It’s the first really hot day of summer, but still early enough in the season that you haven’t smelled anyone light up a smoke bomb yet unless they’ve been saving it all this time, and that almost never happens. The Fourth of July is weeks away, sidewalks still tickle tender feet just starting to put on their seasonal skin, and summer is fresh like a brand new basketball.

In one backyard, sunlight filters through a huge green umbrella of a tree to cascade down and play over the ground in hundreds of gyrating spotlights. Two small figures huddle over something, sitting like a couple of frogs with knees up past their ears and backsides not quite touching their pile of sand. Dusty and growing warmer at the terminator line between green shadow and full sunlight, toy trucks and construction equipment fill the sandbox, but everything is motionless as if some big project has just ground to a halt. The two boys look as if they have unearthed a treasure.

White sunlight slowly creeps across the sandbox, pushing back the dazzling lights and turning the little dunes into a vast desert wasteland. A wavering chant rides the wind up over the garage.

“Mum-my curse is locked in-side,
If you’re smart you’ll run-and-hide,
If you o-pen up-the-door,
Mum-my curse is free-once-more!”

The boys jump back, startled, then flop down into the sand roaring with laughter. At the top of the sand pile is a plastic model crypt, its door flung open by a little plastic mummy. A ratcheting sound makes the mummy vibrate, its arms poking through the opening.

Soon the noise slows down and stops. The boys poke the little mummy back into its tomb and close the door. As they slowly wind up the toy, grinning madly, they begin their chant again, “Mum-my curse is locked in-side–”

I don’t remember exactly where that little mummy crypt came from; we might have swiped it from some board game. Saddest of all, I can’t recall my friend’s name. But the game we played was hilarious for a pair of 10 year old boys. And I jumped every time that door popped open.

Category: Halloween, Stuff   Tags: childhood games, mummy, mummy's curse

A mean ghost is like a bad- tempered water balloon. And just as dangerous.

I recently stumbled across a cache of October photos that I had completely forgotten about. Lucky I didn’t break my neck.

Category: Halloween   Tags: mean ghost

Category: Halloween   Tags: pumpkin light

As a result of a practical joke by the dogs gone horribly wrong, Mrs. Spookyblue turned an ankle earlier this week. She’s fine, but we swapped vehicles for a few days; hers is a 5-speed, my boat truck is an automatic.

Last night I heard a sound like angry squirrels arguing under the hood of her car. When I popped the bonnet, bits of serpentine belt were strewn all over the engine compartment. What actually remained on the pulleys looked like it had been through an acid bath.

It so happens that we have my dad’s pickup truck on loan as part of the fish pond rehabilitation and Rodan deterrent project. I figured that since it held up so well hauling tons of creek rock, it should get me to work in the morning, and it did. I made an appointment with a wrecker service to tow the car to the garage (that had two months ago installed the now destroyed belt), and took lunch to meet the driver.

Dad’s pickup truck is a 1979 Chevy Custom, and comes with a set of instructions; pump the gas three times before starting, the radio’s just for show, don’t un-tape the glove box unless you mean it, etcetera. It’s what is euphemistically referred to as a “fishing truck”, or what you take to the pond in the pasture on the back forty. The heater percolates a certain goat-ish aroma.

Now. I am a lucky man, blessed from all sides and watched over by agents of mercy, one of whom having been dispatched to hold this rattle trap together until it was deemed safe enough for one of the wheels to fall off. And it did. Not less than a mile from Snug Harbor, the left rear wheel went walkabout and I ground to a loud halt on the brake drum.

A careful inspection revealed that all five bolts were stripped, but my luck held as I was able to retrieve the tire, undamaged, from a ditch. I even found a lug nut. The wrecker driver came upon me and made a real effort not to laugh while he hitched up the truck and took me home. I guess my luck rubbed off on him too because he made an extra $40 on that trip.

Frankenstein never scared me. Not much, anyway. Dracula and my sixth grade math teacher were a lot worse. None of those guys compare to five seconds on three wheels in a vehicle designed to operate on four. “Luck as falls”, in existential phraseology, means keep smiling, don’t panic, and above all, appreciate muddy boots, dog drool, tetanus shots, Band-aids, and writing the check to the tow truck driver.

Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein makeup (pictured above) is easy to do. Apply liquid latex to the “seam” areas. When dry, pull bits slightly away from the face to give the impression of raised skin. Blend yellow and brown cream makeup and add purple to the stitch lines. Draw stitches with black grease pencil. This Frankenstein (my niece), being moderately allergic to latex, carried her “scars” with her for a few days into November.

Category: Halloween, Stuff   Tags: existentialism, Frankenstein, makeup