Halloween Night

Fresh from my double catting, I walked on, deeper into Marietta, Ohio's old downtown. One of our favorite shops is "Found," an antique store with a difference. It's very beautiful, and poking through it is a lot like going through your grandmother's attic. You're supposed to open the cabinets and drawers, cupboards and chifferobes. Inside them you'll find things for sale. It's a wonderful concept. 

Old bikes are parked outside, lending a timeless feel to the storefront.

It was closed, so I made noseprints on the glass.

I love this interior. It wasn't just that it was Halloween night. It was spooky in an absolute sense.

Going around the side of the building, I found this character.

Time and weather have not been kind to him/her. Weather is rarely kind. 

That's not creepy. That's really creepy.

I looked up the street, the lights coming through maples all afire.

Not a soul was stirring. Old Texaco pumps glowed. I sang softly, "You can trust your car to the man who wears the star, the big red (bright??)Texaco STAR!"

It was getting dark, and I didn't fancy walking across the old railroad bridge in the dark. So I started back toward my car.

I heard quiet footsteps behind me, and turned around to see Michael Myers and a couple of colleagues. Oh!

May I take your photo? The kid who wasn't in costume tried to melt away, and Michael raised his knife. Great, thank you! 

 Half my brain was chuckling, and the other half was semi-liquid and going EEeeeeeeeeee.

Although I purposely didn't pick up my already brisk walking pace, I'll confess I was happy to get off that bridge and veer off to the side, letting the three go by.

Everything looked a little spooky at that point. I stopped to look at the names on a monument on Front Street, honoring the 48 pioneers who made the first settlement in what was known as the Northwest Territory.

Rufus Putnam, yes, I know that one, and Anselm Tupper. We've got streets and a camp (with bonus Adena snapping turtle mound!) named for them. Ebenezer Sproat. Earl Sproat. Jabez Barlow. Phineas Coburn. Theophilus Learned. Their names have sweet music to my ear. My eye stopped, circled and stooped on the sixth name. Peregrine Foster?  Why couldn't my parents have named me Peregrine?

Musing on the unfairness of it all, and wondering why a moniker like Peregrine hadn't occurred to us when it came time to name our kids, I walked on. We could have had a Phoebe and a Peregrine. Dang!

The lights shone beautifully on the darkening Ohio.

I followed an insistent noise, as of a small two-cycle engine, to an historic church.  I looked at the awning that had been stuck on the poor old building, like an elephant's trunk, a honk nose on a clown.

And was arrested by the movements of a man, wielding a...chainsaw?? Yikes!

Alone in the dark, he did a graceful dance. Fallen leaves fled terrified before him. Just a man with a  leaf blower. On a Saturday night, in the dark, on Halloween. Reason told me he was clearing the parking lot and sidewalks before Sunday morning services. But...in the dark??

That's not creepy. That's...really creepy.

Clearly, some levity was needed. It was time to meet Bill and go to Liam's play, "Vampires and Werewolves." Liam had the part of Paris in this send-up of "Romeo and Juliet."

I have to say he made a striking vampire. Ectomorphic, pale--and they didn't have to do a thing to his hair. 

He emoted beautifully, with a kind of swoopy voice and mien. 

He had a thing for Juliet, but she only had eyes for Romeo.

Who was a werewolf. Please note Liam's hands. They're for real. 

My favorite shot from the play.

Afterward, out in the hard light of the school hallway. 

Liam and Katy the werewolf. 

Owen made an incredible Michael Jackson.

The cast and crew outdid themselves. I was so proud of them all, and glad to see how much fun they'd had in the making of this hilarious show. Way to go, Ms. Huck and FFHS Drama!

I peeked in the ticket booth to find Phoebe's hand-painted cinder block from her senior year. It cracks me up, and brings a little clutch to my heart, too.

Thus ended a creepy, spooky, catty, fun, perfect Halloween night.

Things I Saw Along the Way

November 10, 2014. Seems like it was the last beautiful day I can remember. I used it well, with a long run along the Ohio and Muskingum Rivers in Marietta. We have a modest bike trail, growing a mile or two each summer, and boy does it get used!

I took a lot of photos, reveling in the last of the autumn leaves and flowers. I'm glad I did. For it's been unbroken gray and often rainy ever since. Bleh. It's nice to go back...

to the sycamore limbs, limned in low sun. A word meaning "illuminated," and one that I sometimes write but never say. There aren't many words like that. 

I don't know how many photos I have of these two limbs along the Harmar bridge. Many. They are spectacular.

