Hello, my dearies!
Welcome to the Witchin’ Kitchen where I
will brew up tales of Hollow’s Night of Yore.
Many harvest moons ago, there lived a
family of four in the beach city of
Santa Monica, where the foghorn bellowed
and the dense fog swirled in ghostly waves,
bathing the city in an eerie glow.
Halloween was spooky in our neighborhood.
Houses all stacked like dominoes lined the
unlit street, with narrow passageways
between the houses.
I was convinced a witch lived in one of the
houses along the walkway. Her pointy nose and
glaring eyes always peered through the parted
lace curtains at the window anytime I walked by.
Mom loved Halloween.
She wore her huge black witch’s hat, and tied
a sheet around her.
Raisins dotted her face like old, gnarled warts.
Michael was a pirate and I, a witch--what else?
I’m not sure if my Halloween bucket got pirated
and pillaged by Michael as I stealthily tried to
hide my treats.
Years later, we were living in the hot San
Fernando Valley where thoughts of Halloween
were brewing yet again.
We decorated the house with ‘pumpkin tumbleweeds’.
Mom had her warty, powdered face and dad had a
few surprises of his own.
When the grandkids came over Halloween night,
he told them to go to the closet...
Suddenly, the kids were screaming--dad had
his prosthetic leg propped up in the corner with
an old shoe attached.
That always gave dad a laugh.
As I later had my own family, I strung cobwebs,
hung skeletons and spiders, stuck a candle in a
cow’s skull, and played spooky howling tapes from
the upstairs window that could be heard outdoors.
Needless to say, there were few kids coming to the door!
It’s that time of year again, in another town where
we have Halloween parades up the street of our
gated community, and a few kids will come to claim
their treats. I have an overfilled pot of candy waiting--
and maybe, a trick or two…
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