It's my favorite time of the year. Time when our ancestors would focus on family.
My mom is coming to visit soon and I can't be happier. It's been 2 years since I've seen her.
October is always busy. I have 2 Samhain rituals to prep for, a Tea Party for the Dead for my kids, and the Annual Witches Ball.
I've already sewn costumes for the kids. A Rainbow Dash and Spike the Dragon. I still have to sew mine. Mom and I are going as the Wicked Witches of East and West. I'm trying my hand at making a hard leather corset. (I also love Comics and Anime so this will be re-painted for my comic-con cosplay costume).
This is my time of year for crafting. I don't have much to harvest as here it is now time to plant the seeds.
This is also the time of year that I tell stories. The way I honor my family and ancestors is through telling their stories. And every year I make a special meal, usually chicken paprika as remembrance. I also buy a single can of Dr Pepper. I hate Dr Pepper. But it's not for me. It's for my grandpa. It's my way of remembering him. He was such a funny man and I'm sorry I didn't understand his humor when I was a kid.
His favorite was a warm Dr Pepper. He'd have me stick it out in the sun for him. He'd ask me to shut off the hurricane. (The fan). He'd ask me silly nonsensical questions.
He taught me that sometimes it's best to let things go if you are not invested in the outcome. He was never angered easily. He was always calm and patient. And he always had a smile.
He had a stroke 3 years ago. He waited 2 weeks for his son to fly home so he could say good bye. And then he died a few hours after he left. I miss him.
As an adult, we would have been two peas in a pod.
I plan to go home next year to visit my homeland, my family. I will visit his grave and leave him a can of Dr Pepper. I can just image people walking by and seeing the can. It puts a big smile on my face already.
I'll also visit my other 2 grandparents graves. The ones I don't remember anymore. All I have is their stories.
My maternal grandmother died before i was born. My mother, when she came to the U.S. in the 80's had a premonition that she'd never visit her mom again. She told me how many nights she dreamed she walked up her mom's steps and knocked on her door. Always someone else answered, never her. Mom says that if she had been alive today, we'd be 4 generations of witches.
I say probably 5 because she also told me of her mom's father, who knew the day he was going to die. He bid goodbye to everyone one fine winter's night and walked out into the snow fall.
My maternal grandfather was a gardener. He always sent us pressed roses and flowers from his garden.
Mom woke up one night crying for no discernible reason, certain that something was wrong. She spent 2 weeks upset about some unknown thing before she got the call that her father had passed 2 weeks ago. (Yea, 2 weeks later. Nice. It's like why tell his only child he died? And oh yea, he left you nothing... Riiiiight. Oh but can you pay for the funeral?)
It is the time to talk about death. I don't mind talking about death. It's healthy.
And just so you know, I don't want a stinking dirge-like funeral with wailing women when I die. Unless your doing it as a joke, Shatner-esk style.
But seriously, throw a party. Tell people about that time some poor sap handed me 1000 fliers to put up in my college dorm and how I papered the place. Flyer curtains down the stairwells and upside down in places no sane person would dare.
Tell them about the time I played Little Red Riding Hood at the Ren Faire and punched the man that would become my husband squarely in the nose. (He was the big bad wolf)
Tell them about the time I made you laugh.
Tell stories. Laugh. Drink.
And offer my spirit up some Skittles or Twizzlers.