They reach out and go on and on. I don't know how sycamores do that.

I was shocked to see a Dutch iris putting out a brave snow-white blossom in November. I wonder if that means it won't bloom in May? It smelled delightful. Front Street. Just noticed Smitty's Pizza in the right background.

A nearby hydrangea was not to be outdone. What a brave showing!

I was stunned by the beauty of this Japanese maple against the Potomac blue paint of its house. (I think of trees as part of the family, somewhere between pets and residents). Is there a more graceful tree? I think not. 

These maples are most beautiful when they're allowed to spread out and wave those baby-fingered hands wherever they want. It's a little tough along a city sidewalk. You have to keep them sort of trimmed. But these homeowners are doing a wonderful job. 

For stark contrast, a Japanese maple FAIL. 

Here is a haiku, by me, written about this tree.

No no no no no

No no no no no no no

No no no no no.

If the office manager comes to work one day and finds a gaping hole where this little tree once tried to grow, he or she should not be surprised. I would like to free it and bring it to Indigo Hill, let it grow the way it was meant to, beautifully, gracefully. Out. And Up. 

 This is not a yew or a privet hedge. This is a Cutleaf Japanese Maple. You BOOBS!!

I looked for seedlings in the mulch beneath, but found none. :(

I did find doggie tracks in the stamped, dyed concrete of the levee. I had always thought it was brick! Fooled me, until I saw this. Nice. I like the way the paddyprints have collected pebbles. I wonder if this dog is still with us? I always wonder that when I see prints in concrete.

Did you make them, DracuPug?

Never have I seen a more fetching underbite. Coupled with the potchy belleh, that's one kissable pugga. Little-known fact: I went into shopping for dogs intending to get a pug. After a little research and thought, I decided on a Boston terrier because I thought, having longer legs and muzzle and a more slender build, it would be able to run better. At that point (2004) I wasn't even running, but I hiked a lot, and I wanted someone who could keep up with me. The rest is history.

No underbite. Potchy belleh, check. Athleticism, check. Winsome expression, kissability, check. 

The romantic in me smells every rose, even landscape roses, which rarely have much scent. These were lighting up a November twilight near the bike trail. What a wonderful plant is the Knockout rose. Tough as nails. Mine all died to the ground last winter, and only one didn't come back. They were puny last summer, but they were alive, and that's saying something. The Japanese beetles left them alone. Maybe they all died last winter, too.

Sarah and Dandy, looking out of their stalls at the horsebarn at the Fairgrounds, casting some boffo head shadows.

 Girls board their horses there and ride them around little corrals and the racetrack. If I kept a horse there, I'd light out on the bike trail. But that's probably not allowed. I've never understood riding a horse around a ring. But then I don't get treadmills either. I have to go somewhere, see some things.

 I would make a very poor convict. So I try not to break laws. 

(Would rescuing a tortured Japanese maple constitute theft?)

Is there such a thing as justifiable theft?

A small part of the feral cat colony being fed and maintained at the Fairgrounds, handy by excellent riverine gallery forest habitat full of song sparrows, cardinals, Carolina wrens, eastern kingbirds, yellow-throated warblers and warbling vireos. Lots of delicate wild fare to choose from for the burgeoning kitty corps.

On to things that make sense to me...

A glorious sugar maple, somehow hanging onto its full raiment as every other tree drops its leaves.

I am stunned and amazed at its gold against the rare azure sky.

It's like an epiphany.

Back to town. There's a guy smoking out the back of our brewpub. I like to look for people smoking out the back of restaurants. I wonder why so many people who work in restaurants and bars smoke? And they're always so young.  It's quite odd to be asking your good old body to run 7 miles, and trotting past someone half your age, who is sitting there wrecking his nice young lungs on purpose. 

Two little apparitions in pink, chasing mallards down by the water. I can safely say I have never worn that shade in my life. Nor will I. Not even as a costume, or a joke, or for a cause. Phoebe says all my clothes are dung-colored. So be it.

It looks nice on them!

The geese put themselves out of reach.

Sunset on the Harmar bridge.

Walking the dachsies. Now there's a breed I love which could never make the athleticism cut. I grew up with a superb dachshund, fathered by a mini, with a standard mother. But a distance runner he was not.

Ended up with a little fro-yo with my boy at Whirl, where Phoebe worked last year. So good. I get the sugar-free stuff, then throw fresh fruit and Heath Bars all over it. :D I always misbehave, too, laugh too loudly, go for one too many samples, that kind of thing. It's tradeeshun.