I like Halloween, but...

The decor is getting out of hand. In my neighborhood, most confine themselves to a pumkin or two or three, sometimes carved, sometimes not.


With a ghoulish touch, sometimes.


Then there are the others. Every October something new is added to the mix at this place. This year it's giant (I mean King Crab-size) artificial spiders splayed across the house front.


(They could have saved money just by asking for one or two of the arachnids that found their way into my third floor living room this fall. Even the ferocious feline, terror of flies, moths and small birds, was intimidated.)

About 25 years ago, Halloween seemed to morph from a children's holiday to one fully embraced by adults of a certain age. Before then I don't remember seeing bank tellers and store clerks in costume - now they're everywhere, especially if October 31 falls near a weekend.

Now the costume (and yard display) season seems to begin as soon as October chills set in.


(Though, as a friend pointed out some years ago, there are parts of Seattle in which Halloween appears to last most of the year.)

Last Sunday before the return of Pacific Standard Time...

Something I thought about when rising early this morning to get ready for church. Choir gathers at 8:15 on Sunday mornings, and even when there's no traffic it takes at least 20 minutes from here to there (30 when I figure in a stop to pick up an essential double short latte at Ladro) so I was up in plenty of time to enjoy a sunrise that ranged from orange to coral to rose to every imaginable shade in between.

And that was before the sun was actually visible.

Today we sang Schubert ("Wohin?) and a contemporary setting of a section of the "Song of Solomon" ("Set me as a seal upon your heart - as a seal upon your arm - for love is strong as death") and the two have alternated as my ear worm all day. The simple, lovely, Shaker tune with which we ended the service should be the one that sticks, but I had to work harder to get the tricky parts of the Schubert, and it does not want to let go.

I love the Song of Solomon setting, though I'm not sure I agree with its sentiment. Love IS strong, and it does go on well past death. My beloved ghosts float just out there, ready to gather round whenever I'm open to a visit (and sometimes just because THEY insist on being heard.) I go with Hemingway, who said, "No one you love is ever dead."

Terrestrial life continues. The ghosts remain in place.

For a year or so after my husband died, I used to imagine catching him up on everything that had happened since. Eventually things shift so drastically that no summary is possible.

This fall the leaves are brilliant. I think it's because of our long dry summer, and some cold nights during an essentially dry fall. Even the leaves fallen onto the street are exceptionally colorful.

A nice weekend to be on Maui...

But I'm not the one enjoying beaches and palm trees. It's Ian and Zanne who flew off to Maui on Thursday, just in time to miss several days of heavy rain. After our almost endless summer, it was a big shock last week to have to deal with rain and puddles and slippery roads and early darkness. It's good weather for the living room fireplace.

I mean to post more often, but distractions abound. This week the main one(s) include the new computer, new (first) iPod, and newly-installed high-speed internet (including a wireless router.) The speed and power of the new machine dazzle me, after all those years of limited memory and dial-up. And the iPod is a seductive toy.


Sparky's current passion is the plant by the front door - a gift from the neighbors who left for their winter home a couple of weeks ago. When she hops up on the railing to nibble one of the long fronds, it's jungle kitty time.

Tonight I have the computer on my lap, and she is stretched out in front of the fireplace, quite content to be out of the rain.

All your ghosts are welcome

Nearly every year since 1995 my son and daughter-in-law have hosted a gathering they call "The J. Peter Adler Memorial Wake and Weenie Roast."

J. Peter, a college friend of theirs, was killed in a traffic accident two hours after submitting his thesis for a master's in theater. Only a few of the college friends were able to attend his memorial service. Later that summer, my son organized the first "Wake and Weenie Roast," for San Francisco friends who had not been to the East Coast memorial.

When my son and his wife moved to Seattle, the Weenie Roast came too. Now the gathering consists mostly of people who never met J. Peter, but who are happy to gather in his memory and bring their own ghosts to remember and celebrate.

A proper wake offers good food, good drink, and good talk. When so many at the gathering are theater people, the talk is even better. J. Peter's mother and step-father, who live on the East Coast, provide good Scotch (J. Peter's favorite libation) and always call sometime during the party.

And the ghosts come out to dance. Tonight we toasted a grandmother who taught her grandson to laugh; high school friends who died twenty, thirty or fifty years ago; a friend who flirted with the EMTs in the ambulance carrying her to what turned out to be her last hospital visit.

We also celebrated Bucky, a four-point point buck mortally injured in a Vashon Island road accident. On a night of pouring rain, three people who had never before field-dressed an animal helped to send Bucky humanely on his way, then, after hanging the body under a deck, successfully gutted, skinned and butchered him.

A minister described a memorial service for John, a parishoner who died after many years of living with HIV. Because he had overseen church flowers and decor, he left specific instructions about flowers for the service, and asked a friend to make sure a favorite piece of red silk was used in a certain part of the church.

Although it wasn't strictly necessary, both ministers decided to wear their robes and red stoles. But when all four pallbearers, the reader and the communion assistant turned up in outfits accented with red, John's favorite color, the minister telling the story said, "I knew he was there, coordinating everything."

It was a Day of the Dead celebration, with food and drink and tears and laughter. I look forward to it every year, and cherish the people (and the ghosts) that I meet.

Black Cat Month

I don't know if this is something dreamed up to add to Halloween hype, but I found it - where else? - on the Internet.

Depending on your outlook, black cats can be bad luck or good luck. When not associated with witches and witchcraft, they are favorites of designers and advertisers, who have used them to sell all kinds of products. Years ago I found a book called The Black Cat Made Me Do It, filled with old advertising, like this:


So, as the temperature drops outside and leaves begin to turn, consider offering your favorite black cat a place of honor in front of the fireplace (or on your bed.)

And don't forget a small treat - some fromage, perhaps?