Harvest

I didn't dress as a witch for Halloween.  I didn't even don a pointy hat.  I gave out candy dressed as I was while Emily trick-or-treated with the neighbors. 

I thought of past Halloweens when I dressed in my Witches' Sabbath best, listened to the Witches' March of the Symphony Fantastique, and drank red wine out of a goblet because witches drink lush, velvet red wine.   Ariel sat curled on my lap, her long tale twitching as she inhaled the crisp night air.  Oh, the many secrets I would tell her between kids venturing up the walk lit by luminaries and Jack o' Lanterns.   I cried for her last night.  I cried for myself, too.   I bought beautiful bulbs for her grave; I just need to bring myself to plant them this weekend.  I'll do it for her; it's just difficult.

Last night I drank a wine cooler and handed out my pretzels and candy corn.  Keeping the chocolate in the house to a minimum was a wise plan.  Drinking a wine cooler seemed appropriate.  There were no carved pumpkins, no luminaries, and no music--just pretzels and half-hearted smiles for the kids.

I thought of my surprise Halloween date of a few years ago--E bringing me Godiva chocolates and Drowning Ruth in hopes of catching a glimpse of my fishnet stockings and bat garter under the black tattered fringe of my costume.  He threatened to bite my neck, and I  laughed, "Not when there's 'Weeners coming to the door" I squealed.  He fed me truffles and licked the chocolate from my lips, "Let them knock."  His hands traveled under the tattered satin; he explored the texture of the course stockings and whispered, "How sexy you are."  I jumped up to answer the kids' knock.  He sighed audibly.  He wanted to watch scary movies, but that plan, among others that he had for that evening, didn't materialize.   Emily returned from Trick- or-Treating and my attention fell to her.  He left.  One of the many times I disappointed him. 

I stopped thinking about the past when the present, what matters, walked through the front door. I helped her out of her costume and checked her candy. "Did you have fun going out with Collin's Dad?" I asked her. "Just one piece for tonight; we have Church tomorrow, so you need to go to bed." 

Last night was a different kind of harvest festival--one that gleaned more memories than sweet treats.