Double, double, toil and trouble
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.
- Witches' Chant from Macbeth, by William Shakespeare
|Bubbling eye of newt and toe of frog|
(aka squid ink pasta for dinner)
Halloween season has begun and we had one of our celebrations last weekend. Witches and warlocks, creepy monks and TV characters I couldn't name padded about the house. It was a blast.
And what was I? Hard to say. I can never seem to settle on something obvious. Thoughts of Edgar Allan Poe wrapped a raven around my neck. The other parts somehow flew together after that ... dark velvet here, a black butterfly there, a soft Goth face. Can I get by without a label?
The rest is easier to describe. As I mentioned in my previous post, I had slowly been transforming our house into a Victorian manor of sorts. In fact, there was a hint of Miss Havisham's decaying banquet in the table setting.
It was a great excuse to bring out tattered lace, generations old,
tarnished silver with a century of family stories to tell,
|My husband's family silver|
and a phantom bride (of sorts) to greet the guests.
|My grandmother's lace blouse and my old tutu|
reincarnated as a spectre
Even my husband was struck by inspiration. A fresh ditch in the backyard - for a plumbing project - soon held half-buried body parts. The more delicate ladies in the party (and some children) couldn't bear to look. Of course, their husbands thought it was the best part of the party!
I must say, Halloween parties have got to be the most fun ever. When else can we stage outrageous things without offending many? Perhaps it's the frustrated set designer in me, but there is something cathartic about creating a theatrical production in the course of everyday life. Or maybe it's simply part of being alive. After all, the greatest stager did say,
All the world's a stage,
and all the men and women merely players.
How about you - do you have a burning need to create something, anything?