All Hallows

I meant to post some photos, but the camera is in another room, and two kittens are asleep on my lap...
...and then I realised I had taken a few pics with my phone on Halloween, and both the phone and its little connector cable were within stretching distance :-)

So, on Halloween in Baltimore, friends came over, and we made decorations (to hang) and dumplings (to eat), and a fine pumpkin was carved. Then we processed not-so-solemnly to the Community Hall, stopping in at the Leisure Centre (of course) to show off the Costumed Ones to the swimming pool staff.

Did I mention two of our party were carrying a coffin? Well, they were. Hence the coulda-been-more-solemn procession.

The dim-lit Community Hall was a veritable paean to the arty folk that live in the area - with gorgeous spooky hangings and death masks, and the Shelob-esque spider mascot overseeing it all. It was filled with little witches and spidermen guessing how many eyeballs in the jar and performing forensic examinations of their seasonal loot.

And then there's the pumpkin carving competition, which is taken purdy seriously:



Lovely to wander around, sip some mulled wine, dance with the kidlets (felt like a giant on the dancefloor). And then as the stormy weather rolled in, it was time for home and scary movies and candles and kitties (my ideal Halloween kitty Dubh showed no interest in the proceedings - it's not like any ham featured. Little sigh.)

Scents of place

Tappety tap tap (the closest I can come to a typing version of 'scribble scribble'). Writing today was all about very physical Cloisters details - stepping from room to room, remembering how the light enters through the stained glass in several of the galleries, casting jewels of light along the floor. Easy to feel mildly disorientated when immersed in that world :-)

Well, it's autumn: the house is filled with roasted vegetable aromas; I have emptied out the dried petals from my sweet little wooden bowl and filled it with glossy conkers instead. All most seasonal.

But orchids just do their own thing, don't they; they operate on their own internal, unpredictable space-time continuum. I had bought one en route home from Dublin the other week, and settled it in before I headed for Annaghmakerrig (a moment's revered silence for that place). When I arrived home, it had flowered :-)

I thought the flowers would be white, so the dainty yellow was a treat. And it releases an exquisite scent, which I inhale, curled up on the sofa, typing quietly, kitties sleeping on me. Doubly treaty.

Funnily enough, the scent suits The Cloisters perfectly.