madly, madly, madly
Well, if you're going to begin a blog post such as this, it is, I find, best to begin with honesty. And what are we, if not mad, to intentionally put ourselves and our home through such upheaval four times a year in close succession?
Today is Mad Hatter Day, and, as a lifelong Alice in Wonderland aficionado, I couldn't be more thrilled to embrace the silliness or to engage in an hours-long discourse on why, indeed, a crow is like a writing desk. But, alas, such scholarly enlightenment is not the purpose of our gathering this fine, chilly Monday, nor is a rather rambunctious tea party, which, if I am truthful, is something of a relief. There is a most unladylike gagging sound destined to occur at first scent of the vile brew, and it would displease me greatly to offend the host and other guests of such a charming affair.
No, my purpose here is not to convey you through the many wonders of Wonderland--more's the pity--but to leave you nodding your head in accord. "Yes, yes," you'll mumble to yourself with grave concern. "Those two truly are mad as a hatter."
Every September kicks off the Season of Marvels, a season that will last through mid-January--or whenever we get around to the disassembly of our annual madness. The official beginning of fall (give or take) marks the first of two autumnal vacations arranged for the sole purpose of holiday decorating (and whatever other mischief we can achieve). This break, at the tail end of September, sees the complete spookification of our residence and, of course, the commencement of the Halloween film fest, on the rare evenings we have time enough to squeeze in a movie. Our inner children are giddy as can be at the results; it is our best and most whimsical haunted cottage yet. Every day was a restorative delight as we muddled our occasions into an amusingly bizarre amalgamation: celebrating a birthday while cranking up Christmas tunes as familiar fall friends clawed their way out of the dark, sinister depths of storage totes and into our home. It was the kind of holiday mash-up that would make the Hatter exquisitely, joyfully, confusedly proud.
Crow's Corner is nothing if not corny. Our Witchin' Kitchen is endearingly kitschy. The Black Cat Café is pawsitively purrfect. And the indoor Pumpkin Patch would make for a hauntingly humorous harvest, if only any of it were actually edible. Then there's the dining table--the entirety of which is covered in an elaborate and varied lighted display worthy of a metropolitan department store window. Who needs to sit down and eat like civilized people anyway? For two ghouls reveling in the season, that giant casket in the middle of the room--sorry, I mean, sofa--is civilized enough. We're not monsters. We still use napkins and everything. They're even embellished with personalized embroidery: Hearse and Hearse.
I don't yet have photographs--that's an enormous undertaking in itself--and, though our vacation has ended, I cannot even declare the decorating one-hundred-percent complete. As I type, the base coats on a stacked trio of pumpkins are drying in the next room, awaiting each subsequent decorative step before becoming part of our Halloween hang. I added one handmade sign already to this year's mix, and I have an idea for a few more items swirling around in my head, projects I hope to complete with plenty of time to enjoy them throughout the spookiest of seasons. It's been so long since I could steal away minutes or hours, here and there, to simply create something frivolous--to imagine, design, paint, embellish my latest whimsy--that it feels as though layers and layers of stress are simply falling away like desiccated leaves from the trees. These recent and current projects have been good for my spirit and for our holiday home, if not in the slightest for our storage spaces. But for everything worthwhile in this world, there is a cost. In this case, the cost, specifically, will be that of another storage tote. Probably two, if I'm honest, along with the odd bruise, cut, or sprain as we try to wrestle it all back into place.
In the background, the ambient fa-la-la-la-la-ing continues to contrast with the scene around us and the eerie activities currently demanding my attention, but not for long. Soon those merry melodies will be perfectly attuned to part two of our madness. Come November first, the house will return to a state of temporary chaos as our week-long Halloweening efforts are packed away once more and our many-weeks-long Christmasing begins. If you're of the opinion that our Halloween overkill is certifiably crazy, you're not alone, but wait until November, honey...'cause you ain't seen nothin' yet.
Muahahaha.
This isn't a Halloween song, and I have only myself to blame that it's now stuck in my head. I suppose if you click "play", you'll only have me to blame as well. It's alright. I can take it.