Only My Like 5th Halloween … well, celebrating




When I was little there was one day of the year I truly loathed … Halloween. I guess the origins of this would be kindergarten. I went as a ballerina wearing the tutu I was using in a ballet recital. I loved ballet and looking like a ballerina so I was excited … at first … as much as I remember. But I can see myself wanting to look FAB in front of my classmates — I was a bit of a prissy thing back then. Digressing … oh yes, why I hated Halloween starting then? Two words … fourth graders! Two more words … Headless Horseman. The fourth graders paraded in costume through the kindergarten room, and the Horseman sent me spiraling down to the yellow school floor that always smelled like that stuff they used to clean up vomit … straight under the table. I spent the rest of the day under the table in my tutu thinking about how much I hated Halloween and the scary things it would bring.

My mom was room mother and knew how to handle her little drama queen — give me some crayons or a book and let me be. I am very glad I had the best and most understanding kindergarten teacher as well. Thanks, Mrs. S! I actually ran into this teacher when I was having lunch with my mom during a weekend home from college and she recognized me. Said she’d never forget me. I giggled and apologized and said thanks.

My mom is the most understanding and empathetic woman in the world, but she just couldn’t bear me not going trick or treating like every other kid in the world. My friends would go and show me their candy galore and tell me the stories of their adventurous night in the neighborhood. I did feel I was missing out on something, yes, but terror left more of an impression and kept me in. Mom took me a couple times, but I was freaked out and miserable. Nightmares would follow and that’s when mom said, Okay, I’m letting her be.

Oh yeah … and the sheer terror I experienced when the Brownies and I went on the “Witch Walk” … a Halloween walk through a small woods geared toward kids mind you … I freaked when the clown came out of the strobe lights. I will never ever forget this. Ever. The clown was meant I think to not be scary, but it was and sent me into a fit of screaming and crying. When we finally made it to the end of the path, two people dressed up as Care Bears were handing out Dum Dums. Boy, was I glad to see them! They calmed my tears with the cherry-sweet handful of cherry-only (my favorite) Dum Dums. But for months after that an odd and frightening hybrid of clowns and Care Bears haunted my dreams.

But this year, at the age of 30 … I am going to be Lady MacBeth. I don’t know if I am going anywhere though. I may be sitting in my living room with blood on my hands.

Typical evening for me? Not really but I guess it will be interesting. Like Pablo Neruda writing poems naked with ease, perhaps my 17th century Scottish royalty garb will make me write with ease. I need some kind of ease! Something cozy and close and loving. I hunger for affection and I am dressing up as a murderous femme fatale. Hmmm … we shall see. Come, let me clutch thee.


Published in: on October 27, 2007 at 3:40 am  Leave a Comment  

Finally … My Website’s Updated!


It is very rewarding (and exhausting) to me that I was able to do something so techie!

Check her out:

Published in: on October 24, 2007 at 9:49 pm  Comments (2)  

Meta-Photo & Art-Apy



One of the main things I love about many of Shakespeare’s plays would be the play-within-a-play theater convention. There was always a self-reflection — the play itself reflecting upon itself and its existence, on the action taking place and the characters creating that kinetic intrigue only Willy could deliver. This meta-play moment was usually the moment when the “clowns” of the play became the voices of reason — the stupid and stupefied clowns among the royals and the aristocracy became the smartest and wisest, showing in plain sight the wrongs of so many human deeds.

And then a day comes when you’re told to self-reflect. You answer: But I have been … too much. I think this would qualify as one of my major problems. But my version of self-reflection has always been negative — feeling and propagating within me the idea I was a failure mostly because my plan as I had envisioned it exactly at like age 13, didn’t play out like a Stravinsky concerto. Life always happens. Things happen. I was a very late bloomer in realizing that I’m afraid. So as part of my ongoing “art therapy” (I am now endearingly calling this “art-apy”) I am going to do a number of self portraits in different stages of my wide range of moods. I think the result will be an eye-opening one — seeing what others see in moody me.

This photo was taken in a bathroom. I feel that is a story within the story of my taking a photo of myself taking a photo, but who knows. I just have to wait and see where this artapy project goes.

Here I was in a neutral mood like: Keep moving. Nothing to see. Nothing to report.

Published in: on October 17, 2007 at 12:06 am  Comments (1)