The sky is grey. The streets are wet. But the sun is there, trying to come out. The temperature is finally in the double digits and this here is my idea of the perfect fall day. A little dismal, but great colours for the eye.
It’s the day after Halloween AND daylights savings has allowed me to sleep a whole extra hour. Makes up for all the planning and running around in preparation for last night.
Shame there weren’t a lot of candy hunters out last night, but we made the best of it.
Some people did their duty – tried to scare the wee ones. But my kid wasn’t at all worried. Funny, cuz at her age I probably would have been. I was curious, which made me think I was brave. But as my family likes to remind me, I am not.
On a particular family vacation we went to Salem, Massachusetts which I thought was the most interesting place. We saw the homes of the seven gables (with their tiny doors and living spaces that were just my size!), historic buildings turned to pubs, and the catacombs under almost every building. At least that’s how I remember it.
The one catacombs museum I remember best was dimly lit and smelled like wet straw. Probably to keep myself sane, I kept pointing out the movie setup like quality. These were basically a jail where they kept witches. The cells had big wooden doors with thick steel bars in the windows. thank goodness, they were sealed and locked, so you could only look in through the window. Some were just pictures painted in the window space. So obviously fake, that when I came to the one window that was not sealed, I felt super brave. I had to grab the bars and pull myself up onto my extreme tip toes to look in this time, and there sat a person in a pile of hay in the center of the room. She looked so real compared to the other painted things, but she couldn’t be. Cuz now why would they fake allllll the other things and make this one thing real? Silly. They wouldn’t. She’s wax!
Then she looked up at me…. And whispered “help me! ”
Not going to lie, I lost my shit right there. Twelve year old me ran out of there so fast I don’t remember anything else from that moment on.
My initial reaction to everything is freak out first, who cares what happens next. And that, my friends, is why my family teases me when I say I’m not scared. But also why I’m so proud of my kid. Somewhere, somehow, this didn’t rub off on her, and she’s so brave and so level headed in moments that would have other kids freaking out. (sigh. Yes. like her dad)
But now the scary season is over.
And I survived.
Onto sweet candy canes and silly elves!
Happy trails!! Gypsy Train