Halloween Pah-tay

Minions! 

I had a lot of fun in Seattle for Hallowe'en.

Because everybody else was busy I stayed at the Green Tortoise Hostel. They were throwing their own party. 

I chatted with a lot of fun people, from around the world, who seemed to think our American costumes quaint. it is one of our better holidays; pretty harmless and hails the silly. Free beer - that's never bad. 

Nice taco supper, too! Needed it before heading off to the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence Hallowe'en bash at R Place on Capitol Hill. Had loads of fun hooking up back with the crowd, including old friend Maggie Bloodstone. 

Seriously pimped out.

Anyway, my sparkly Judy Garland ended up looking more like Steve Bascemi in Boardwalk Empire. I'm trying to remember what Maggie was playing, but I think the Gin Collins kind of got in the way of the brain cells. Did too much dancing and admiring of wonderful costumes. 

Saw the best twerk on the planet and got an unexpected lapdance from a black-winged angel. Then again, as artist friend Mark Campos points out, since when is a lapdance from a black-winged angel not unexpected?

His Holliness da Pope

As usual, received a grand reception from the Sisters, who love my books and - of course - the condom pack I designed for them. Sister Abbess took a moment to discuss the possibility of arranging the appearance of a novice at the Clallam Bay Comicon, because a comicon needs a charity, and the Sisters are best at it. There is a novice in Bremerton, evidently. Bremerton! That town is improving all the time. The Fire Piper, Niall Townley, lives there too. It has quite the art scene.

Out on the street, ran into a guy who was having a bad night - until the conversation reminded him he was no longer sleeping in a Subaru in a graveyard in New Jersey in winter. And got another hug.

The Sisters hard at work.

The next day, headed to hit the Three Sisters of Clallam Art Gallery party. They were stepping up in the costumes. And the Soul Ducks - the local hard mud-wallow blues band - was doing their damnedest to crack the air. They said I got them. I hope so; I practically shook my head off the stalk.

On the way home, in Bremerton, stopped at our old house, to check out if Tree was still there. Yes, s/he was, in a neatly-laid-out brick-edged raised bed. We have actually lived Under The Deodars. Or at least one.

We're as nice as we sound.

She'd lost that huge limb that really showed her off, but the pruning job was good, and healing well. She used to drop these huge things, the size of trees. I was just sorry we didn't have a woodstove.

Dan made us move because the house was haunted. Looking at it now, I wonder how I ever missed that. 

Thu the Pirate

Tree, the deodar fir.

After all, it was between a cemetery - and the world's smallest "Indian reservation" - with fireworks stand - with its scattered graves among the trailers and RVs. And of course, all the cats that passed on while we were there. I was concentrating on Tree and forgot to say "hello." I only remembered Vincent, who disappeared so many years ago. Nobody ever gets over someone who disappears.

Prine family home and fireworks (see link in text).

The whole street is so obviously haunted. Or was it just because it was the Day of the Dead, on a spooky, red-and-yellow-leaved October? 

No wonder we love Hallowe'en and the Day of the Dead so much. Sometimes we need the real hurt of memories to clear our souls.