all over the floor. Needles everywhere.” Very very bad. Poor Dr. Husband.
Cleans up mess. Tosses tree and broken stand out the door. Sad.
The Legend of Skippy Hallow. Hate Halloween. Hate Pumpkins. Even as a kid. Even as the mother of a cute kid who loved spooking up the place. Webs, ghosts, skeletons. Couldn’t wait to take it all down. I do miss driving up Route 5 to pick out pumpkins with Ben. He could carve a scary face. After that squash ’em into the compost bin before they rot and squirrels strew them all over the yard. Yuk.
Ugly plastic black and orange stuff everywhere. OK, kids can dress up. Under 12! Older than that it’s pranky or creepy. Stupid adult costumes, excuse for women to slut it up and men to be boyish. We do that on Wednesdays. Am I cranky on the subject? Maybe it’s because I AM a witch. Oh yeah and the cheap candy sucks too. Don’t get me started on pimping up pets. When the pumpkins come out, I know dark afternoons and mornings are upon us, cold gray days. Leaves gone.
Let’s just skip Halloween and go straight to Thanksgiving. I like Thanksgiving.