Happy Halloween everyone out there in blogland! I’m happy to say that my psychological evaluation went smoothly and the therapist said she could see no warning signs for my mental preparedness for the donation process. The tongue thing didn’t phase her, I guess.
Its crazy, but about 2 minutes after I got off the phone with her, another call came in from Santa Rosa, CA. The fertility clinic that handles all the medical aspects told me to start birth control AS SOON AS I COULD. They faxed the prescription into Walgreen’s and I went to pick it up, in less than an hour. Crazy, I didn’t even have to pay for it.
So now I’m back on the pill (had to say goodbye to my beloved Nuvaring– boo) for two months, while the intended mama’s and my cycle get on the same track. Then I will start with the big guns (injectable hormones). But, WOW I didn’t really think it would happen this fast. Hopefully, my retrieval falls near the end of December, so I will get to see New York City at Christmas time. I would really love that. I loved being in Boston during the Holidays, and I can only imagine what the Big Apple is like.
But back to the current Holiday: Halloween.
My most lovable memories of today revolve around Halloween in rural Vermont. You’ve all heard the stories about New England in the fall: the maple trees in full color, the covered bridges, the apple cider and donuts, the white steepled churches…and its all true. Its so amazing you think its fake, like Disneyland. Living in a Autumn postcard casts a spell on you, and when you are a kid, by the time Halloween rolls around, you can hardly contain your excitement.
New England’s historic splendor also contributes to full-On Halloween drama: I mean, witches were burned here, Sleepy Hollow is a REAL town, just around the corner, the graveyards have been around since the revolutionary war, and they are the essence of creepy.
Me, being the somewhat twisted, creative, hippy loner child I was, used to sit in the graveyards and write down all the names and ages of the people who were buried there. Then I would imagine what their lives were like, and how they died. I really used to enjoy being in a graveyard alone. Morbid, huh?
After moving west to Durango, I was appalled by the lack of character in the graveyards, the fact that there WASN’T a local haunted house, that they didn’t sell cider by the side of the road. I remember Halloween being the most eventful and exciting night of the year. There were pumpkin patch bonfires, apple bobbing contests at every school and church event, and ONE AMAZING haunted house, which the local college and high school students collaborated on every year.
As far as trick-or-treating went, that its self was a huge deal too. All the 100+ year old Victorian and Colonial houses looked scary enough during the DAYTIME, let alone lit up with jack-o-lanterns and candles. Even at age 11, my friends and I would skip some houses, because everyone in town KNEW there was a witch living there.
We mapped out our plan for getting as MUCH candy as we possibly could, with our parents help. in the East the towns are dense little communities, and dispersed no more than 10 miles away from each other, so we planned to hit at least 3 towns, riding in the back of my parent’s hatch back, for quick exiting purposes when the houses became too far apart to walk between. It was kind of a pain if your costume was too elaborate. One year I was Medusa, for which I made paper mache‘ snakes coming out of a hat. By the end of the night, those snakes were only ratty pieces of green paper on wires. My friend was the “shower” from the Halloween dance in The Karate Kid, and she pretty much ditched her costume after the first couple houses.
We each had a normal trick-o-treat bag, but in the car were garbage bags where we would drop off our booty after each town, and start fresh with an empty bag. Yes, we were GLUTTONS.
Since candy was strictly forbidden during the non-holiday times in our house, we lived it up from October to early January. The Halloween gorgefest was the best, all of us sorting through our pile of goodies, trading each other for the undesirables. After all the good stuff was gone, my sister and I bartered for the nasty candies, and if that negotiation failed, we spent the rest of the year playing poker with snickers as the ante.
Another method of getting the candy we wanted was playing Foosball for it. My dad had found the top of a Foosball table(no legs) at the local landfill, so we put it on the floor, playing on our knees. My sister, being the natural athlete, usually kicked my ass. One time after she won 5 games in a row, and I snatched the Foosball and chucked it right at her face. It hit her in the forehead, making her scream. My mother promptly threw out all the candy after that incident.
But damn, those were some good times.